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The folding table was opened and covered with a disposable tablecloth, and the insulated box was carried over from the car.
The coffee pot was placed in the most prominent position, with paper cups, lids, and straws lined up. The price list and sign were stuck to the corner of the table.
Amidst the clattering of setting up, the morning rush hour crowd at Central Park station slowly began to emerge.
Before he could even finish setting up the table completely, the first customer delivered herself to his door.
The first customer was an Asian auntie, wearing a dark down jacket, carrying a cloth bag, and holding a cup of cheap coffee bought from who-knows-where in her hand.
She initially walked this way with the flow of people, but upon smelling the aroma and seeing the colorful sign, her footsteps paused, and she retreated to stand in front of the stall.
She stared at the half-sandwich Shane had placed in the front row for display—
The cut side faced out. Inside, there was not only lettuce and a whole piece of chicken steak, but also a slightly crispy fried egg sandwiched right in the middle. Just looking at it made one feel full.
The auntie's gaze shifted down and saw the cardboard menu at the corner of the table.
Coffee + Sandwich Combo: $2.99
Coffee Half Price Today: $0.20
She froze for a moment, looked down to confirm again, then frowned and pointed at the line of words, asking:
"This... sandwich combo of yours, really only sells for two ninety-nine?"
There was disbelief in her tone.
This kind of "exquisite" sandwich with vegetables, meat, and a fried egg would not be priced lower than $3.50 in the 7-Eleven convenience store she passed every day, let alone accompanied by a cup of coffee.
Shane smiled, lifting the insulated box slightly to let a bit of heat escape. "Of course, the price on the tag is the price. Want one? Still hot."
The auntie looked at him, then at the sandwich.
Finally, she placed the cup of bland coffee in her hand on Shane's table and nodded:
"...Alright, give me a combo then."
"Okay, one combo."
Shane moved deftly to take out a sandwich and wrap it, exchanged it for a fresh cup of coffee for her, and casually helped her throw the old coffee into the trash can next to him.
Collect money, give change. The first transaction was completed so crisply.
Where there is one, there are two.
If someone is consuming at the stall, people passing by behind will more or less take a second look.
When Shane arranged everything neatly—
A row of sandwiches, a row of chicken rolls, burgers standing upright individually (all in transparent thermal film), and two steaming buckets of coffee behind.
People began to come over to buy breakfast one after another.
There were office workers in suits, students wearing headphones, and passersby throwing money over while talking on the phone.
"Give me a Number One Combo (Burger)!"
"Two burgers, one coffee!"
"Any chicken rolls left?"
Some came for the price, some for the look.
Shane was still very confident in his breakfast.
With this appearance, this portion size, and this price point, even in the South Side, this was solidly "high cost-performance ratio."
As time pushed forward, when the time on the phone jumped to around 7:40, the real peak arrived.
Streets from all directions began to spit out streams of people in waves, surging toward the subway entrance like a tide. Shane's stall was gradually surrounded.
Some turned the corner following the smell, while others looked back for the stall only after seeing sandwiches in others' hands.
Shane's head barely lifted again.
One hand had to stuff sandwiches, chicken rolls, and burgers into paper bags, while the other hand had to unscrew the coffee pot to pour coffee for people. His mouth also had to shout orders to confirm:
"Number Two Combo (Chicken Roll)? Ready right away!"
"Your coffee, careful it's hot!"
"Just a sandwich? Want to add a chicken roll? I have combos here too? ...Change is one dollar and ten cents."
Because it was his first time doing this scale of "fast-paced output."
He felt like a clumsy juggler, his hands, feet, and mouth never stopping for a moment.
One hand packing, the other pouring coffee, eyes staring at collecting money and giving change.
Although his movements weren't slow, lack of experience made him appear clumsy.
Occasionally, change would get stuck in his fingers and fall back into the money box, occasionally he grabbed the wrong size paper cup, and a few people even took advantage of when he turned his back to grab paper cups to quietly snatch a sandwich or chicken roll and blend into the crowd, leaving without looking back.
