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I quietly asked James about Saturday night."James," I said."I saw you hanging out in the dining area last Saturday night. Do you always hang out at McNormal's on the Weekend?" "Sure. Where else?" I asked,"What about Burger Boy's?" "Burger Boy's? Are you serious?" James didn't seem too keen on the idea of hanging out at Burger Boy's. I asked,"Why? What's wrong with Burger Boy's" I wanted James' opinion of Burger Boy's for reference in case I decided to go there for employment. James gave a laugh,"Ha! They've got fidgets working at Burger Boy's." I guess I wasn't hip, I asked,"James, What's a fidget?" "Fidgets," James explained,"are those guys who tap their fingers on the table like Greta Garbo."

I tapped my fingers on the dressing table and made a drumming sound,"You mean like this?" James had a concerned look on his face, he looked at my hand with fingers tapping then he looked at my face. "Roscoe," James insisted,"if people see you drumming your fingers that way, they'll start rumors you're a fidget." "Oh? 'They' who?" It seemed 'they' were responsible for all kinds of trouble. I wanted to see if James knew who 'they' were so I could avoid them. James said, under his breath,"You know, 'they'." He stressed the word, 'they' with a tone of fear in his voice. I glanced from side to side and said,"Oh, yeah, 'they'." Since James seemed afraid of 'they', I changed the subject to keep his cooperation. My main concern was why I was attacked on Saturday night, after Midnight.

The burgers were complete and James slid the tray of completed product on top of the transfer station. "Burger's-up! Wrap-please!" he proudly announced. "Thank-you!" Came the call from the Cashier.

James started cleaning off the grill. He pushed the burger grease to the back of the grill and then pushed the grease into the grease trap.