500 Hotdogs

Last year, students and staff got together and created a bunch of designs that described them as individuals. The designs were then taken by a local artist who transcribed them onto cement slabs and created a pretty sweet-looking bench. It looks like a bunt cake, if you can imagine that. Tonight, our evening begins with the dedication of this bench. The principal speaks, as does the artist. The speeches are translated and relayed orally to the audience in Hmong, Karen, and Spanish. A qeej (a Hmong instrument pronounced, for our purposes, "khling") is played by a 4th grader. I am only vaguely aware of the ceremony though. I can just barely hear it from my post; outside the kitchen's back door, in the teacher's parking lot.

You see, my job tonight is to grill 500 hotdogs.

When I say "my job," what I actually mean is "Cade's job." I had enlisted Cade to assist me even though I had witnessed his skill as a griller only twice before, and one time may or may not have involved some veeaary rare steaks. Despite this previous setback, I knew Cade would do his best because he is always up for a challenge. At least I assumed he would be... I may have stressed the quality of the event over the quantity of hotdogs.

By 3:30, I'm breaking apart frozen hotdogs by smashing them on the ground and against the brick wall. Don't worry! They are still enclosed in their plastic casings, which are still enclosed inside their cardboard box. Very sanitary.
By 3:45, Cade has successfully grilled the first batch.
By 4:00, Cade is a pro -  he constantly turns dogs, constantly smiles. He has mastered flipping six at a time, and now works on turning seven.
A little before 5, the people start coming. There are so many families with so many kids. I yell a greeting at the few students I know as they pass through the parking lot with their families.
At 5:15, I go dumpster diving because the principal needs proof that the hotdogs are beef and not pork, for the religious concerns of several families. Everyone is talking, everyone is eating.
By 6:00, I have conquered my dismantling clumps of frozen hotdogs technique. Cade could now cook a hotdog blindfolded if he wanted to. We try a bite of the Tofu Burgers cooked in case there were any vegetarians in the room. (There was one. And Tofu Burgers aren't bad, as long as they're smothered in ketchup.)

As Cade says goodbye and heads back to his homework, I immediately find myself pulled aside by a parent; Jesus. I had helped him fill out his daughter's immunization records just the week before, and he introduces me to his wife as "the lady who speaks Spanish so well." His wife shakes my hand and thanks me for being so kind. They comment on how lucky they are to have come early. We are almost out of hotdogs.