By Patricia Backora

The following is a chapter which will be included in my religious Comedy Under Construction, Brother Bobcat’s Barf Burgers.

Pastor Fester Bobcat is on one of his many quality control visits at his new church-owned business, Blessing Burgers. The more Fester tries to help, the greater the chaos, the louder he yells, and the more his employees screw up.

* * * * * *

Brother Bobcat, despite his status as a celebrity preacher, honored a long-standing tradition in fast food: All staff, whatever their rank, from senior management on down, were on a first name basis. He might be Brother Bobcat at church, but at Blessing Burgers he was just plain old Fester. The drive-thru was busy that Saturday afternoon, and the garbled speaker system, salvaged from some junkyard, only made things worse for poor Rosita, who had to juggle orders and payments from several cars at the same time. “Would you speak louder, sir?” she called through her crackling headphone.

The cross woman on the speaker hated waiting behind crawling cars. It was 108˚ outside, her kids were screaming and her nerves were frayed. “I said I wanted eight Steeple Stacks with…” Then Rosita thought she heard the woman say “lots of onions”. But her lazy Texas drawl really said: “nothin on ‘em”. When she appeared at the window to collect her order, she growled at Rosita: “What’sa idea, callin’ me ‘sir’? You stupid or somethin’?” Rosita couldn’t stand cranky customers. But she forced a smile, handed out two trays of drinks and two big bags, collected the cash and said, “Thank you, ma’am, and God bless you.”

Due to Fester’s inept management, Carlos and Rayburn were both on break at the same time. They’d snuck away to eat their food by the old drainage canal bordering the restaurant’s parking lot. They were glad to get away from Fester, even if for only half an hour. Rayburn flung a chunk of his Bible Belt Buster at a scrappy old duck who squawked, splashed and pecked at the other ducks, and hogged it all. “Sounds like Fester, doesn’t he, Rayburn?” observed Carlos. “Every time he comes around, I get an earache.” Rayburn nodded. “And this stuff gives me a stomach ache! Hey, we got at least 20 minutes left. Wanna go over to Bellisimo’s and get a pizza slice? My treat.” Carlos wasn’t sure. “I dunno. If we get back late, Fester’ll eat us alive.” “C’mon,” Rayburn tempted, “that old tub of lard can’t catch us.” Carlos cackled. “Rayburn, what a mean thing to say about our beloved pastor.” Laughing, they both flung their lunch into the canal for the ducks to fight over.

While the guys gobbled pizza, Rosita got panicky. She had to communicate with drive-thru customers via her headphone and prepare her own orders because Evita, whose stomach was queasy, had made a beeline for the bathroom. Lynx wouldn’t be in till later. Fester covered front line sandwiches and Craig’s register at the same time. Craig was outside unloading meat for this unexpected 3 o’clock rush. Fester knew Craig couldn’t just leave the refrigerated truck unattended in this terrible heat. Fester didn’t pay the driver to unload or guard the shipment, just deliver it. Fester’s crew had to do all the unloading. The truck driver had other places to go. Still looking wan and weak, Evita rushed back to the front line, unsure of which cashier to make sandwiches for first. “I just got one customer, so go help her out!” Bobcat barked. “Can’t ya see the drive-thru’s backed up for 50 miles?” He hurried to make some lady’s order, then returned to hand her the bags.

