“And now that you watched this video, you know everything there is to know about working at Hearty's Junior! Now go give customers the satisfaction they deserve!” says a painfully cheerful woman in her forties trying to act like she is a hip teenager on a tiny television screen.
The said woman is wearing a red, button up shirt with black buttons and bands, a black hat with a smiling star on it, black pants and shiny black shoes, and Fluttershy is wearing the same outfit. Though, underneath her red shirt, buttoned all the way up to her neck, is a black turtle neck sweater. It is not because it is cold outside, it is actually quite warm, but the shirt's thin fabric does not feel good on her skin and it makes her feel exposed since her frail body treats the shirt like something meant for a scarecrow getting constant breeze.
Once the credits start rolling on the tiny screen with tropical music worthy of the elevator, Fluttershy turns off the device and leaves the cramped office she had been stuck in for the past three hours.
After she leaves the office, she evades the bustling work area populated by more red shirt employees scrambling to get their food out in four minutes or less. They try to crack jokes, but it is very much forced like their laughter, which is probably caused by creeping insanity more than anything else. When Fluttershy does find her boss, he is in the dry storage of the facility, talking to a supervisor.
Her boss, Fry Oil, is a middle aged man with dirty gold hair and oily, yellow skin, and he is wearing an all black outfit with a little gold star above his name tag. The supervisor he is talking to, Patty Flipper, is slightly younger, has pink hair and light brown skin, and is wearing a black shirt with red bands.
“So, I told the guy I'd punch him in the mouth so hard he'd ejaculate out of his ass, and then the cops arrested me!” says Fry Oil angrily.
Patty Flipper shakes his head, his expression just as peeved as Fry's. “Freaking ridiculous, man.”
Fry Oil scoffs. “Tell me about it. At least my worthless dad bailed me out of jail.”
“Glad that old coot can do something.”
“I know, but he still wants me to pay rent.”
“Wow, what a dick.”
“I know.”
“Um, excuse me,” says Fluttershy timidly.
Both of her superiors look at her at the same time, their annoyed eyes boring into her very soul and burning her alive from inside out from the hatred they have of her interrupting their serious conversation.
Fluttershy shrinks back, squeaking, and the two head hanchos of the store look at her with quirked eyebrows.
“Yeah?” says Fry Oil.
“I-I'm done with the, um, with the video,” says Fluttershy, her voice barely above a whisper.
Patty Flipper looks at Fry Oil with an unimpressed frown. “You sure you want to put her on front line?”
Fry Oil nods. “Yeah, we need people up front.”
“We got ten guys up front and only three on back, though. And one of them is so old she can't tell the difference between a quarter and a third pound.”
As if on cue, an angry man with a Scottish accent screams and bangs something on his make-table to create a loud, metallic CLANG, and the two black shirts and Fluttershy look at him, some more concerned than others.
“Ya crazy old coot! Ya dropped me the wrong patties, again!” he says angrily as an old woman stares blankly at him, holding half a pre-cooked quarter pound patty that she dropped on the floor seconds earlier.
Fry Oil and Patty Flipper look at each other again.
“Back line's fine,” assures Fry Oil.
Patty Flipper scoffs. “Whatever. I'm going home.”
“Alrighty, have a good one.”
“Yeah.” Patty Flipper walks past Fluttershy and pats her on the shoulder. “Good luck.”
“Thank you,” whispers Fluttershy, feeling the ominous cloud of despair preparing to cover her in a shadow of total misery.
“Well,” begins Fry Oil, “now that you watched the video, you know everything, so I'll take you up front to where you will be working.”
Fluttershy nods and follows him up front to where a line of freshly made burgers are being carries out on trays, one by one, by a red shirt worker who looks like she hasn't been able to breath for the last hour. Once up front, Fry Oil takes her to a touch-screen computer mounted on the wall. It is covered in colorful blocs ranging from red to blue to green, with abbreviations and symbols inside each block.
