I hate and love this place.
I hate the long line of people I have to serve,
filled with naggy mothers,
bleached, fried hair,
silicone bodies the color of bacon.
I hate the heavy ache in my feet,
sign of a long shift,
having to serve food to thankless patrons.
I hate how the juicy, salty burgers taste so good,
adding unwanted lumps and bumps.
Grease sizzling, popping in the air,
Sticking to your skin, permeating your hair.

And yet,

I love the sound of Denis's voice breaking through the blanket of shrieks,
telling me hello in his clipped English.
I love the sizzling of traitorous patties on the grill,
looking for love in someone's stomach.
I love the constant banter between Thomas and me.
I always let him win.
I love seeing the cute, scruffy arcade repairman as he comes to my register
waiting for me to offer a free icee.
He always pays for it anyway.

This place annoys me all the time,
the screams of children, the lack of tips, the way my skin peels off from my fingers,
an ugly result of having to wash my hands every 5 minutes.
And yet, I love it.
Every inch,
the good and the bad.
All of it.