Burger Joint Happiness

A meeting of two old friends

Andrew drove his Mercedes into the parking lot of Jimbo’s Burger Shack and found a parking space right by the front door. For him it was a joy to get away from the business power lunch at the fancy restaurant in the office building where he worked. At least once a week he needed regular people food.

It was after the lunch hour so the line at the cash register was short. Andrew got in line behind two people and proceeded to look around as he waited. There was no need to look at the menu board because he knew exactly what he wanted to order.

As his eyes meandered around the burger joint they eventually looked back into the kitchen and that is when they froze as Andrew saw what he saw.

“May I take your order?”

Andrew was abruptly shaken out of his shock. He placed his order and paid for it. He then looked back into the kitchen.

What Andrew saw was Phil Rasmussen. He had known Phil for over forty years although he had not seen him in a couple of years. Phil was a talented writer who Andrew was convinced would become more successful than anyone he knew. What the heck was he doing working as a fry cook in a burger joint?

A tray of food suddenly appeared before Andrew. He took it and went into the dining area where he found a seat that had a view into the kitchen.

Andrew and Phil first met during their senior year in high school. They became instant friends and remained so during most of their twenties. They lost touch, though, when Phil left town to wander around the country. It was on the internet that they reconnected while in their fifties. Andrew had stumbled onto Phil’s website and read his writing then joined the site and began participating in discussion. He also bought a couple of Phil’s books and was very impressed reading them.

But then Phil abruptly disappeared from the internet. He closed down his email and his website and also his phone and there was no longer any way to contact him. There were rumors on the internet that he had died.

And now he was flipping burgers in a burger joint? WTF?

As Andrew chewed his burger he now could no longer see Phil back in the kitchen. But then Phil came out of a side door with a tray of food. He must be on a break.

Phil walked into the dining area and stopped when he saw Andrew. Andrew waved him over to his table.

“Well, hello Andrew. I was wondering if I would ever see you again.”

“Yet you never made any attempt to contact me. But I have to say it’s great to see you man. It’s great to see you’re still alive and back in our home town.”

“Yeah, I moved back here about a year ago. Still alive?”

“I tried to call you and email you. Your site closed down. I kept in touch with a couple of your fans. They were all convinced that you had died.”

Phil smiled, “Well that explains the tiny spike in books sales after I left. Sometimes a writer has to die before they make any money on their writing.” He dipped a french fry in ketchup and plopped it into his mouth. “And, by the way, you’re not the only one I haven’t contacted. I haven’t contacted anyone I know. I just slipped out the back, jack.”

“You crazy son of a bitch. Why?”

“Because I was done.

“But you’re such a good writer and you had lots of fans, some of whom really adored you. I thought you were going places.”

“Well adoration doesn’t pay the bills. All it does is pump up the ego. Listen, writing is all about ego. You either write to pump up the ego or you write in order to uncover all the many layers of ego in order to identify and release it all. I got to the point where I had peeled back enough layers of ego that suddenly there was no longer much reason to keep writing. So I quit — and I’m a lot happier now!”

“Jesus H. Christ, Phil. You’re happier now? Seriously? You gave up a writing career to flip burgers?”

Phil took a bite of burger and chewed it before replying. He leaned forward, “I make minimum wage flipping burgers. That’s ten times as much as I ever made writing. Writing is one of the worst paid professions in all of society. I’m rich now flipping burgers compared to how much money I made writing. And besides, I like flipping burgers. It’s easy mindless work. It’s almost like meditating. And it’s a very noble profession. I’m doing a service. I’m feeding people.”

“Look at us, Phil. We’re old men. You seem to have more gray hair then me but we’re the same age. We’re old. And you’re flipping burgers in a kitchen full of teenagers!”

“What’s wrong with teenagers?”

Andrew slapped the palm of his hand against his forehead, “Listen, I’ve been with my job for twenty-eight years now. I’ve worked my way up to senior management. It’s an easy job, though not creative at all, but I make good money. I could have helped you out if you had asked.”

“I don’t need help. Hey, I’m rich, remember? And more importantly I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life. I seriously am. I’m on the edge of nirvana.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes.

Finally Andrew spoke up, “So how are all your ex-wives?”

Phil shrugged his shoulders, “I dunno. I haven’t spoken with them in years. How’s Ruth and the kids?”

“Ruth is great. We’ll be married thirty-four years in June. The boys have great jobs. I’m the grandfather to five brats, the oldest of which will be graduating from high school next year. I could be a great grandfather soon. Man, it sucks getting old.”

“Wow. I love getting old. Life just keeps getting better.”

“So I take it you live alone?”

“Yup, just me and Alexandra.”

“Alexandra?”

“Yeah, she’s my kitty cat.”

Once again Andrew slapped his forehead.

“Well, it’s been great talking with you, Andrew, but my break is just about over.” Phil stuffed the last bite of his burger into his mouth.

“Yeah, it’s been great. But seriously, we’ve got to get together and talk more. What’s your cell number?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“Email address?”

“Don’t have internet.”

“Jesus, how can you live without a phone or internet?”

“Easy! Very, very, very easy! And joyfully! How did people live without those things before they were invented? I don’t miss those things at all. Got a pen?”

“Huh? Oh…” Andrew reached into the inside pocket of his blazer and pulled out a pen.

Phil wrote his address down on a napkin and handed the napkin and pen to Andrew, “My days off are Sunday and Monday but don’t come by before twelve noon. But definitely come by. We’ll have tea.” With this Phil stood and headed back to the kitchen.

Again Andrew slapped his forehead. Tea?

After work that day Andrew went into his lavish den and pulled one of Phil’s novels off the book case. Over the next couple of days he reread it. It was really good the first time he read it but somehow on second reading it was even better.

The next Sunday Andrew drove out to the address Phil had given him. Arriving there he realized that Phil lived in a tiny house. It was smaller than Andrew’s garage! Way smaller. He noticed the tiny roof of the tiny house was completely covered with solar panels.

Stepping up onto the tiny porch he knocked on the door. After a moment of silence he knocked again. Again there was no answer so he knocked one more time then turned around on the porch to see the panorama that Phil must look at every day. The land in front of the tiny house dipped down to where a tree-lined creek flowed. The trees were resplendent in fall foliage. Then he looked beyond the trees at the distant mountains. It was beautiful.

“Wow,” thought Andrew to himself, “Phil might have a tiny house but he sure has a great view!”

Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction.

Speaking of french fries…