Custard clings in a speckled stripe across my blue collared shirt and sleeves. Each strand of my hair, held back in a ponytail, pulls tightly on my scalp. The smell of burgers and grease is permanently sewn into every seam of my clothes.

“Again, Natalie?” my coworker laughs, “Why is it only you?” 

“What? What is it?” 

“Your arm.” 

I twist my arm and find a streak of chocolate sauce sticking to my skin just below my elbow. Checking for more, I look down and find another on my knee, somehow, and the top of my white socks. 

“ I don’t know… I’ve just accepted it at this point —”

“Oh come on, really? It’s 8:45. GO HOME,” another coworker shakes her head and rolls her eyes from behind the grill.

Headlights flood the dining room as a car pulls into the parking lot, coming to a stop. The lights shut off.

Ugh.

A family of two young children and their parents tumbles out, swinging their interlocked hands and laughing, neon lights illuminating their expressions. I feel a tinge of guilt. 

I should be nicer, my family would do the same.

I saunter toward the register, standing straighter as the family parades closer to the door. The children rush in, their dad holding the door as their mom shepherds them toward the counter. She leans down to their level and points to the list of toppings and flavors, reminding them that they can pick one—ONE—topping. 

“Hello,” drawing out the “e”, the dad greets me first, “how’s it going?” 

“ Hi, pretty good! It’s been very busy,” I smile, hoping it doesn’t look fake. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” he smiles back, then looks at his wife and kids.

The children had obviously lost interest. They were drifting, looking at the murals on the walls and shaking the gumball machine as if one might decide to spiral down on its own. The woman stands back up and joins her husband in front of me, linking their arms together. 

“What can I get for you?” 

They place their custard order, the computer beeping as I press the buttons labeled “sprinkles” and “gummy bears”. The kids are standing and stomping in one of the booths. I catch a glimpse of one of them knocking over a salt shaker. I hold back a laugh as they freeze and look at their parents, quietly flipping the shaker right-side-up. 

It’s fine...I had to clean the tables anyway.

I hand out their desserts and the family leaves, thanking me as they make their way out. The boy and girl stroll out the door, entranced by their custard dishes.

“Have a good night!” 

 A breeze of summer air wafts through the dining room as the door swings shut. Yellow light paints the walls as the car backs out. The laughing, loving family once again hidden behind tinted windows and bright headlights.