At The Food Cart - J.F. Hire

Friday night means takeout. It's not just a matter of preference, but a matter of law. Saturday through Thursday, people were allowed to eat however they chose, although fast food was encouraged. Takeout night was mandated by the county commissioners due to a few decades back, when people were so health-conscious, that fast food companies and takeout restaurants were going out of business left and right. 

"Grab me a few packs of salt, Jonah." Skyler was setting up the window-seats for the three of them. Their college dorm, floor 32, was opened to receive mandated takeout. Once the pair of them were situated at the window, they pressed for it to open, turned on their "Open" light and waited. The counter-top was juxtaposed in a way similar to working a drive-thru window. Hannah finally came in, decked out in some supremely comfy pajamas, before taking a seat at the end of the bar and preparing her plate. "Is there anything new on the menu today? I know, it's June, so it's probably fish, but..." 

With a couple of shrugs, they went contemplative. "So, tomorrow, should I do a slow-roasted pot of cabbage and organic potatoes?" 

Before they could discuss it much more, the sound of the food-cart approaching was heard. Via hydraulic lift, the take-out carts all rose, scaling the building's facade in such a way that made them look like beetles traversing a tree. 

The signage came into view, and the room deflated from their already less-than-enthused state. 

'Fish and Chips!' flashed in their faces. Having been through this before, Skyler knew what everyone was going to order, the only thing really safe on the menu: "Uh, yea, hey. Just give us three plates of chips, and your flounder. And no, we don't want any sauces. Thanks, here." He passed over their vouchers. 

The server/cook/cashier shook his head. He was new. "No-no, I have something special for you to try. Don't you like new things? Come on, I have samples."

They all suppressed groans. "Oh, I don't know," Hannah started, "we're all just a little tired, ready for some of the usual, and then bed."

While they protested visually, the brunette server held up a calloused, pale hand. From off the side, he pulled a long tray of sashimi, and a fine array of nigiri. "Sushi platter..." He insisted. 

Wary, they were pressed to try a rice-ball. The slight sweetness of the rice vinegar met with the dab of wasabi hidden inside not only surprised them, but woke up their pallets accordingly. They all agreed, and purchased the platter.

"Oh, and one thing," the server smiled, handing them each a special bit of sushi, where black seaweed had been cut out in such a way to give the balls of rice faces, winking and smiling. 

"You didn't get it from me," he finished, and his cart rode on.

The risk, indulgence, and mystery surrounding the entire transaction was enough to make the three of them want more. 

It was the first successful marketing scheme in years, and they would never find out how very unhealthy that fast-food was.