World Famous Turkey Burgers
Do you remember the day, years ago, early in our time
together, we were driving around looking for a spot to have lunch? We saw a sign,
something like Bob’s Diner or Kathy’s Kitchen. Another mile was another sign,
then further on another, each more bold than before, and all bragging about “Famous Turkey
Burgers.”
We finally came to the restaurant itself – “Home of the Turkey Burger,” it said, over the door.
We both ordered the turkey burgers.
You spit yours into the napkin. I forced down a few bites.
Now what? we thought.
Fortunately my sport coat had large side pockets. Discretely we cut up the burgers, moved small chunks around on our plates, picked at the rolls, and intermittently, carefully slipped the small burger parts into the pocket.
Full disclosure: I believe we were unfair taste-test subjects. We doubtless anticipated a beef burger taste sensation and thus were turned off, Today (2019) I'm actually a fan of "Turkey Burgers, or even better, "Veggie Burgers."
After a tenable number of minutes while we diligently pretended to chew our lunch – rolls and water - we got up and walked to the register to pay. A young man/boy in a flannel shirt and pin-striped suit pants ambled over from behind the counter. He was carrying two cups of coffee, obviously intended for the [only] other customers, a young couple in a booth a few tables behind us.
It was obvious to me that those customers were somehow connected to the diner. The woman had papers spread on the table before her like she might be paying bills or doing night school homework. The dad, sitting sideways in the booth watched his two children playing a modified version of hopscotch on the floor tiles. Had to be diner family, I thought.
The cashier/waiter guy set the coffee on top of the case
next to the register.
“Take the coffee to your customers,” I said, “We’re in no
hurry.”
“You don’t mind?” the young man said.
“Not at all.”
As we waited, I noticed that on the top of the case, next to the cash register, there was a miniature roulette wheel. I speculated that perhaps the diner sold these, a side business of sorts, but looking below, inside the glass case, I saw only a half dozen loose packs of Juicy Fruit Gum, otherwise the selves were bare. No roulette wheels in stock.
My pity gene kicked in: pity for the owners of the diner, for the boy waiter / cashier (no customers = meager tip money), for the young
mother doing her homework, for the instigator of the Turkey Burger idea (they were probably good, just ahead of their time) and
anyone else that I thought was dependent on the diner’s success.
The cashier lad returned. He stepped behind the register and looked up at us. He seemed to pause as if he had forgotten something – perhaps cream for the coffee he’d just delivered – but he would now take care of us, he said.
“Spin the wheel,” he said pointing to the roulette wheel, “Land on ‘Jackpot’ and your dinner is on the house.”
No way was all I could think. I placed my hand on the roulette wheel, tempted, before spinning, to warn the young man about bad business practices – i.e. giving away the store, but I held back, figuring that landing on Jackpot was far-fetched. Me, who had never won anything.
You guessed it, I hit the jackpot.
I looked up at the cashier. He looked at me. “Your meal is free,” he said. There was sadness in his eyes, doubtless in our eyes as well.
“No, we’re paying for the meal,” I said in an I-won’t-take-no-for-an-answer tone, “Plus could you give me some singles for the tip?’ Then I added, “But that is a nice game, thanks for letting us play it, but I wouldn’t think of not paying. Oh ... and the turkey burgers were really great.”
I over tipped, leaving five singles on the table. “You tip like a gangster,” you said.
“They need the money,” I said and you agreed. On the trip home we talked about the diner, speculating who the owners were (had to be the
family doing homework and playing hop-scotch), who thought up the “Turkey
Burger” idea, who’s recipe it was and various other scenarios about the diner’s
family, and mostly the sad eyes of the cashier when we won at roulette.
“Do you think anyone ever won the free meal before?” you asked. We both decided that we were the first.
Then I said, “And you know that cashier guy went right into the kitchen immediately after we left and told the cook, "Another customer loved the Turkey Burgers."
“Yeah.”
“A shame.”
“Sad.”
“Yeah, but we were good Samaritans.”
“We were."