“Oh, what an honor to eat a hamburger made by my favorite preacher!” Fester’s blond customer gushed as she lingered at the counter with moonstruck eyes. Fester grinned. He said, “Wait here just a minute. I’ve got a surprise for you.” He hurried over to the meat fryer, yanked two extra patties out of the grimy grease, and went to work. He added melted Jack Cheese, jalapeño relish, avocadoes, pickles, a special sauce and Onion Haloes, stacked high on a toasted sesame bun. Carefully he wrapped and bagged the sandwich, then handed it to her. “Something extra just for you, ma’am, to make your sick daddy feel all better. This here’s our new Green Pastures Burger.” “I’d be happy to try it, thanks,” the lady giggled. “What kind of sauce did you put on it?” “Our special Green Pasture Sauce. There’s green tomatoes, green chilis, cilantro, and lots of secret ingredients in it. Hope y’all like it.” “Oh, I’m sure it’s wonderful!” the woman gushed. “My, what a fine example you’re setting for all these hard-working young people! Most preachers can’t even boil water! How smart you are! God bless you, Brother Bobcat!” Brother Bobcat wasn’t used to such flowery flattery, except in church or some TV studio. Good thing Donelle wasn’t around. He stood at the counter transfixed, lost in his own delightful little world. While the gorgeous gal lingered at the quiet counter yakking, the big Bobcat lapped up her creamy compliments. He hoped nobody else would show up for counter service. Meanwhile, Evita struggled to make all eight burgers for the congested drive-thru and scoop up eight orders of wilted Faith Fries and three orders of Onion Haloes. Since the “fry guys” were still on break, Evita rushed to finish frying all the meat patties she needed for the car at the window. The stale air reeked. Fatty fumes rose from several vats of cottonseed oil bubbling in rusty old fryers with broken thermostats. The grease had a greenish black tinge to it, with black bits floating around. Craig wasn’t allowed to change it just yet because Fester insisted it was still “perfectly good”. All cooking grease at Blessing burgers had to be used over and over again. To save time, it was seldom filtered to save time. By reusing the grease till it turned to sludge, Fester could cut his inventory costs and send some of his help home earlier. Cooking oil must not be changed till it was too broken down to fry food to a crisp golden brown. Evita wished she didn’t have to bend over those hellishly hot fryers when Carlos and Rayburn took their break. No matter how many showers she took, it was hard to get that gross grease out of her skin and hair. Just working around it all day long broke her skin out in a rash. Sweat beaded on Evita’s forehead. She wished Fester would allow Craig to turn up the air conditioning instead of depending on those rickety old ceiling fans. No cool, refreshing air ever reached the

workers unless they had to get something from the walk-in fridge or freezer. Stress stewed inside worn-out workers who struggled to stay Christlike in this cantankerous heat. Even the customers sometimes complained about how hot and humid the dining room felt. Maybe that was Fester’s way of preparing people for his Horrors of Hell Teaching Series, Evita thought. Undulating heat waves danced like devils on the dirty grease. The acrid smoke assaulted Evita’s nostrils and toasted her face, neck and arms. Her T-shirt was wringing wet. She coughed and hoped she could sneak a drink to settle her stomach when Fester wasn’t looking. No time for that yet. Evita worried there wouldn’t be enough fries and Onion Haloes. She knew it would take three long minutes to make more. Fester might get mad if the customers had to wait too long and the customer convoy circled all the way around the restaurant and way out in the street. The cops would complain about stalled traffic on Bowie Blvd. Fester, who wanted his business to be a shining light pointing people to his church, wouldn’t like that. He would blame his harried workers for failure to get the orders out fast enough. It was a gamble. If Evita miscalculated the amount of fries needed for the approaching customers, she’d be left with a huge heap of withering ones waiting for orders. She glanced at Fester. He was so busy trying to impress that blond he’d get mad if she interrupted him instead of using her own judgment. Taking a deep breath, Evita yanked a couple bags of Faith Fries from underneath the four potato fryers. She filled all of them, then dunked them in the boiling fat. Despite the incessant drive-thru speaker beeping, the preacher was still deep in conversation with the blond. Then a shrill shriek over the speaker brought him back down to earth. Like an avenging angel the crabby customer was back. She glared at Rosita and groused, “I thought I told you stupid people ten times I wanted eight steeple stacks with nothing on ‘em. You gave me everything with extra onion!” Fester was fed up with things going wrong. He frowned darkly at Rosita and Evita. He was about to tongue-lash them when the woman in the car spotted him and demanded her cash back on the double. She shoved all her purchases back in through the window. “Ya might as well keep this stuff,” Fester shrugged, his mouth turned down disdainfully. “We don’t do refunds here.” “Your fries taste like axle grease and they’re all shriveled up!” “And your Coke tastes like horse p**!” her eight-year-old piped up. The woman reached over the back seat, waved her hand and yelled, “Shut up, Hud! Show some manners!” “I know a good way to shut Hud up and learn him how to behave!” Fester growled.

