I was working register and the Barrel O’ Fun truck rolls into the parking lot. It’s white and bright and full of color. The Barrel O’ Fun guy gets out of his Barrel O’ Fun truck and he’s sullen.
His face is long, his hair is jetting out in all directions, he’s covered in grim.
He walks through the door. He gives me attitude, he gives his wife attitude, and he gives his little kid attitude.
The Barrel O’ Fun man looks like death.
At first I gave attitude right back finding it somewhat humorous that the Barrel O‘ Fun chap comes across as dejected. But it was strange, after a bit, I felt very peaceful. Like a scene in a movie where the music swells, or when you’re cleaning a dining room and there’s no one else there or when you’re in an empty theater. You know, when your gut feels like it’s sleeping. The Barrel O’ Fun family was the only one in the restaurant. But it didn’t seem to matter, none of them talked. They sat and ate. It was easy to forget the took up residence in the tiny booth.
There was two tons of snow falling from the sky. And it was beautiful. No one else notices the family. And if they do they react with hostility or annoyance. I like them. I don’t really know why. They remind me of the snow storms we get. The quiet pretty kind that leave you six inches to shovel in the morning. But few of us remember how pretty the snow is. It seems like no one ever noticed the man, or his wife, or kid. They’re just walking through.
They all got up, and they all walked out, leaving me piles of chicken meat and condiment packets on their table. I cleaned it up while my manager swore at the microwave. Then I took a seat and watched out the window. The Barrel O’ Fun man got in his Barrel O’ Fun truck and drove away.
They come in every now and again the same way, unchanging.
The sad part is I won’t remember any of them in a year or two.
