Chapter Nine: Don't know what to call it

Regarding my hand, I was a bit upset at first, because my ring finger wouldn't bend at all and scary thoughts came that I would never be able to draw or play the guitar again... But about four days later, when I got tired of riding a bike with one hand, missing out at the beach, and just because I was fed up, I said 'to hell with it' and took the cast off my hand. Besides, going to job interviews with a cast on your hand is kind of weird. But the splint on the finger stayed for now.

At this very time, we discovered a new place packed with potential jobs - Barefoot Landing, which for some reason we found out about completely by accident (and unfortunately a bit too late - had we applied there as soon as we arrived, there wouldn't have been any problems...). It's a small town of one-story shops and restaurants, most of which stand on a small lake with lovely pedestrian bridges level with the water. We all liked this place immediately, and every day we went to besiege it in the hope that one shop would break under our pressure and hire us. And we were rewarded! Can you guess what this place turned out to be? :)

A restaurant dedicated to one of our favorite drinks... Root Beer!!!! We fell in love with this place from the first time. The coziness, the vintage interior, the vintage Root Beer advertising signs on the walls, the sweet lady manager, the free, delicious, natural soda (because it was made exclusively from their own natural syrups), the abundance of exotic ice cream, hot dogs made from natural(!) sausages, and much more consumed our minds. They needed a guy and a girl, as just a day ago they had fired some klutzes who couldn't behave properly at SUCH a job. We were assured. And, rejoicing that they would call us the next day, we headed home with a clear conscience.

And the next day (July 20th) was my Kiryusha's birthday. Sasha and I got up as early as possible and started 'cooking' him a cake. We dumped a pile of small donuts onto a huge plate, stuffed small and large marshmallows into the gaps, and poured Hershey's syrup all over it. When the main character started showing the first signs of waking up, I presented him with an almost real moon toy that hangs on the wall and at night, with the help of a small remote, can show such tricks as a full moon, a half-moon, a thin crescent, and other features that brought its owner into complete delight. Then we blindfolded the birthday boy and led him to the kitchen. There, a cake with sparklers, a card with Homer, and other little things were already waiting for him. It was Sunday, and in the morning, Grandma and I went to church. A bunch of people sang a birthday song there, and sweet grandmas pinched the birthday boy's cheeks. Then, as usual, we went to eat, and Grandma's friends Betty and Allin gave him a huge, colorful cake (too bad it wasn't very tasty). And at home, messages were already waiting for us on the answering machine from Lorna, the manager of the Root Beer place +) We were hired and start tomorrow.) At the morning interview, Lorna said that when she first saw us and invited us to work, she thought we were Americans..

There was already a cheerful girl named Caresse working there and a Russian girl named Oksana (we didn't like her much either because she looked at us the same way those people from Subway did, but to our joy, she only worked until 5, and we worked from five until the 12 o'clock closing). Our work consisted of pouring soda, making floats (soda with ice cream), milkshakes, smoothies, hot dogs, sandwiches, and wraps (this is an amazing delicacy of meat or fish with fresh vegetables, which are wrapped in a thin tortilla). At first, we had a hard time remembering the names and ingredients, but soon everything settled down. From six to ten, huge lines would form, we would run around like crazy, and with great speed and efficiency, we could prepare all the offered products at the same time. People would throw tips into the mug (for the three of us with Caresse, it sometimes came to $40, which is not a large sum, but compared to the $250 a week salary, $10 a day in tips helped us a lot), they were happy with us, and we ourselves were in seventh heaven. We ate deliciously, drank milkshakes, our favorite sodas, had fun with Caresse, and even got paid. The first half of the day was free, and until 5:30 we spent time on the beach, went shopping, bought expensive clothes, and started eating better. Sasha got a job at a huge hotel as a housekeeper; she earned more than us, but her work was many times harder than ours. The time of 100% enjoyment was passing.

We would come home from work at one in the morning, shake the tips out of our pockets, change clothes, and go to the beach. At night, the ocean is completely different, the sand is softly cold, there is a huge moon in the sky, casting a divinely beautiful path on the ocean all the way to the horizon. We would call our parents, who were in the middle of their day, tell them the news, ride the skimboard on the waves, sit on the high chairs (or I don't know what to call them) of the beach lifeguards, and look at our beloved ocean.