Chapter 2......................................Joe Corn burns his,
I still am Joe Corn. Still, no man can replace meh. Cause I be the king of Chicken grilling. Sunday morning, working at The Chicken. I was in the kitchen, with my Uncle Bob who helped season the chicken. I looked out the little glassless window where I put the orders and saw Ma and Pa arguing with some fancy-looking lady. I leaned in and listened to what they were saying.
" He is only 8! How can he be man-handling uh steam blowin' hot scorching grill on his own?" The fancy lady said whipping her fox fur scarf in the air.
" He is doin' fine," said Ma giving the Fancy Lady her " No cookies at midnight" look.
" He's only 8! I bet this chicken is no good." The Fancy lady said eying my fresh batch of chicken on her table.
Pa sighed and said to the Fancy Lady something I couldn't hear. I leaned in a bit closer cause I'm dang Joe Corn and I can listen in to what ever I want. I leaned I bit closer and then, Hiisssss! The grill burned my hand. I yelped. All the customers looked at me. I quickly thought,
" Just dropped a spatula on my foot! No big deal!"
They went back to eating.
I looked at my hand. It was red and still steamy. I put it under the sink. Hissss. It started like that but after a while it got better. I put a Band-aid on it and began cooking chicken for some guy named Barry Tugly. I cooked the order and brought it to the guy. I looked at him. He had oily slicked back hair, almost balding. He wore a white man tank-top and gray gym shorts. His face was pudgy and fat. He was fat. His stomach flab bounced out of the shirt and made little wrinkles. I handed him his food. He grabbed the whole chicken and began crunching on it. His hands were even more greasy than the chicken. Pshh, Barry Tugly? More like Very Ugly.