I takes 30 minutes to master a computerized cash register, regardless of previous educational experience. Twenty-five of those minutes are spent figuring out the reverse-think that the damn things run on. Example: two large cokes = super; two; sodas; subtotal; total--thud, the drawer slams into your stomach. "Have a nice day."

But high-tech machinery is now part of all fast food joints, and last summer had nothing to do with Whoppers or McSundaes or Gino's Glants. For three, months, chicken was the name of my game, Alex's Chicken plus, to be more specific.

In the midst of Baltimore's recently rejuvenated Inner Harbor--that city's version of Faneuil Hall--sits an outpost of youthful chicken slingers clad in the orange and black colors of Alex's little kingdom. Moored in the harbor's greenish-brown water in the moth-balled U.S.S. Constellation, cousin of Boson's Constitution, and a favorites among the hordes of tourists who swarm through the twin glass-enclosed pavilions every day in the slimmer. They gawk at the awkward old boat and munch on Alex's chicken.

Getting a post on Alex's staff requires no references. The manager asks you to fill out a napkin with name and telephone number, and before you can say "extra seasoning," you've got your multi-head T-shirts and grease-stained apron. Training begins immediately, with stern warnings about accuracy and whispered tales of employees skimming off the top at a clip of $120 a day. Like most, I struggled not to bless customers with extra change and never had time to consider seriously any plans for extra-curricular profits.

Money hassles were commonplace; just because Alex's was the cheapest joint on the pavilion everyone and his nagging kids assumed we wanted to rob them of precious pennies. But after wrangling with the manager--who would leave to add up all of the employee's money--disgruntled customers usually sauntered away, comparing Alex to various unflattering chicken parts.

The manager tried to save money by keeping precise charts of discrepancies in each expected total and actual total. The owners even held a contest to reward the cashier with the highest combined accuracy and quantity. Grand prize: a salary increase of $17.23, which I won.

Soda presents a major challenge in the battle of man versus machine, particularly at Alex's where the instrumentation is exclusively state of the art. The Coke-spitting units have to be programmed for the desired amount of soda and an appropriately sized cup. On my maiden run, however, I paired a small cup with a large soda, creating a substantial overflow, which mostly ended up on my orange-and-black Alex's uniform.

And of course there was the Chicken Plus-legs, thighs, wings gizzards, livers, fries, cole slaw, spare ribs and hot sauce-all of it covered with the same film of grease and breadcrumbs that coated the furniture, the utensils, and before long, the employees. Typical conversation at the counter:

Chicken Plus Person: "Can I help you?"

Customer #1: "No thanks, I'm just looking."

Customer #2: "Could you help me please?"

CPP: "Sure, what would you like?"

#2: "I'd like some chicken."

CPP: "What kind of chicken would you like?"

#2: "Light meat."