“There was nothing that I, or anybody else, saw that indicated Sweden would launch their own fish tacos in 11 days.”
What makes a General? The stars on the shoulder? The polyester uniform? Efficient and fast service? Endless orders? A well ordered staff?
No, none of that. War makes a General.
Sweden never guessed.
Sweden never guessed it was at war with Taco Taco in downtown Dysmal Nitch. The General Manager worked with his crew on a very typical Tuesday opening and while Dyna unlocked the till and topped off the cash drawer he laid out his grievance and formulated a plan.
It was savage.
“We’re going to put a ring of steel around this Taco Taco and the ‘Nazis’ aren’t getting in.”
It was 9:00am nobody had digested their coffee yet, the young people and the older were doing the same jobs they did every single morning before opening. It was quiet. A cricket chirped hidden away in a corner. A broom swished along tile floor.
“Swedish Tacos? This is a Reichstag moment, the gospel of the Führer!” The General paced back and forth topping off each paper napkin dispenser, making sure the ketchup was full, unlocking the doors.
“We’re at war with flu, we’re at war with terrorists and we are at war with the drug cartels as well, but above all else: we’re at war with Swedish Tacos!”
The kitchen crew banged a few pots and were prepping for the day in their typical composed and relaxed manner. Tomatoes, Onions and Cilantro were chopped, boxes of lettuce were arriving and going into the walk-in cooler, the back door was propped open with an aged cracked brick and a cool ocean breeze was coming in bringing in smells of the alley and salt. The cook had his bicycle parked under the eve and a dish of dry cat food had been put out for the strays. Inside the flat screen television set was turned off in the corner, coated in dust.
To be a General was a heavy burden.
“Typical military planning, I’m going to assume worst case – that Sweden may have figured us out – and that there will be some readiness impact to Taco Taco in some capacity, i’m just not at a place right now where I can give you an accurate description of what that’s going to look like, we might have to eventually go with a Halibut Taco or even the spicy Rock Fish Taco to keep up.”
The General had the squarest jaw. The most baritone of voices. An immaculate uniform fresh from the dryer.
The days taco meat had not been set out to defrost by the evening shift as it should have been, that was going to put Taco Taco behind. He would have to rapid response defrost it and that was a pain in the ass. “The group responsible will be held accountable appropriately.” The General said gravely. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Latoya…
“We always maintain very high levels of readiness, ground beef: not defrosted.” – General Manager.
The General grabbed cleaner and a rag out of the rag bucket and started wiping down the television leaving noticeable streaks.
“If three or four years go by and you lack training, you lack money, you lack equipment, you lack a fryer and most importantly you lack a competent, capable, committed leadership, then you can certainly understand why that evening shift at Taco Taco fell apart.”
The General placed one page paper menus on the tables and at booths.
“We would have been culpably negligent to the American people had we not made the decision we made. That’s why we had to add the fish taco to the weekend menu. In no way were we trying to so call ‘rip-off’ Sweden and we counter any accusations of that to the fullest extent.”
Finally it was time to open. It was a sunny day for once, the sun poked through the windows showering the interior with dust mote decorated rays that made the place look as if it never been host to a crowd. The smell of food was starting to waft through as they prepared to open at 10:45 am to serve lunch.
“On the equipment, we obviously have capabilities: warmer, ovens, even a microwave. I believe we’re ahead in the Taco game against Sweden, but I’d prefer not to discuss any operations other than what we’re doing right now in order to get our lunch service out and get that complete, and then there’ll be another time when we can discuss future operations.”
“I don’t think the end game is yet written.“
to be cont.
