I was working in the kitchen when she ran in, pulled her shirt out of her pants and up to her neck. She then took hold of her bra and pulled that up and over her breasts. All right, a bit of flashing action. I can deal with that. She then began slapping her breasts. Hmmm? I’m not really into that. A breast exam followed, lifting, examining. Hmmm.

That’s when she noticed me. “I burned my boobs,” she said.

I said, “popper number two?”

“Yeah.”

Popcorn popper number two emitted a volley of hot, un-popped kernels of corn seemingly every time the door opened. Leave the door closed and fully popped corn flowed smoothly from the popper. Open the door and pow, out they fly. No matter your position – right, left, sideways – they manage to find their way down the operator’s shirt.

That damned fake butter enables the projectiles to slip and slide along the skin, marking their path with a slight pinkish hue. When they reach their destination the buttery substance turns sticky, thereby facilitating its attachment to a specific area of bare skin, after which it attempts to burrow deep into the body. Removing the offensive objects becomes a matter of some urgency.

Burned tummies and belly buttons are standard fare for those unfortunate enough to be assigned popper number two. When this occurs the boys quickly pull their shirts out of their pants and perform their version of the kernel dance right there behind the counter. The girls remove themselves from the sight of guests, presumably to maintain a semblance of modesty, or perhaps they simply prefer flashing their team members.

I have suggested to my female teammates that it would be more sensible to go braless, but so far they haven’t listened. This particular piece of clothing appears to be perfectly designed to catch those damned kernels before they reach the tummy. That might be a good thing if it didn’t also aid in their expedient attachment to tender, and soft, skin.

So here we are in the kitchen, my bare breasted team member asking me to retrieve the burn ointment from the medical kit. “I got you a couple of them. Would you like me to help you apply it?” Thus far, I haven’t had any takers. This seems to be more of a self-service situation.

We rotate between jobs here, so I’ve done my share of cursing that intolerable machine. Kitchen duty isn’t much better, but there are times when a bit of joy shows up. Working at minimum wage jobs is often harsh and unforgiving. There aren’t a lot of thank you’s that flow our way, especially from those who should be most thankful for our efforts.

No matter our position or title, it is especially important for us to remember to watch out for those little things that bring a smile to our face. They are fleeting, as is life itself.