Sammie Stabby had the greasiest hands. He wore plastic gloves, but the butter puddles seeped inside, smearing all over his fingers. This didn’t matter. Grease was something he would wipe away when the gravy was ready.
His long rubbery apron was slicked with wet lard and his meshy white hairnet was glistening with particles of seared fat. It was all just the necessary grit of the job. In his large pot, he stirred his thick gravy, turning it over and over. Sammie loved how the chunks of pork lopped with his spoon, like they were bits of death slowly circling in a hearty, soupy grave.
It smelled good. When Sammie cooked gravy, he added more flour as a finishing touch. He’d give it a final stir, knowing these fresh morsels of flour wouldn’t have time to sponge up the liquid. They’d stay dry and crumbly, offering the lunchtime diner a sandy, disappointing surprise.
Sammie’s cat, Harkness Darkness, liked to whirl around at Sammie’s feet in the kitchen. He liked to nuzzle his furry black head on Sammie’s rubber boots. Harkness Darkness would lick drops of gravy from the mats on the floor and clean cakey lines of it from Sammie’s floppy boots.
“It’s opening day, you little devil,” Sammie smiled. “Every person who walks in these doors is going to get served the angriest gravy on the planet! They’re about to taste what it feels like to be Sammie Stabby and they’re gonna eat every fucking bite I give them.” Sammie dropped his spoon and swished his head around. “Where’s that stupid useless handyman? Did he get our sandwich board put up yet? That shithead is fucking useless! Hey, randy dandy boy! Where are you? Did you put up my sign?!”
Harkness Darkness slithered from the kitchen, becoming parallel with the diner floor. Sammie tore his way out the front door and stood looking at his brand new restaurant. It was bright red with a neon arrow illuminating the roof. In electric letters, the diner’s display read, “Sammie Stabby’s Angry Gravy.” In small capital leaders, right along the roof’s ledge, another display blinked “We’re Always Serving.”
“Where’s my goddamn sign, you stupid shithead!” Sammie roared. “It’s opening day and there should be a sandwich board right fucking here to welcome the customers.” Sammie shuffled in his greased-up boots, his gloves spattering drops of lard. Then he noticed the sandwich board propped near the front door. “I’m not going to pay you, handy dandy, you useless son of a bitch!”
Dropping his gloves in the dust below him, he pulled the sandwich board up and stood it proudly on the sidewalk. “There we are,” he said with satisfaction. “Now we can open. Now we’re ready, you little devil cat.” Harkness Darkness wrapped his black tail up Sammie’s leg.
The sandwich board’s chalky surface gleamed. Sammie Stabby looked it over and then started to laugh through his teeth. “Can you read that, you little devil? It says, ‘This one’s gonna burn’!” He howled with laughter. “This one’s gonna fucking burn! I hope they like gravy, because they’re about to eat every last scalding bite I’ve got.” His laugh was a cauldron. “They’re gonna eat every last fucking bite and it’s gonna fucking burn!”
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