The Burning Tent

The Burning Tent

Victor Michel

09/25/2023

My first week of work started as a typical one. I understood relativity and I knew how
to resolve differential equations and complex integrals, but, evidently, math and physics are
not good tools to prepare a burger. There is a science behind cooking that holds
thermodynamic laws. Oh, that first day was fantastic! I put mozzarella sticks on the fryer at
350 degrees Celsius, and after twenty seconds, three cheese supernovas blasted in a unique
way. Extremely nervous, I made a guard of honor in front of the fryers, avoiding any other
accident until Carlos, my Colombian coworker, told me, "Victor, come here to help with the
toppings; the fries are not going to bite you." I spent the rest of the day preparing burgers and
memorizing the positional order of each one: lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, crispy onions, and
mayo.

At the end of the day, the manager came and told me, "Next week, we have an event
at Miami Beach. Are you prepared to go with us?".

"I do not think so, Yoel. I need more practice," I answered him.
"Well, we need you there; You need to practice all week!" was his final response.

I thought, "Why did he ask me in the first place?"

Yoel, the manager, was Cuban like me. He came to the United States thirty years ago
at approximately the same age I am today. When I learned that, my first thought was: "Maybe
he hired me out of compassion because I remembered something of his past." However, that
first week was enough to know he had forgotten those days. That contradiction overwhelmed
me since I didn't realize how radical the change must be to separate someone from his
origins. Nevertheless, I settled for the premise that perhaps Yoel was a particular case.
I woke up before 6:00 a.m. that Friday of the event, something extremely rare in me.
The event started at 8:00 a.m. It was necessary to organize all the equipment, prepare Jordi's
truck, and go to Miami Beach, some great distance from Kendall. It was one of the first times
I ordered an Uber, and what was my surprise when a Tesla came to my request. I was worried
throughout the travel, thinking that maybe I had ordered a more expensive car with Jordi's
credit card since I didn't have one at that time. I later asked Jordi and discovered that Uber's
algorithm does not hold such strict direct proportionality between the payment and the car
quality. This situation provoked an ocean of laughter in Jordi, but there was something noble
in it. Jordi was my only friend at work. His mother was Peruvian, his father was Spanish, and
he was born here in the United States. Despite being my age, he was the subordinate manager
because of his responsibility and honesty.

Even though I was very proud of my time management, I arrived a little late, and
Carlos, together with Jordi, was already preparing all the equipment. I started helping them,
and then Rachel, a Cuban coworker, came. The train of the four fantastic was ready to depart.
Oh, the trip was boring! I was reading One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich but
concentrating was really hard. The princess, as I called Rachel, was talking about her life in
Cuba, where she had never worked, and how she was a poor rich girl, and how she had
worked a lot promoting at Dolphin Mall. There was a brief silence. I did not even notice
when we arrived in Miami Beach because, at that precise moment, I was thinking that all
communist systems are equally disgusting. My detestation for Stalin was increasing each
second until Carlos talked, and my hate transitioned to the real world: "Look at Victor, first
time in Miami Beach, and it's with the phone instead of looking." Carlos had an incredible
capacity to give his opinion at any time when anyone asked for it. After not receiving a
response to his comment, he delivered a speech with the thesis: "Why are Colombian drugs
the best in the world?" Thank God we were almost there.

The event was at a pool in Miami Beach, and when we got there, we prepared the tent
faster than the speed of light. The place was beautiful, and there was absolute calm at that
time. Other businesses were preparing their tents: in front of us, a woman put up fans with
spicy phrases and images; in the center, an elegant bar was full of beautiful goddesses who
wore striking clothes. And then the party started!

Rachel took the orders. Jordi prepared the tacos. Carlos cooked in the "plancha." I
worked the fryers. Jesus, the work at an event is different from the restaurant! We did not
even have time to breathe during some periods. The orders piled up to form Mount Everest,
and I had only two fryers, unlike the restaurant where we cook with four. Then, I discovered
it was possible to make combinations in the same fryers that do not affect the individual
properties of each food. I put the chicken tenders on the fries and the mozzarella sticks with
the onion rings.

Everyone wanted chicken tenders! The line grew each second and proportionality
with the hunger increased the anger of the clients. They sometimes made a tired sigh,
exchanged glances, or raised their voices: "How long is it going to take for my burger?"
We did not stop. Sometimes I had to separate my eyes from the smoke of the fryers and look
at them and feel like they had forgotten we were humans. At that moment, I remembered Ivan
Denisovich. The militaries abused captives who had also been militaries of the Red Army and
fought in the war, but who were now prisoners due to the most insignificant causes. I thought
about the universality of human nature.