Fluttershy already feels intimidated and she gulps as she rubs her hands together, jumping slightly when Fry Oil puts his hand on her shoulder.
“I know you already saw this in the video, so you should know how to work this thing,” he says. “But, I know that sometimes it takes a little bit to-”
He suddenly stops and scrunches up his face and squeezes his thighs together, groaning. Fluttershy pulls away from him and stares at him uncomfortably while he squirms in his spot, and he takes a breath and swears as he grips the counter.
“Son of a.... Blossomforth!” hollers Fry Oil.
A young girl the same age as Fluttershy with pinkish-gray skin and hair colored in cerise and emerald stripes walks up them and offers the timid girl a kind smile.
“What's up, Fry?” she says cheerfully.
Fry Oil points at Fluttershy with his thumb, cheeks red and eyes squeezed shut. “Blossomforth, help out the new girl. I've gotta take a dookie.”
Blossomforth's smile turns into a line and her eyes get a little big. “Oh. Okay.”
“Thanks.”
Fry Oil runs off and disappears around the corner, where the bathroom signs are pointing, and Blossomforth smiles at Fluttershy again.
“Okay, so, you're the new girl, huh?” she says.
Fluttershy nods.
“Working here is not so bad once you figure out what to do,” says Blossomforth. “Here, why don't I show you how to work the screen.”
Fluttershy nods again. “Okay.”
Blossomforth puts on a headset and gives one to Fluttershy, too, and the shy girl takes a moment to adjust her device while her trainer goes through the screen, explaining everything she can. She shows her where the drinks are, where the burgers and chicken are located, and how to add or remove items from the order.
Every now and then, a customer would arrive, and their arrival would be marked by a BLEEP, and Blossomforth showed Fluttershy how to answer the call. She would then guide Fluttershy into constructing the order the costumer wanted while she talked to them. Some of the customers are hard to understand, others sounded like complete idiots, and some have a bad habit of yelling into the speaker instead of talking like a normal human. However, after an hour of the hands on training coupled with a few dry runs, Fluttershy feels her confidence growing. It is not much, but she still feels a warmth of hope that she can do this job, get a paycheck, and finally buy and take care of that rabbit she wants.
“Why don't you give the next customer a shot?” suggests Blossomforth.
Fluttershy gulps and rubs her arm anxiously, eyes to the floor. “Oh, um, I-I don't know,” she says quietly.
“Oh, come on, you were doing great! Don't be nervous!” says Blossomforth, grinning broadly.
“But... Um... Okay.”
“Great!”
BLEEP!
“It's your show, now, Fluttershy,” says Blossomforth. She steps aside and lets Fluttershy have a spot in front of the screen, all while peering for any signs of Fry Oil. “Holy crap. Is he still in there?”
BLEEP!
Fluttershy pushes the button on the headset and looks at the script below the screen. There is a rumbling engine that is hurting her ears a little bit, and since the speaker is connected to the backline, everyone can hear it.
“Hello?” says a man over the speaker.
Fluttershy takes a deep breath, then softly says: “Hi, welcome to Hearty's Junior, would you like to try our Cheesy Meltdown today?”
“Excuse me?” says the man, his tone already annoyed.
Fluttershy gulps and her knees start wobbling as she looks at Blossomforth nervously. To reassure her, her coworker offers a supportive smile and motions her to speak louder by spreading the distance between her pointer finger and thumb.
“It's okay, Fluttershy, just speak a little louder,” says Blossomforth encouragingly.
Fluttershy represses another gulp with a nod and looks back at the screen. Suddenly all the colorful blocks and white wording starts to blur and she gets an unpleasant lightness in her head.
“I'm sorry, sir, I was asking if you wanted to try our new Cheesy Meltdown burger,” says Fluttershy, straining her throat to raise her voice while simultaneously trying to keep her voice from shaking. Only the former is successful.
The man on the other end scoffs. “Unbelievable. Un-freaking-believable. Can you- Can you believe this shit?”
