The Burger Babe

When I was in college full-time in Boston, one of my summer jobs was to stand on the sidewalk outside a restaurant called the Pour House, handing out menus dressed like a hamburger. The bun went from my shoulders to the top of my knees. On the bun, there were two huge smiling eyes; right in the middle was a round nose, and a big toothless smile completed the crazy-looking face. Atop my shoulders was an oversized white chef’s hat that covered my entire head. There was a white screen so I could see out. Although I enticed many young men who walked by—as I got many whistles and quite a few dates—my costume terrified every four-legged dog. One afternoon, a customer tied his dog to the parking meter in front of me. The dog went berserk, and he barked at me for ten minutes as I tried to greet and hand out my menus. Then, the car next to the dog started to back up, and the dog was unaware since he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the walking burger. I approached him and tried to move him out of harms way. The dog bit my hand in appreciation as I saved his life. The next day, I gave my notice and went off to look for a safer and saner way to earn a buck.