GRILL!: The Misadventures of an RV Park Fast-Fry Cook. Diane Stegman

I keep walking toward the kitchen door. He starts walking away from her, weaving, almost falling. She turns from me and follows him, yelling at his back.

      Oh no, drunk Indians! I find that extremely sad. I just finished reading a long book called Hanta Yo, meaning ‘clear the way’. So this type of scene is fresh in my mind. It’s a novel with a historical story line about the history and beautiful spirituality of a small tribe of Lakota Sioux Indians. It is a love story that continues through three generations of a family and ends in the downfall of the American Indian through trade with the white man, most of the ‘trade’ being booze. Hanta Yo is also where I got my favorite mantra that I say to myself when I am stressed and need to center myself and thoughts. The one that begins with “I own my life and only mine.”

      Inside the kitchen I find Billy who is smoking a cigarette and having her evening cocktail. Ray is leaning on the meat counter with his own cocktail and cigarette. He is wearing his oxygen hose. They are chatting over the counter. “Well hello there pretty lady!” They both smile at me, so Ray’s greeting is not a threat to Billy.

      “Hello Ray. I guess we’ve not been formerly introduced yet.” I reach to shake his hand. Ray gently squeezes my hand and does not release it right away. He holds it and tells me how happy he is to have me come to join the crew.

      “By the way, I’ll be by some time tomorrow to get yur water pipe fixed. May need some parts, so can’t promise it’ll be ready for a spell. I’ll also get ya set up with some propane. Has anyone shown ya how to clean the grill?” he asks.

      “Thanks very much, Ray. I’ll look forward to having hot running water, and no, no one has shown me how to clean the grill yet.” I look wearily at the warm slop pasted all over the flat grill.

      “Okay, under the grated grill you’ll find a big black pumice stone like brick. Now what I want ya to do is take that brick and hold it with both hands. Ya press it on the grill and grind away every bit of burnt grease and make it shiny like new. If ya can do this right ya got a job for life. Ya might need some of the fresh grease poured on while yur doin’ this to make it a smoother ride across the grill. Then all the dirty grease runs down into this here trough and it flows into this hole and gets collected in a large grease trap below. Takes awhile, but has to be done every night.”

      Billy and Ray watch me do this task. The grill is still very warm so I have to keep my hands and fingers from touching it. Exhaustion sets in and I just want to get in the fifth wheel.

      “Okay, now the grease trap is right next to the grill. Reach down and pull that trap out and we got to empty that outside in the big barrel by the trash compactor. You’ll see it when ya get out there.” I pull the heavy dripping trap out and walk out the back door. I see the large, almost full to capacity, grease barrel. Yuck! There is a stick lying on top of the grease barrel to dig out the thick, black grease that won’t come out of the trap. The goop in the bottom of the trap has the consistency of wet clay. It plops into the large barrel, making me think momentarily of an old outhouse. Grease splashes on my very dirty apron.