“That’s none of your business,” the woman hissed. “My money, please. ALL of it!” “Fester checked her receipt. No, I ain’t gonna give you $55.20 back. That money goes to my church missionary fund, and if you took it back you’d be robbin’ God.” “That’s what all you preachers do!” the woman yelled. “Drag God into it when you steal from people! Now you see here, Reverend Redneck, I’ll go straight to the Better Business Bureau if you don’t refund my money…NOW!” “We don’t allow no communist government subversives around here!” Fester retorted. “This is a church-owned ministry to employ jobless people, not some secular business!” Deafening honks and beeps broke out. Fester turned the drive-thru speaker off so the lady could hear him better. She persisted. “Gimme my money now, buster, or there’ll be trouble!” “No way!” Fester yelled back. “Once you pay for a product here, it’s classified by law as a faith-based charitable donation, and it’s non-refundable! That’s what our business permit states in Article 594, Section 789-ZZR, subsection 33-PQ48Z! And any fool knows, once money falls into a preacher’s hands, you ain’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of ever gittin’ it back! God don’t like Indian givers!” “I want my money!” “NO! It’s MY money!” “I’ll SUE you!” “Over a few stinkin’ hamburgers?” Fester sneered. “You just try it, lady! The burden of proof’s on you to prove my food ain’t no good! My lawyers’ll eat you for breakfast and spit you out! Hey, B.J.! J.B.!” The Two Suits approached the window. The woman noticed two towering stiffs wearing black suits with gold badges. Wordlessly they frowned down at her through black sunglasses. She shrieked. She banged on her horn several times and snapped, “I thought your preaching was atrocious till I saw what a c----y rip-off joint you run here!” Fester blew his cool. “Now you see here, you wicked witch! This place ain’t half so…uh…crummy! as where you’re goin’ after you die, and if I had my way, you’d already be down there shovelin’ coal! She drove off in a cloud of indignant dust, her tires screeching on the blistering pavement. Fester crammed a few fries in his mouth and sighed in ecstasy. He snorted, “Them fries taste great, but how in Sam Hill did you girls ruin eight burgers?” “But Brother Fester!” Rosita protested. “That woman couldn’t talk plain and there’s something wrong with the speaker.” Fester flung both sacks in the trash. He told the girls he was going outside a second to check and see if Craig was coming back to relieve him. Fester was all tuckered out. He wanted to head on home.

Once he and the Two Suits stepped out the side exit, Evita looked furtively in every direction and retrieved the burgers from the trash. She crept toward the back room to stash them with her stuff. But before she could turn the corner to go to the coat rack, the rear doors flew open. “GOTCHA!” Bobcat barked. “Takin’ advantage of a hard-workin’ Christian businessman! What’re you doin’ with that grub, Evita?” “Gonna take it home for my kids’ supper,” Evita mumbled. “Where’d ya git it?” She looked down, red-faced. “I…I…” “I said, WHERE’D YA GIT IT?” Fester stared her down, hands on his mountainous hips. “I got ‘em out of the trash. You didn’t want ‘em anyway.” He swiped the bags out of her hands. “I’m the one who threw that garbage in the trash! I didn’t give you permission to take ‘em out, so why’d you do it, girl?” “But Fester,” she wailed, “you threw it out ‘cause Rosita told me to add extra onion to those burgers, so that’s what I did, but they wanted ‘em plain! So what’s the difference? The garbage man would’a got ‘em anyway.” Fester’s nostrils flared. “If I’d wanted you to have them burgers, I would’a said, ‘Here, Evita, take ‘em home’. Now if I put something in the trash I intend for it to stay there! That’s instubbordination! You little devil! I bet you loused that order up just so you could dig ‘em outa the trash for yourself!” Evita’s face flushed. She trembled, struggled for breath. Somebody needed to teach that crabby old bully he couldn’t treat poor minimum wage workers like trash. Deeply wounded, Evita snapped back, “Yeah, right! I loused up that order so that bitchy woman would give me hell! If I didn’t need this job so much…” “Sure you need this job!” Fester flared up. “Everybody who ain’t got money needs this job! But do I need garbage thieves workin’ at Blessing Burgers? How in blazes can I be sure you won’t try something worse behind my back tomorrow? Today it’s the trash, tomorrow the cash register! If your kids wanna eat, let ‘em come here and wipe tables or haul out the trash, then they can eat all they want! The ministry of Blessing Burgers is to give folks a hand up, not a hand out! No food leaves these premises unless it’s paid for!” The lights went on in Evita’s brainwashed brain. “Jesus wouldn’t stop nobody from getting their kids food out of the trash! He’d give me food for my kids so they don’t have to go to bed hungry! And ain’t He the same guy who said for you not to be a hanging judge?” Fester’s stomach knotted up in visceral rage. How dare this saucy Latina gal sass him when he was doing her a favor by even allowing her to work for such an important preacher as himself!

