On My Side of the Window

On My Side of the Window

1Before my first Saturday taking orders at our family’s food truck, I made a chart: order, payment, pickup. Three steps, no confusion. Dad taped it beside the window, although he tilted his head at the stopwatch hanging from my wrist. “Ready, Ellis?” he asked. I pressed the button. If we worked fast enough, I figured, customers would have nothing to complain about.

2By noon, I had discovered our biggest delay: Dad. He asked a customer about her new job while folding a wrap. He remembered which sauce another customer liked. Each conversation seemed like a pebble dropped into the gears of my perfect machine. I tapped my chart, but Dad was watching the woman explain something with both hands.

3Then a man in a gray jacket stepped up. “The usual,” he said. I stared at the menu, where nothing was called that. Dad leaned toward me. “Ask him about the filling.” I gave the man three choices. He studied them while I watched the seconds climb. Finally, he pointed to the beans.

4While Dad cooked, the man explained that his daughter usually ordered for him. She had moved away that week. “She wrote it down somewhere,” he said, searching his pockets. I stopped reaching for the next order slip. Dad set the wrap on the counter. “We can write it down again,” he said, handing me a pen.

5I copied the filling and sauce onto a clean card. The man read it twice, then tucked it carefully into his wallet. His shoulders lowered. I couldn’t tell whether he liked the food; he hadn’t tasted it yet. But he was no longer gripping the edge of the counter.

6The line behind him had grown. I expected someone to complain, but the next customer asked if she could have a card too. For the first time that afternoon, I noticed people leaning toward the window instead of merely waiting in a row. I tucked the stopwatch into my apron.

7At closing, Dad peeled my chart from the wall. “Keep it?” he asked. I nodded and added a fourth step beneath pickup: listen. Tomorrow I would still organize the slips. I just wouldn’t use the clock to decide whether we had served someone well.