Arturo doesn’t like Sundays.
“They’re too slow,” he said. “I’m looking for some action.”
He stood behind the counter at a diner on Church Street in Manhattan. A huge mound of chopped potatoes was pushed to the corner of the grill. Egg cartons were stacked to the right and on the other side were loafs of bread and bags of rolls and sliced bagels.
The containers of bacon, ham and cheese were still in the cooler because there was no business.
“I’d be hammering out orders if this was Monday,” Arturo said. “It’s nonstop all morning and then you barely have time to get ready for the lunch crowd.”
Arturo shook his head.
“The day goes by faster when it’s busy,” he said.
Arturo got his wish when a man walked in from a construction site over on West Broadway.
The man dug a scrap of paper from his pocket and rattled off the order:
“Six egg and cheese sandwiches on rolls. Four ham, egg and cheese sandwiches on rolls. Ten orders of home fries. One ham and cheese omelet with wheat toast and one feta cheese omelet with rye toast. Also, one toasted bagel with cream cheese.”
The man checked over the list and continued:
“I need a dozen coffees total. Seven regulars with sugar. Two regulars with no sugar. One black with sugar and two blacks with no sugar. I need a small orange juice, too.
“Everything is to go,” the man added. “Got all that?”
“No problem,” Arturo said with a smile.
He spun his Yankee cap around, pulled on a make-believe catchers mask and slapped a fist into his open palm.
“I’ve been waiting for this order all morning,” Arturo said. “I’m ready to knock it out of here.”