A girl speaks to the man, her voice sounds like she is a habitual smoker and she is barely heard over the fuzz and engine. “Oh, my Faust, are you seriously doing this again?”
“I've had it, Gilda. I've had it!”
“You had our Cheesy Meltdown, before?” asks Fluttershy.
Blossomforth cringes and runs her hand along her throat, trying to signal Fluttershy that she just said something stupid. However, Fluttershy does not need Blossomforth's signal because she already knows that she messed up big time, and rather than spending her precious time retracting her statement, she freezes up. Her mouth clamps, her body stiffens and her eyes bulge, and the customer at their drive-thru only becomes more enraged by what is happening to him.
“What the- Are you kidding me!? No, I never had your Shitty Meltdown!” yells the man ferociously. “You guys always ask if I want it and every time I say no! For the past two weeks it has been: 'Do you want a Cheesy Meltdown? Do you want a Cheesy Meltdown? Do you want a Cheesy Meltdown? Do you want -' NO! No, I don't want a Cheesy Meltdown! I'VE NEVER WANTED A CHEESY MELTDOWN AND YOU FUCKS ARE ALWAYS ASKING IF I WANT ONE!”
Fluttershy squeaks and tries to retreat into the dirty tile with no such luck. “I-I'm sorry, sir, I-”
“I mean, what the fuck made you think I wanted your special burger!?” continues the costumer. “I only wanted two double cheese burgers with no pickles, but nooo you went and asked me if I wanted a Meltdown, again! Now, why the hell would I want a Meltdown!? What fucking use would I have with a Meltdown!?”
“I-I'm sorry, I-I was only asking,” whimpers Fluttershy.
“Oh! Oh, so just because you asked that makes it all alright, is that what you're saying, jail bait?”
“George, stop it!” yells Gilda.
“No, I won't stop! I'm sick of this bullshit!” yells George. “'I was only asking', my ass! You were trying to give me something I didn't want! I betcha you were gonna hand out a faustdamn bible and ask me if I wanted to save my soul next, weren't you?”
“N-No, I-I was going to gi-give you fries and-and a drink,” stammers Fluttershy.
“No! Nononono!” says Blossomforth quietly, seething and frantically waving both of her hands in front of her like an “X”.
It gets Fluttershy's attention, but she is in such a state of frozen panic that all she can do is stare at Blossomforth, completely pale and knees buckling against each other.
“I DIDN'T WANT FRIES AND A DRINK! JUST TWO FUCKING DOUBLE CHEESE BURGERS WITH NO PICKLES!” screams George, audibly ready to blow a blood vessel and spray his heated blood all over the place..
Fluttershy gulps and her fingers tremble as she pokes at the screen, trying with all of her brainpower to remember how the buttons work as panic rapes her mind in the most brutal way possible.
“Fluttershy, give me the headset,” says Blossomforth, hand extended, but her words falling on ears that have been blocked by the hysteria attacking the new girl's mind.
“Oh-okay, okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I-I'll get you your burgers.” Fluttershy says, tears streaming down her face and a hand wiping away the wet snot coming from her nose.
“You're such an asshole, George!” says Gilda.
“Gilda, call me George one more time and see what happens!” snaps George
Fluttershy wipes her nose again. “O-okay, the-the two double cheeseburgers come to a total of-”
“No, fuck you!” interrupts George, making the violently shaking Fluttershy clamp her mouth shut and release a whine. “Fuck you! Fuck this establishment! Fuck you wanting to shove your shit down my throat! I'm going to Micky Dee's to get a real burger!”
The car screeches over the speaker, making everyone cringe, and zooming past the window, with the driver flipping off Fluttershy, is a red convertible with an 'Ivy League Graduate' sticker on his bumper. After the dickwad is out of sight, the whole establishment becomes quiet. Only the sizzling of fries and the churning parts of the char-broiler are left to carry the weight of giving the place any noise.
