Fry Cook
While eating at his favourite restaurant, the fry joint Fry And Fry Again, Marvin was not wholly impressed with his deep-fried steak. It was tougher than usual, and chewier, even by the restaurant’s standards. On closer inspection he discovered that he was actually eating a deep-fried sneaker. Disgusted and outraged, he demanded to see the cook.
“This, sir, is unacceptable,” he said, holding the sneaker up by the shoelace. “I ordered wagyu beef, and this isn’t even fit for a dog.”
The cook stood in front of Marvin, his arms crossed, a nonchalant expression on his face. “Are you done? I have a back log of frying to do,” he replied casually.
“Did you hear what I just said?” asked Marvin, raising his voice. “Don’t you stand by your food?”
The cook pressed his fists on the table and leaned in towards Marvin so that their noses were almost touching. “You think you could do any better?” he snarled.
Marvin threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, frying a sneaker?” he called out loudly, looking around to make sure the other patrons took notice. “Yeah, I think I can do a whole lot better than that!”
“Fine!” said the cook, tearing off his apron. “I quit! You can be the fry cook for all I care. You won’t last a week, I guarantee it!” The cook threw his apron at Marvin and, taking the deep-fried sneaker in one hand, kicked the door open and left the restaurant.
But Marvin did last a week. In fact, he worked as the fry cook for thirteen months. One night, a waiter came into the kitchen and informed Marvin that a patron wished to speak to him. This was not unusual, as many patrons liked to express their compliments to him in person. The waiter led him to a table where a disheveled man sat, hunched over a plate of half-eaten filet mignon frit.
“Good evening, sir,” Marvin said politely. “I trust that everything is to your satisfaction?”
“Satisfaction,” replied the man, looking down at his plate. “I haven’t tasted satisfaction in oh, so long.”
“If sir is displeased, then perhaps I could make him something more to his liking?”
The man did not speak. Marvin began to feel awkward, but he remained calm. Looking at the man’s feet under the table, he noticed that he was wearing only one sneaker. Slowly, the man bent down and untied his shoelace. Removing the sneaker, he placed it gently on the table and looked up at Marvin. Marvin looked at the sneaker, then at the man and said, “Certainly, sir.” Taking the sneaker, Marvin walked towards the kitchen. He stopped and, turning towards the man, he asked, “And how would sir like his, er, espadrille?” But the man was gone. Marvin paused for a moment, then went back into the kitchen and continued frying.
The next day, when the manager arrived at the restaurant, Marvin was nowhere to be found. He called out his name but there was no reply. He entered the kitchen and saw Marvin’s apron on the counter, neatly folded, with the sneaker on top. Below the apron, written in oil, was the word satisfaction. Neither Marvin nor the former cook ever returned to the restaurant again.