More than five decades ago, Alexandr Solzhenitsyn had written a short novel
narrating the day of a random prisoner in a Soviet labor camp. That was an extraordinary
event in Russia. Now there, under the tent, I was living my day.

The temperature of the fryers was 350 degrees, the maximum, because I needed to
cook fast. The smoke was high, threatening the tent. I lowered the temperature, but then all
the work was late. We called Yoel and explained the situation. He just said, "Move the fryers
or the tent." This was the only response that could be expected from him. Clearly, he needed
to learn about our job since the fryers were fixed on the ground, and it was practically
impossible to move the tent. The only solution we found was raising and lowering the
temperature control every few minutes. Consequently, my work became complicated and I
felt like a robot for hours.

Though the work was really rough, the party's joy spread to us. Everywhere you
looked, there was a sea of people. It seemed the crowd was breaching the matter property
since two objects cannot occupy the same space simultaneously. Music goes between Latin
American trap and American rap. I was not a big fan of either one, especially rap. It was
impossible to understand that set of English words pronounced at such speed.

Rachel said: "Look at the American dances. They are so fun!" I understood her. Their dances
were like jumping at the place and a series of repetitive arm movements. Jordi was preparing
tacos and dancing at the same time. His ability was masterful. The beautiful bar's waitress
passed through the crowd and paralyzed the surroundings.

At 4:00 p.m., the work ceased. We took some boxes and sat on top of them. Carlos, as
always, spoke up the general opinion: "I cannot feel my feet." The break was short. We had a
line of twenty people one hour later. I continued managing the temperature of the fryers, but
there were too many fries, too many chickens, too many croquetas. The smoke rose enough
and, before I could do anything, the heat devoured the tent and its roof started to burn. Oh
God, what a scare! Rachel started to scream, and Carlos took a carton to beat the fire. Oh,
what an idiot he was! I turned off the fryers, and Jordi took two fire extinguishers, gave me
one of them, and, together with him, solved the problem.

Everyone in the party was lost in their own world. They needed to be more
concentrated on other things. Some of them did not even look at the fire; others laughed
surreptitiously, but no one came to help. They dance in the cool pool, making the water
surface white with the movements. I saw them and remembered a phrase I had read in the
morning: "How can you expect a man who's warm to understand a man who's cold?” I could
not help but smile because of the irony.

Almost ten hours of work! I felt a little sorry for us, even for Carlos. An inner
monologue gripped me: "Would the people in the party feel the same?"—"I don't think so."
“However, they have their reasons: you cannot feel completely something that you don't
know."— " But they know!" Because that is what’s incredible of Miami society: each person
could have the most unthinkable past and life. You can see him at a pool party protesting for
his burger while twenty miles away, he prepares similar burgers for other annoying clients. I
looked at them and thought: "Surely all of them are stupid. I am not. I am a science man..
That is because I think like that." But then I remembered that maybe some of my future
friends at school could be there, or worse, I could be one of them in some years." That idea
terrified me.

That customer waiting for his burger, upset while we tried to put out the fire, may
have a father who, years ago, worked at a business like ours and, through sacrifice, built the
life his son is enjoying today. That group that laughed hard may have grandparents who
worked without rest under a tent or perhaps, like Yoel, twenty years ago, they worked selling
tacos and hot dogs in a food truck. However, they don't remember that. They want their
burgers!

Miami society is like a tree. Almost everyone has a similar antecedent in his familiar
story, some immigration events, some feat of sacrifices. Yet in two or three generations, many
things could happen and the branches separate from the trunk and spread in an incredible
diversity. But without the trunk, branches can't sustain their lives. If you lose your roots, you
are in danger of losing your humanity. Here, in Miami, most people have lost their humanity
because they lost their roots.

Ironically, someone did notice the fire: the event owner. He called Jordi and told him:
"I was being too condescending. I'll allow you to continue selling burgers, but you have to
turn off both fryers." Luckily, I did not work in the fryers during the rest of the day. The line
continued growing, but alcohol deformed its straightness. Clients came speaking either
English or Spanish in the most possible diversity of accents.

The world calmed down at 9:00 p.m. People bought the burgers without fries at the
same price.

"We should lower the price," I tell them.

Yet, Carlos answered me: "We are not to blame; they are drunk." His idea triumphed.

The rest of the day passed like this, with a little burning smell in the environment.

After fourteen hours of work, we picked up everything and put it in Jordi's truck. The return
trip was less noisy because we were exhausted. I read the book and thought about the day,
how the heat convection could be dangerous and about the burning tent. Before falling asleep
from exhaustion, I promised to remember that day, to remember where I came from because I
never want to lose my humanity.