20 minute close

The store wasn't closed yet, but we were beyond ready. A few hours earlier, after the dinner rush, but before we started looking at the horizon of closing, Pete and I had discussed our plan for the night. It was Tuesday, which meant we would be slow, which meant it would be a great day to set a new record. Brooke was the closing manager, so we would be able to get away with thing ps Debbie would never go for. We talked about what would need to be done to beat the 30 minute mark.

I looked to my right, past the slicer, past the fryer, which was already half cleaned and to the black and red Arby's clock. Fifteen minutes until we were legal. If corporate walked in right now, there would be write ups for all of us. Brooke was in the freezer doing her count, so she had no idea. The lobby was locked and cleaned, including being swept and mopped. All but one of the pop machines were broken down, the black and white nozzle pieces soaking in soapy water beside each. The shake machine was broken down and the parts were completely cleaned. They were drying on the cart, which they would be stored on. The bun toaster had been taken apart and washed and the removable parts had been cleaned. For the last couple orders, we had toasted the buns by holding them directly to the hot plate.

Pete took over for me being the sandwich station and I started pulling all of the topping containers. We used sandwich wraps to hold the bits of lettuce and tomatoes, just in case we did got a last minute order. I made my way to the back and made the hottest soapy water I could I could stand. Cleaning was so much faster is you had enough heat to instantly melt the grease. In minutes, Pete had the complete sandwich station and then, just a couple minutes later, the complete slicer back to me. I took a quick peek and saw he had cut some roast beef, probably a pound, and the just left it on a paper underneath the heat lamp. This was a big no, no, but we had a clock to beat. I started cranking out the dishes, plastic sauce containers and rubber spatulas. I cleaned the blade guard and scrap tray.

At some point, Pete ran back to get the keys and Brooke began to realize what we had been up to. She was shocked and gave us the disapproving, but silent shake of her head. The doors were locked and it was on. Pete was cleaning like a whirling dervish, I was dunking over thing he brought back in water that very nearly burned my hands, rinsing it off and leaning them to dry. In just minutes he had brought me the last dish and I changed modes, wheeling the cart back up from and reassembling everything. Toaster, slicer, sandwich station, fry station. He started sweeping and I made mop water. Brooke was mostly silent, with bursts of her shouting for us to slow down.

In twenty minutes, the two of us, so very proud of ourselves, sat in the lobby. We had closed in an unheard of twenty minutes. To the Arby's world, we were gods among men. We shouted back to the office, where Brooke sat fighting with her numbers, we were done. She, hating being alone, hating being the one we were waiting for, hating we had done all that stuff without asking her, broke into tears.