“Well,” Fester sputtered, “I ain’t Jesus, and Jesus ain’t the boss here, it’s me!” “Aha!” Evita cried. “Ain’t you the same preacher who told everybody to make Jesus the Lord of their life? Why ain’t He the Lord of Blessing Burgers? Yeah, you said a mouthful, preacher. You sure as hell ain’t Jesus, and if He was anything like you I’d rather go there!” Fester exploded: “Well, go to hell and see if I care! I don’t feel sorry for ya. STARVE! Git out and stay out!” He kicked a waste can into a stainless steel rack so hard, a case of pinto bean granules tumbled to the floor. “Now look what ya made me do!” Bobcat barked. “Pick ‘em up!” Evita backed away a few steps but stood her ground and yelled back: “You’re ten times bigger’n me, but I ain’t scared of you and your goons! You can pick that s*** up yourself!” Fester shook all over. He unbuckled his belt and yelled, “You just proved you ain’t no Christian! You’re fired!” “You can’t fire me from this lousy job!” Evita yelled. “You big fat bully! I quit!” Fester slid his 62-inch belt off his bulging waistline. He folded it and waved it around his head. His beady eyes were so focused on Evita’s outraged face that he stumbled when she kicked the trash can back at him. One of Fester’s Suits rushed to the rescue. “Cool it, boss,” the man said, steadying Fester and lightly touching his Rolexed wrist. “It wouldn’t look too good for your PR if folks found out about this.” “Back off, preacher!” Evita hissed, knotting her tiny fist and slowly backing toward the rear door. “I’ve got two great big brothers so you better not try and hit me!” It hurt to be humiliated like that in front of his own bodyguards. He yelled back, “Yeah, I bet you got a hundred relatives livin’ in the same tarpaper shack!” “At least I’ve got a big family that loves me and looks out for me!” she retorted. “Nobody loves you! They’re too scared of you!” Touché. Fester felt like crying, though that wouldn’t be too macho. Stung by a poor gal who was big as nothing. “Git lost!” he sputtered. “This economical concussion is gonna git a heckuva lot worse, and when it does, you’ll miss the free food here!” “I wouldn’t feed my kids that hog slop if you got on your knees and begged me to!” Evita cried. “All your food is garbage! I hate your fancy church too! I’m going on Food Stamps till I get a decent job!” “Fool stamps!” Fester yelled back. “I started this business to help welfare moochers like you stop suckin’ offa that Devilcrat government’s tits and this is the thanks I get!” “You started this dump to make you look good on TV so more morons would in send more money!”

Bobcat struggled to free himself from the restraining arms of his Two Suits, who had to protect their boss from himself. Evita’s heart pounded. She couldn’t believe she’d stood up to that scary guy. As she turned to dart out the door, she felt something splat against her back as someone shouted, “Stop, boss! Somebody might trip over that burger patty and sue this place!” Evita didn’t want to make that big blowhard even madder, so she hurried home crying, rushing past a bewildered Craig, who was outside unloading the last of the meat patties and other supplies. Meanwhile, Rosita shuffled shriveled fries under the glaring heat lamp. Rayburn, fresh off his break, clocked back in before Fester returned to the front line. He hurried to clean the men’s room, in case Fester or his Suits wanted to use it before leaving. Carlos, also back on duty, wiped the drive-thru window and drink dispenser. Fester was in an unusually mean mood so they’d better look busy. “Good riddance!” Fester grumbled, when they were nearly done with the rush. Followed by his Suits, he strode straight over to the fryers Evita had just gotten fired from. He let out a roar that could wake the dead. “ROSITA! Why’d ya’ll make all them fries, and who’s a-gonna eat ‘em?” Timidly Rosita replied, “I didn’t make ‘em, Fester. It was Evita.” “Well, ya could’a stopped ‘er if you’d tried!” Close to tears, Rosita protested, “But Fester, I was working the cash register, getting the drinks, filling the bags, talking to cars…” “Evita was a new hire, so I expected you to keep an eye on her!” Bobcat bellowed. “Them fries are comin’ outa your salary!” “Fester,” Rosita pleaded, “you said nothing about me being responsible to train new employees.” “But you should know new employees need help and you didn’t watch her like you should have!” No sense arguing with a stone wall. Rosita said, “Fester, we had millions of cars to fix food for. How could we know most of ‘em wouldn’t want fries with their orders? And if we’d run out of ‘em, we would’a had to wait a long time for ‘em to cook. Then you would’a still got mad at us.” “Not near as mad as I am now!” “But we didn’t know how many we’d need! We aren’t psychic!” Rosita pleaded. “But y’all are psycho!” belligerent Bobcat shot back. “Fester, that’s mean!” Carlos cried. He shook his head at Rosita. “Now you see here, Carlos,” Fester scolded, “if anybody ought’a feel hurt, it’s me! Just look what that stupid waste of space wasted! Do you expect me to pay for what that dummy did?” “Easy, boss,” a kindly voice called as someone emerged from the walk-in freezer. “I’ll take care of this.”

