Unfinished project

Before you say anything, I know I missed our dinner date. I am well aware of this, and I apologize whole-heartedly. But - Yeah, I know, but - ... No, I have a really good excuse this time. No, no I meant reason, you know I wouldn't make stuff up to skip out and watch the Flyers game... No, no, no, see, I skipped the game to go out with you, see, I made a sacrifice. FUCK. I mean, shit. Uh, I mean... Look, will you please stop - STOP YELLING and let me explain, please? Can I at least give you my reason before you tell me what I was doing this time? Ok, thank you. Let me just... get out this completely unrelated paper I have here... Ok. Here we are. Chapter one.


CHAPTER I:

         I woke up bright and early yesterday, sun shining, birds singing, clouds glistening white and minimal (like your teeth. [I mean, minimal and glistening white, like your teeth. {And by that I only intend the glistening white quality of the clouds to be the only quality of the clouds that can be compared to your teeth}]). It was the perfect day to prepare myself for going out on a date with you in the coming night. "My, what a perfect day to prepare myself for going out on a date with Charlotte in the coming night!", I exclaimed thoughtfully. "In no way do I intend to left myself be distracted from making extreme preparations of my person so I can be presentable in public!"

         I joyfully milled around the kitchen preparing vegetable-based foods that were not bacon and bacon, all the while thinking only of your fat (And by that I mean how you are always warning me about fat and fatty foods, i.e. you are skinny and I listen to you). As I was preparing myself a breakfast vegetable fajita while watching family programming, my phone rang. I quickly and carefully sifted my way across my clean kitchen floor into the also clean living room to find my phone. It was Taco Bell. Shit. Was I getting called in to work? I picked up.

         "Hey-"

         "You work today. In five minutes. Sorry, I mean, can you work today?"

         "Well, no, see I specifically requested this day off as my girlfriend had asked me to-"

         "Too late. You're on the schedule. You don't have a girlfriend. Taco Bell is your mistress."

         Click. I ran back through the house to look for my uniform. After tearing through my completely organized closet of pressed and properly folded clothing for 4 minutes, I found it hanging neatly in the far corner. I threw it on in 60 seconds and stepped outside, Food Champion nametag shining in the sun.

         I got into my car that I cleaned yesterday and will forever keep clean and took off. I rolled into the Taco Bell parking lot 4 minutes later and jumped out of the car, tucking my shirt in as I ran for the door. Jumping over the counter, I ran to wash my hands and put on gloves. With 30 seconds to spare, I clocked in, unwillingly joining my coworkers for another day.

         "First of all, it's hard and it's cold." The customer smacked the soft taco on the front counter and walked angrily back to his seat. He knew it was our fault. He knew that because we wore purple shirts and golden nametags we were all one subhuman entity, shift change or not.

         "Hard and cold like the slab of metal in your ass, sir?" the front cashier muttered. I went back to the line and made a new taco for the fine customer, making sure he couldn't possibly find reason to complain again, just out of spite.

         "Here you are, sir," I said in my best fake apologetic voice. He took the new taco without acknowledging my presence, just as I had obviously deserved. I returned to my post on the line and waited for orders. For two hours. Apart from the occasional annoying drivethru order and its preceding incessant BEEP, it was slow as hell, and we all had cleaned everything in the store. Twice. Of course, all I could think about was how sorry I was for forgetting that I had to work that night and how I would later make it up to you somehow, and not how I was going to miss the Flyers game for work.

         Standing to my right in the position of "steamer" was a new kid. I had never met him before, at least.

         "Hey... Seth." He read my nametag. Classy. "Do you want to sweep the floor or something?"

         I looked up from wiping the line down, sort of agitated. "Sure... Vvvvvvvvvvvvic." Stupid name.

         "I just really think you should have a broom in your hand." What an asshole.

         BEEP

         "And don't worry -"

         BEEP

         "I got this order."

         The overhead speaker kicked on. "Hi, how are you today?"

         The voice of an average hick came back through the overhead. "Can I get me a grande meal? One soft, one hard?" The front cashier doubled over and laughed when he heard "grande", and the rest of what sounded like the beginnings of a headache didn't help him out. My first order of the day is always a grande meal.

         "... I'm sorry, did you want half of those soft and half of those crunchy tacos?"

         "NO, I said I wanted TWO GRANDE MEALS, one soft, one crunchy," the man said indignantly.

         And that's where the story gets weird.

         ... no, I am NOT making it up. ... I was kidding about the piece of paper, you know how I - ... Look, just let me finish, ok? So like I said, that's where the story gets weird.

         I whipped around to help this Vic kid out with the two grande meals, but they were already sitting there, wrapped and in bags.

         "What?" He stood casually by the steam table. No, Vic, nothing was unusual about the way you already had twenty tacos made and wrapped. I said nothing and started sweeping again.

         BEEP

         Another order. Six bean burritos and five crunchy tacos. I looked back at the line. Of course, it was done. Of course. Dammit, Vic. I was bound to catch him making the next order. I swept and kept him in peripheral vision, anticipating the beep to unmask his trickery.

         BEEP

         I watched excitedly as he slowly made a cheesy fiesta potato, and handed it to the drive thru cashier. He looked at me and shrugged. What a smug know-it-all bastard son of a whore.