Lawrence Watt-Evans - Why I left Harry's All night Hamburger

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Why I Left Harry's All-Night Hamburgers

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

Harry's was a nice place -- probably still is. I haven't been back lately. It's a couple of miles off I-79, a

few exits north of Charleston, near a place called Sutton. Used to do a pretty fair business until they

finished building the Interstate out from Charleston and made it worthwhile for some fast-food joints to

move in right next to the cloverleaf; nobody wanted to drive the extra miles to Harry's after that. Folks

used to wonder how old Harry stayed in business, as a matter of fact, but he did all right even without the

Interstate trade. I found that out when I worked there.

Why did I work there, instead of at one of the fast-food joints? Because my folks lived in a little house

just around the corner from Harry's, out in the middle of nowhere -- not in Sutton itself, just out there on

the road. Wasn't anything around except our house and Harry's place. He lived out back of his

restaurant. That was about the only thing I could walk to in under an hour, and I didn't have a car.

This was when I was sixteen. I needed a job, because my dad was out of work again and if I was gonna

do anything I needed my own money. Mom didn't mind my using her car -- so long as it came back with

a full tank of gas and I didn't keep it too long. That was the rule. So I needed some work, and Harry's

All-Night Hamburgers was the only thing within walking distance. Harry said he had all the help he

needed -- two cooks and two people working the counter, besides himself. The others worked days,

two to a shift, and Harry did the late night stretch all by himself. I hung out there a little, since I didn't have

anywhere else, and it looked like pretty easy work -- there was hardly any business, and those guys

mostly sat around telling dirty jokes. So I figured it was perfect.

Harry, though, said that he didn't need any help.

I figured that was probably true, but I wasn't going to let logic keep me out of driving my mother's car. I

did some serious begging, and after I'd made his life miserable for a week or two Harry said he'd take a

chance and give me a shot, working the graveyard shift, midnight to eight A.M., as his counterman,

busboy, and janitor all in one.

I talked him down to 7:30, so I could still get to school, and we had us a deal. I didn't care about school

so much myself, but my parents wanted me to go, and it was a good place to see my friends, y'know?

Meet girls and so on.

So I started working at Harry's, nights. I showed up at midnight the first night, and Harry gave me an

apron and a little hat, like something from a diner in an old movie, same as he wore himself. I was

supposed to wait tables and clean up, not cook, so I don't know why he wanted me to wear them, but

he gave them to me, and I needed the bucks, so I put them on and pretended I didn't notice that the

apron was all stiff with grease and smelled like something nasty had died on it a few weeks back. And

Harry -- he's a funny old guy, always looked fiftyish, as far back as I can remember. Never young, but

never getting really old, either, y'know? Some people do that, they just seem to go on forever. Anyway,

he showed me where everything was in the kitchen and back room, told me to keep busy cleaning up

whatever looked like it wanted cleaning, and told me, over and over again, like he was really worried that

I was going to cause trouble, "Don't bother the customers. Just take their orders, bring them their food,

"Sure," I said, "I got it."

"Good," he said, "We get some funny guys in here at night, but they're good customers, most of them, so

don't you screw up with anyone. One customer complains, one customer stiffs you for the check, and

you're out of work, you got that?"

"Sure," I said, though I've gotta admit I was wondering what to do if some cheapskate skipped without

paying. I tried to figure how much of a meal would be worth paying for in order to keep the job, but with

taxes and all it got too tricky for me to work out, and I decided to wait until the time came, if it ever did.

Then Harry went back in the kitchen, and I got a broom and swept up out front a little until a couple of

truckers came in and ordered burgers and coffee.

I was pretty awkward at first, but I got the hang of it after a little bit. Guys would come in, women, too,

one or two at a time, and they'd order something, and Harry'd have it ready faster than you can say

"cheese", practically, and they'd eat it, and wipe their mouths, and go use the john, and drive off, and

none of them said a damn thing to me except their orders, and I didn't say anything back except "Yes,

sir," or "Yes, ma'am," or "Thank you, come again." I figured they were all just truckers who didn't like the

fast-food places.

That was what it was like at first, anyway, from midnight to about one, one-thirty, but then things would

slow down. Even the truckers were off the roads by then, I guess, or they didn't want to get that far off

the Interstate, or they'd all had lunch, or something. Anyway, by about two that first night I was thinking it

was pretty clear why Harry didn't think he needed help on this shift, when the door opened and the little

bell rang.

I jumped a bit; that bell startled me, and I turned around, but then I turned back to look at Harry, 'cause

I'd seen him out of the corner of my eye, y'know, and he'd got this worried look on his face, and _he_

was watching _me_; he wasn't looking at the customer at all.

About then I realized that the reason the bell had startled me was that I hadn't heard anyone drive up,

and who the hell was going to be out walking to Harry's place at two in the morning in the West Virginia

mountains? The way Harry was looking at me, I knew this must be one of those special customers he

didn't want me to scare away.

So I turned around, and there was this short little guy in a really heavy coat, all zipped up, made of that

shiny silver fabric you see race-car drivers wear in the cigarette ads, you know? And he had on padded

ski pants of the same stuff, with pockets all over the place, and he was just putting down a hood, and he

had on big thick goggles like he'd been out in a blizzard, but it was April and there hadn't been any snow

in weeks and it was about fifty, sixty degrees out.

Well, I didn't want to blow it, so I pretended I didn't notice, I just said, "Hello, sir; may I take your

order?"

He looked at me funny and said, "I suppose so."

"Would you like to see a menu?" I said, trying to be on my best behavior -- hell, I was probably

overdoing it; I'd let the truckers find their own menus.

"I suppose so," he said again, and I handed him the menu.

He looked it over, pointed to a picture of a cheeseburger that looked about as much like anything from

Harry's grill as Sly Stallone looks like me, and I wrote it down and passed the slip back to Harry, and he

hissed at me, "Don't bother the guy!"

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摘要：

WhyILeftHarry'sAll-NightHamburgersbyLawrenceWatt-Evans_"WhyILeftHarry'sAll-NightHamburgers"iscopyright1987byLawrenceWattEvans,andfirstappearedinISAACASIMOV'SSCIENCEFICTIONMAGAZINE,July1987.Allrightsreserved._Harry'swasaniceplace--probablystillis.Ihaven'tbeenbacklately.It'sacoupleofmilesoffI-79,afewe...

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