“Don’t cry, Rosita,” Craig said soothingly, offering her a tissue from his pocket. “Just breathe real deep and relax. There now. Go to the back and get a drink of water and wipe your face. It’s been a rough day for everybody.” “Rosita!” Bobcat bellowed. “You come back here right this minute!” Rosita hesitated. Craig told her to keep going. “Who in Sam Hill do you think you are, usurping my authority like that, Craig?” Fester growled, his round face red and puffy with wrath. Fester was fully aware of how likable, capable and dependable Craig was. Fester had to face facts: Only Craig, of all the FEW who’d applied for Craig’s job, was a halfway decent cook. Craig would be almost impossible to replace if Fester fired him, for the simple reason that most folks with Craig’s qualities would feel insulted if they were even offered Craig’s lousy, low-paid, thankless job. “Fester,” Craig said gently, “I thought you said you were tired, and didn’t you just say I was supposed to spell you at three? It’s way past that time now. Don’t mean to usurp your authority, sir, but you did put me in charge of these workers, so I’m the one who should be held responsible for those wasted fries. Rosita doesn’t feel well, sir, so I kind’a think Jesus would help ease her burden. So I’ll do what He’d do and pay for the fries myself. What do I owe for ‘em?” The Two Suits watched to see what fractious Fester would do. Their beady eyes studied his stony face. Fester Bobcat, the most vociferous holiness preacher on earth, wouldn’t want to appear less Christlike than that two-bit peasant Craig. Fester knew he could get by with a certain degree of pastoral abuse. But if folks heard about him browbeating poor Latino women over a few Faith Fries, negative publicity might spread like wildfire throughout their community and sink his fledgling business like a millstone in a sea of hog fat. After pondering these things, Fester waved aside Craig’s lean billfold with an imperious air and said, “We’ll just let it go this time. But from now on, think twice before you fry! Let’s go home, boys. I need to cool off in my pool.” The imperious pastor paused by the dining room door to speak with Craig, who struggled to hide his irritation about all the guff he’d had to swallow since coming to work here. Fester laid his hammy hand on Craig’s shoulder and said, “You’re a take-charge kind of guy, and I like that, Craig…up to a certain point. But don’t go too soft on these people or they’ll walk all over you. Family-air-ity breeds contempt like a bunch of psycho-delic rabbits at a love-in.” Craig coughed. “I’ll remember that, sir.” Fester frowned. “Uh…Craig. I had to let Evita go. You’ll have to find a way to take up the slack for her till business gits better and I can hire somebody else to assemble sandwiches.”

“We’ll manage somehow, sir,” Craig sighed. “The Lord’ll give us strength.” “Good man,” Fester grinned. “It pays to have faith. Right now I better head on home so I can unwind.” As he watched his boss make his grand exit, Craig festered with frustration about how the high and mighty got away with leaving big messes behind for little people to clean up. Craig must try to cleanse the toxic atmosphere created by The Bobcat. The whole crew were upset about Evita being bullied out of a job she badly needed to feed her kids. But they still felt like throwing a party because that mean old monster was finally gone, at least for the day. It must have worn him out to watch other people work so hard. They hoped he wouldn’t drop by very often. They hoped he wouldn’t start picking on them now that his favorite victim was gone forever. Although everyone did sense that Rosita had already replaced Evita as Fester’s favorite target. When Fester got this hacked off at somebody, nobody dared utter one word to him, or even make eye contact with this “great man of God”. Rosita was still in the back room struggling for composure. But Evita had preached what he needed to hear. Everybody thought that spunky little Latina must have been off her rocker to preach to the Big Boss like that. Fester Bobcat was the most powerful preacher in all of Texas, maybe even in the whole wide world. Most people in the dining room had lost their appetite from overhearing Bobcat’s blistering tantrums. They got enough of that at Woodshed Worship Center. Some grinned, thought it was hilarious. Hazel and Sue were so disgusted they ran out of things to say about their pugnacious pastor. They got up to go, leaving two barely touched Bubba Burgers and a big pile of greasy Faith Fries. Sue grabbed her belly. She looked green at the gills. “What’s wrong, Sue?” Hazel cried. “I...I’m sick!” She darted for the door, Hazel following. Sue barely made it outside, then…BRUP! Her late lunch landed in the flower bed. “That preacher poisoned me!” Sue wailed. “I just know it! He knows who dunnit!”