There are some days when, no matter how much good you do, kids and adults with disabilities are out to get you – or so it seems.
Tree and I were so excited to volunteer at the hot dog cart for charity – we even picked out somewhat matching outfits and woke up early. Waking up early may not be a big deal for Tree, because he has “kids and a job,” but it is a big deal for me.
We arrived to find the hot dog cart strategically placed in between the store entrance and the handicap parking stalls and immediately started grilling and selling. Being that Tree has a food handler permit and loads of experience with meat and wieners, he was the grillmaster. I was in charge of marketing and financial transactions, primarily because I do not have a food handler permit.
I was doing my best to market, making friendly shoutouts to patrons, “Hot dogs and hamburgers,” Tree would follow up with, “Its for the kids.” He would then remind me, “Follow everything with ‘Its for the kids,’ it helps with sales.”
All of the money we made was being donated to a local children’s hospital and the prices were extremely low. $2 got you a hot dog, chips and drink. $3 got you a hamburger – with an option for cheese, chips and drink. Bitching got you nowhere.
A few minutes after making a ‘specialty’ burger – toasted buns, two well-cooked stacked patties with cheese – we received a complaint from management, “The burgers are burned.” “Maybe they should come and make them,” Tree replied. “It’s for the kids,” I added.
The handicap stall next to the grill had seen a lot of activity during our six-hour stint. Two Cadillacs, with placards hanging from their rear view mirrors, ran into each other and another senior patron pulled into the stall and hit a shopping cart so hard it flew several feet. All of the drivers were ornery – regardless of whether or not they hit something.
Tree was a bit cold in the shade, so he moved his grill into the sun. This location put him ever so slightly in the handicap stall. “Not so sure that this is a good move,” he told me and added, “These old people have been so cranky today.” Within minutes of this comment an elderly gentleman in a large truck pulled into the stall. As he walked into the store, oxygen tank in tow, he stopped to get all up in Tree’s grill about the location of his grill. “It will be moved by the time you return,” Tree assured him with great irritation. “It’s for the kids,” I reminded him.
Several women with a small child – who appeared to be sleeping while her grandmother held her – requested to purchase hot dogs and hamburgers. As I was gathering their chips and drinks, they were putting the little girl in the shopping cart. “Is she tired?” I asked. The grandmother curtly replied, “She has cerebral palsy.” I may not be bilingual, but I speak tone and easily translated her response, “Asshole.” As they walked away, Tree reminded me, “It’s for the kids.”
Pretty soon, the gentleman with the oxygen tank returned to his truck. Instead of getting in, he stopped just short of the passenger door, dead (or so it appeared) in his tracks, and hunched over his cart. “You should go check on him,” I advised Tree. “No way, he’s mean,” Tree quickly replied. “He’s probably stroking out.” “Well we can’t not check on him,” I said. “I’m going over.”
I approached him to find his eyes were open and he appeared to be breathing. “Sir, are you ok?” I asked. “Yes, just trying to catch my breath.” “OK, well, just let us know if you need help or anything.”
I returned to Tree with a full (of shit) report, “He is just trying to catch his breath. Apparently he is exhausted from having to yell at you about the parking space.” “Whatever,” said Tree and added, “It’s for the kids, not old people.”