Backtracker by Robert T. Jeschonek

assembler.
    " Three dozen ! " shouted Dave, throwing the rack of rolls into the oven, then tearing open another bag. " I ' m putting in three dozen , okay? You ' ll have enough rolls to last the rest of the night! "
    " Asshole ! " hissed the assembler, but then she quit harassing him. As Dave loaded up trays of rolls, he heard her smacking platters around, venting her hostility on the innocent dinners. He heard her drop something metallic on the floor, and then she cursed and clomped off into the dining room.
    Though he felt some small relief when the assembler departed, Dave was still riled, and he too started slamming things around. Fuming and flushed, he pitched another tray of rolls into the oven, then ripped open another bag and dumped its contents on the counter. When a third tray was full of rolls, he swept it into the oven and heaved the door shut. Scowling, grinding his teeth, he hunched and brooded, felt a great pressure building in his gut. Looking over his shoulder, he saw customers waiting in line, heads bobbing above the partition separating them from the cooking area; scanning the length of the partition, he saw that there was no end in sight, no end to the crowd clogging the steakhouse.
    Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he snapped his head around to see Billy standing beside him.
    " Hey, man, " Billy said soberly, a look of friendly concern on his face. " Take it easy, all right? "
    " Yeah, yeah, " sighed Dave, shaking his head.
    " Don ' t get so excited, okay ? " advised Billy. " You ' re gettin ' way too uptight, y ' know? "
    Dave released a long breath, then nodded slowly. " Yeah, I know, " he admitted, placing his hands on the counter, letting his head sag forward. " I ' m just having a really bad day, and this is starting to get to me. "
    " Hey, you ' ll have this, " said Billy, patting Dave on the back. " Life sucks and then you die, right? Just get through it, okay? "
    " Okay, " Dave said halfheartedly.
    " I mean it, " Billy said laughingly. " Hang in there, bud. "
    " Okay, " snorted Dave, actually managing a small grin.
    " Okay then, " said Billy. " Now get your ass movin ' and get me some more bakes, man. "
    For an instant, Billy flashed his mischievous grin in all its brilliance, his lean, merry face looking for all the world like that of a leprechaun. Then, he again whacked Dave on the back and returned to the broiler, spinning his tongs on one finger like a gunslinger twirling his six - shooter.
    A bit calmer after his friend ' s encouraging words, Dave resumed his work. Again pulling on the heavy mitts, he opened the top oven and slid out the lowermost rack of rolls. Though they were still quite pale, at least they were shaded with light brown, so they were passable. Removing the tray from the oven, he carried it to the assemblers ' station, then opened a drawer there and heaved the rolls into it. Just as he did so, Cindy Stasko, the girl who had pestered him about the rolls, came back from the dining room; without saying a word, she hustled to the drawer and started yanking out handfuls of the rolls, throwing them into plastic baskets for the customers.
    Glad that he'd pacified Cindy, at least for the moment, Dave headed back to the fry station.
    At that point, just as he was girding himself to weather the rest of the rush, he felt another hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Mr. Wyland, the executive manager.
    " Um, Dave ? " said Mr. Wyland, an unreadable expression on his round face. " Do you have a minute? "
    " Well, not really, " Dave said tentatively. " I ' m kind of busy right now. "
    " Well, I need to talk to you for a minute. What if I got someone to cover your station? " Though Fred Wyland was only in his late thirties, his hair was silver. Aside from the color of his hair, he really didn ' t look old; he was short and slightly pudgy, though he didn ' t have a great belly like Mr. Martin, and his general appearance was that of a man in his thirties. The silver hair seemed