But with a line of customers still in front of him, Shane couldn't leave everyone waiting to chase after those few dollars.
He could only curse somewhat angrily in his heart, "Fck, consider it tuition fee," "Don't let me see you tomorrow!" Cursing in his heart, his hands couldn't stop.
When this wave of peak finally passed, he had very little left.
He looked over the remaining items in the insulated box and decided to be decisive, packaging the last bit of whole wheat bread and scattered sandwiches and chicken rolls into several "clearance combos," selling them cheaply to the last few waves of passersby.
When he stuffed the last portion into a paper bag and handed it out, the time displayed on the phone was already 8:30 in the morning.
Shane let out a long breath, leaned back against the newspaper box behind the stall, sweat dripping down his temples.
"Holy sht... finally sold out."
No wonder the comments section of those breakfast stall videos he watched before said that those who could run breakfast stalls were tough people.
Shane's ingredients here were semi-finished products, prepared in advance last night. In the morning, it was just heating and assembly, yet he was still thrown into confusion by the preparation stage and these two hours of peak time.
Breathing out a puff of white air, he didn't dwell on it too much. It's always like this the first time.
He tidied up the stall roughly, folded the cardboard boxes, wiped the table clean, and was just about to pack up the folding table.
During the interval of packing, the black vendor next to him turned off his small gas stove and leaned over with a smile.
"Hey, kid." He nudged Shane lightly with his elbow. "You coming tomorrow?"
Shane froze, not understanding why he asked this, but subconsciously replied: "Should be."
The black vendor grinned, revealing white teeth.
"That's good. If you come, I'll help you hold this spot. Actually, there used to be a guy who occasionally came here to set up, but he was lazy, came late, left early. If you're willing to sell here long-term, I'll squeeze him out."
As he spoke, he glanced at his hot cocoa, which had bottomed out, and then at the paper box that was more than half empty, obviously in a good mood.
Shane followed his gaze... Well, he roughly knew the reason.
Because he only prepared two buckets of coffee here, they sold out quickly during the peak. People who came later and wanted a hot drink could only turn to buy this uncle's hot cocoa.
Incidentally (and because some didn't want to wait in line), cinnamon rolls and donuts also sold much more than usual.
"Then thanks a lot, brother."
Shane thought for a moment, dug out a chicken roll that was still warm from the insulated box, wrapped it in a paper bag, and handed it over.
"This is the chicken roll I prepared for my own breakfast. It's quite filling; try it."
The black vendor froze for a moment, then took it, looked at the chicken roll, then at him, and smiled even more happily. "Alright, kid, knowing to take care of your peers. You have a future."
While unwrapping the paper bag, he muttered: "Don't worry, if you come, this spot is yours. I've been hanging around here for over ten years. Anyone who wants to rob you has to ask me first."
After speaking, he turned around, took a few donuts, put them in a bag, and handed them to Shane. "This is for you."
Saying that, the black vendor took a bite of the chicken roll. "Wow, your stuff tastes good. How about this: from now on, you only sell savory, I only sell sweet. Then the business of the whole street will be ours."
"No problem." Shane smiled, took the donuts from his hand, and bumped fists with him. "See you tomorrow then."
"See you tomorrow, kid."
The black vendor, with the chicken roll in his mouth, hummed a little tune and leisurely went back to his own stall.
Shane moved the last insulated box back into the van, closed the rear door, and climbed into the driver's seat. Once the door closed, the cold wind outside was immediately blocked out.
The car suddenly became quiet. Shane couldn't wait to drag the small cash box from the passenger seat, put it on his lap, and open the lid.
Piles of change, crumpled one-dollar, five-dollar, and ten-dollar bills were stuffed together messily.
The corners of Shane's mouth couldn't help but hook up a little. Wasn't the hectic morning all for this money?
"Come, let's see if my hard work this wave is worth it."