All the employees stare at Fluttershy, wide eyed and frozen in place as she stares straight ahead at the white '$3.50' inside the red block, finger poised over the white 'Total' below it. Her esophagus feels like it has a soaked stone stuck in the middle of it, and her eyes are becoming wetter by the second as a weak whimper leaves her trembling lips.
She barely hears Blossomforth clear her throat over the sounds of her thumping heart and her racing mind that is desperately trying to figure out what in the world just happened. Quitting is also very heavy on her mind, especially since this is not the “fun and exciting, fast paced environment” that the lady in the video said and that Blossomforth implied. This is the exact opposite.
This is terror.
This.
Is.
HELL.
“I'll just... I'll just take the headset back,” says Blossomforth softly. Fluttershy's coworker rubs her fingers and tenderly removes the headset as if worried that Fluttershy will break down like a Jenga tower. After taking the headset back, she puts her hand on Fluttershy's shoulder and gently asks: “Are you okay?”
“No,” sniffles Fluttershy.
Then she faints.
At Micky Dee's...
Trixie Lulamoon stands in front of her new boss, wearing black pants and shoes, and a red shirt with yellow bands on the sleeve cuffs and collar, and a smiling burger taking up her whole back. Or, at least she is kind of standing, anyway. She is more leaning against the counter, back to the few guests inside and her butt cheeks press against the counter's edge, and she has the first two buttons undone on her uniform shirt to slightly expose her chest, too. She can feel a couple of boys from her high school staring at her, eating their burgers slowly, probably hoping they have enough money to buy another round of food so she can take their order.
Her boss is wearing an all black uniform with red bands on his shirt's sleeves and collar, and his tag says “Keith”.
“Now, Trixie, it's just like working the front counter, only you have a headset, which you push this button to speak to the customer, got it?” says the manager as he places the headset on Trixie's head. After doing that, Trixie nods and he continues. “It's pretty easy. Just remember that our special is the Big Mouth Burger, and if you have any questions or need help with anything, I will be with the fries.”
“Please, Trixie can handle a simple headset,” says Canterlot High's second most desirable girl while adjusting the microphone and headset to a more comfortable position. She winks at the two boys, whom she now recognizes as Snips and Snails, and they instantly pull out their wallets and start counting their change. She quickly looks back at Keith and adds: “Trixie does not require the help of anyone at the moment, so begone and let Trixie work in peace!”
Kieth rolls his eyes and goes over to the frying vats, muttering something about her third person talk driving him crazy. However, Trixie knows the truth. He is just jealous that he can't do it like she can. No one wants to hear “Keith” in every sentence, anyway. Just thinking about such a horrible name actually makes Trixie shudder and gag.
'His parents must not have wanted him,' thinks Trixie, trying to feel this strange thing called remorse, but all she can find is annoyance because of a fly that has taken a liking to her hand.
BLEEP!
Trixie sighs and strolls over to the computer screen with one hand on her headset and the other waving the fly away.
BLEEP!
“Answer the beep!” shouts Kieth over the agonizing sizzling of the hundreds of fries being cooked in an oily hell.
“Trixie is getting it!” yells Trixie.
BLEEP!
Trixie activates her headset, bringing a mixture of a fuzz and a rumbling engine over her earpiece and over the speakers of the fast food joint's backline.
“Hi, welcome to Micky Dee's. Would you like to try our Big Mouth Burger, today?” asks Trixie, already feeling bored and inspecting her perfect fingernails.
“Oh... Oh, oh, are you- Are you fucking kidding me!? What the hell made you think I wanted to try your damn special burger today, you skank?” says George over the speaker.
Trixie takes a deep breath, slowly breathes out through her nose, and after she cracks her knuckles, she says in a tone bright as a baby's smile: “Sir, please pull up to the second window.”
--END--
Author's Note
I got bored with the other stories I was doing, so I wanted to see how terrible I could be.