Bobby ordered large fries and a Coke at McDonald’s and sat down in a booth near the register to watch. He was just waiting until the line cleared up, but with time it got longer and the girls behind the register looked stressed. Bobby scouted the place and couldn’t imagine himself in the brown-and-yellow uniform. He figured he could always change in the bathroom before he went home. The guys in the kitchen were sweating over the grill, one of the managers was yelling at them to move faster. The line was now a ten-minute wait. If it reached fifteen minutes, then the promotion said the customers would get 50 percent off their combo meal.

—Hurry up, the manager said, pushing them along, pulling out the cooked fries and putting them into a tray under the heat lamp and placing a new batch of frozen fries in the hot oil.

Bobby calculated the value of a combo meal. Was it really a value? If he bought a small Coke, large fries, and a cheeseburger, it would be about three-fourths of the price of the combo with the large Coke. And did he want that much more Coke anyway? Bobby added up all types of configurations, and at four dollars an hour, he would have to work one hour after taxes, for a combo. But if he worked there, he would never have to buy McDonald’s again. So he would save money because he ate there at least twice a week.

Time went by and Bobby didn’t notice that the employees had switched, from the breakfast/lunch shift to the dinner shift. He picked at his fries until they were cold and tasted like cardboard. The cola turned into sweet water. It was good to sit in the booth. He had time to shake off all that talk he had with his grandfather about a past he didn’t want to think about. He made eyes at a girl sitting across from him who was having lunch with her family. She smiled, exposing her braces.

Bobby looked over at the counter. It was now or never. Ask for the application and then walk away. Not a big deal. But he had a problem with asking for things. It was what got him in trouble at school. If he didn’t understand, he didn’t ask. To ask was admitting he wasn’t listening. But sometimes he was listening and still didn’t understand. But this wasn’t school. There was a FOR HIRE sign. He had a pen in his pocket. He could fill out the application and leave it with the manager and then wait for them to call him. But what if they didn’t call? What kind of a loser would he be? His mother would tell all her friends. Soon his friends would tease him that even McD’s had rejected his ass. All the girls from the block would see the big L on his forehead. Bobby decided he wouldn’t tell his mother he’d applied. Besides, he didn’t want the job, so it didn’t matter either way. Bobby walked over to the counter. The traffic was dying down. It was an hour of transition. If he waited any longer, it would get busy again with the dinner crowd.