Minimum Wage w. a Side of Fries
Mick, my executive producer, was very specific about his nighttime fix. The Jersey Goombas from Intake or one of the “Quota Hires” (the black guys—and my closest friends at the news channel—referred to themselves as such) back in Editing usually scored for him. I braved the trip across 6th Avenue, toward Rockefeller Center, once. God, the smell.
But, he had to have it. EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. Maybe that was why he had been fired from the CBS evening news—no one could put up with his habits, his grab bag of addictions, his wild mood swings. Well, there was that as well as rumors of compromising “pictures” on his computer’s hard drive…
Mick’s forehead and crown were as waxy and bald as the tuber that had been sliced and fried for his evening’s ration of fat and starch. Instead of a powdery white, calorie-inhibiting, expensive addiction like the others had, his was sun-drop yellow, fatty and cheap. No, no—now don’t go thinkin’ that your Belle went and procured blonde hookers from “Lace Gentleman’s Club” in Times Square for her producer (and the man that looked over her time cards). Instead, I had a much worse job—buying bags and bags of 2-hour old French fries from a Midtown, 24-hour McDonald’s. There’s nothing pretty about a fast-food restaurant in the middle of the night. The friers are set on idle, the air smells like burnt grease and the majority of the customers have just come from places like the aforementioned “Lace Gentleman’s Club” or last call at “Rosie O’Grady’s” or “Langan’s.”
I sat the McDonald’s bag next to his keyboard (not far from his belly) and watched the man go to town. He was a Grizzly bear attacking a Hefty Cinch Sac of gnawed spare ribs, used toilet paper and curled orange peels. Lord! Where had his Mamma been during the formative years? But, of course, no one seemed to notice. Business as usual. Only when I pulled out my brown bag of sugar snap peas and chicken salad did Mick or the other producers take note.
“Yo’ Mammy fix that fo ya’?” Mick would ask in a half-assed Massachusetts-by-way-of the-Mississippi-Delta accent. Naturally, he looked to my breasts, instead of my eyes, for an answer.
I eyed his fat middle and wandered when the bad cholesterol would kick in.
April 14th, 2006 at 1:09 pm
hahahaha, so did it kick in?
April 14th, 2006 at 6:52 pm
And youb had to go to New york to find this guy?…
April 14th, 2006 at 10:54 pm
you seem to associate fat with something intolerable in the way that nazis equated non-aryaness with impurity. go back to the south, cracker. your priorities and values are that of the pack of good germans who think in shape is somehow ‘’in control.'’
April 15th, 2006 at 12:09 am
um, don’t listen to snyde clyde, ok? people who have nothing better to do than say MEAN THINGS on other peoples blogs need to GET LIVES. and anyways how can he call YOU a prejudiced and then call you a “cracker”? RAWR. what a loser.
anyways what i was GOING TO SAY before i read that and it made me mad was that your executive producer sounded like a creepy, creepy weirdo, and that you are a good writer. i could totally smell the nasty old fries. gag.
luv,
rhj
p.s. if you ever come to my blog, could you put a pin in my guest map? that would be really really cool. but i mean, only if you want to.
April 15th, 2006 at 3:29 am
Ok, so lately I’ve been having these weird cravings for french fries and ranch. I dont know why, but I just do. However, after reading about someone else with that very obsession, my cravings are starting to fade. Ew.
April 15th, 2006 at 9:57 am
Snyde Clyde needs to look at the stats. Obesity is the number one health problem in the US. It’s a health crisis. And then he needs to shut the hell up.
Love your descriptions as always, Belle. You have a gift!
April 15th, 2006 at 1:11 pm
Snyde - your argument is completely fallacious. Nowhere does the author “seem to associate fat with something intolerable in a way that nazis equated non-aryness with impurity.” You make that association in your lame comment.
Being in shape can be a form of being in control.
You must be a fat pig.
April 15th, 2006 at 3:00 pm
A rose by any other name is still a rose. Clyde has to be Snyde, that’s his gig. It is a very lonely place to live, believing you are the judge and jury of the entire world and that only you and your perceptions are the standard for all.
Belle I really stopped by to wish you and yours a Happy Easter and joyful celebration of our Risen Savior! Have a beautiful day.
April 16th, 2006 at 1:58 pm
clyde sounds like tha kinda guy that tosed me in a chat room 4 sayin fag wen i was quoting back tha word somebody used on me n all i says was dun dis fags . now i know wot the epitomy of irony is. neways clyde , ur justa hole
April 17th, 2006 at 1:42 am
Snyde there is something intolerable with being fat. It means you are having more than your share when there are people dying from lack of basic food and being in shape ia one way of trying to control that
April 17th, 2006 at 5:00 am
If he he eats that many greasy fries on a regular basis:
he is one of those freaks of nature that will live to be 100.
OR
he’s due to have a massive coronary oh about any day now.
April 17th, 2006 at 9:48 am
Belle:
I truly enjoy your posts and the posts on Jamie and Belle. This post is very funny. It’s what most young women go through at one time or another. In the long view, you can laugh, but in the short term it can be very uncomfortable.
I don’t know whether this really happened to you or is the beginning of a story, but it is spot on in what someone would feel when faced with this annoyance.
Hope you had a good Easter!
Cat
April 17th, 2006 at 12:52 pm
for the first time ever I am nauseated by McDonald’s fries. Thank you for helping my diet.
April 17th, 2006 at 4:15 pm
I have only been reading your blog for a few months (since the article in the PNJ), but you have a way with words. I went to middle school with Jamie, and IB with you, so it’s nice to see people (two nice people, to boot!) from my hometown pursuing their dreams. It has encouraged me to pursue my dream. You have a real gift-can’t wait to read more.