REFRESHER

By

Joshua Ben-Noah Carlson

I never knew why people call pussy tuna until one day I got home from work and there was a warm bowl of tuna salad on the counter and before I noticed it I thought—Man, what smells like pussy? And I work with food and I know the smells but it never once occurred to me before I noticed the bowl that that was food. I thought Tom my roommate had finally gotten some and had it in the kitchen with some nasty girl.

But it was just warm tuna salad, so I threw it out and wrote a note on the fridge that even though he didn't eat it he was going to have to pay for the can of tuna and some of the mayonnaise, or at least subtract some from my half of the grocery bill for the mid-month. I work with food and I can't stand it wasted. My boss once made me pay for a plate and the food on it after I dropped it after Amy's boyfriend glared at me through the window because he saw her wink at me when I handed her a different plate through the window for one of her tables. Not that I'm scared of her boyfriend but he caught me off guard, glaring at me while I was still flustered from her winking which she never had before. And she has the perfect ass.

Often if she crouches to move the coffee maker or put out a rack of glasses while I'm out in the wait-station to refill my soda, the top of her ass comes up out of her pants and you can see the crack or her thong and you just want to put your hand down there and hold it.

The day after the tuna salad she said something to me as she often does and I thought, “Put her in a can and she'll smell just like any other one,” and went on with my prep. And later, when she came to the window to pick up some plates, she winked at me again and I didn't even act like I noticed and kept on doing what I was doing. And her boyfriend later made some comment to me about flirting and I said I haven't even talked to her you can keep her. And later that same shift was when Jennifer, who is a cook like me and who had been there the whole time, asked if I wanted to have coffee or watch movies.

Now, Jennifer is younger than me, younger even than Amy who is younger than any girl I've dated but she's very mature. She's been a cook for only a few months but she takes it seriously and has always talked to me though I don't usually date cooks; girl cooks that I work with. I would date a server but they're usually too superficial to date a cook and Amy for example has a boyfriend that works there and would make those comments to me if I dated her. And I know I would be fired if I popped him through the window, which I would if he made those comments. Or maybe I would just have to pay to replace him or his nose if I broke it.

But now I'm in my car outside Jennifer's house and I don't even know what she looks like in her street clothes. Like me, she comes to work in her whites. I don't even know what her hair is like. But I have Van Morrison, which my mother said on the phone she likes, though I don't know what kind of music Jennifer likes. But she said she'd bring the movies which we'll watch after coffee because I said both.

I wish my car was warmer. The heater doesn't work very well and I've had it on high the whole way here, but it's still cold. And I haven't smoked on the way both to keep it warm and because Jennifer doesn't smoke regularly, only when it's busy after a rush. Her coat is thick purple and I wish the car were warm because I hate sitting in a car with a thick coat zipped all the way up. And I don't want to start the CD when she gets in the car because that would be cheesy but I have it set on song two and if I start it now she might miss it. She waved from the door and held up a “Just a minute” finger so I'm not sure how long she'll be.

I do know her hair is brown and curls at the back of her hat when she sweats. She sweats on her neck during a rush but not because she doesn't have chops. She's a good cook. She holds the knife the way I do, which is the proper way which I saw in a book. She does good work.

There she is.