Fluttershy has a lot of regrets in her life. She actually has a notebook listing the daily regrets she remembers before going to bed, which is a lot. However, if there is one thing she regrets more than anything, it is getting a job at Hearty's Junior.
Of all the places she applied, of all the places she called and pleaded and prayed for to give her a job, only Hearty's answered her. And that wasn't because they were impressed with her application -she specifically remembers being told it sucked- but rather because they needed someone to replace the person who thought it would be a brilliant idea to come to work drunk and without their pants. Using Applejack as a reference probably helped her case, too. She is just as surprised as the rest that she managed to last as long as she has, especially since her first day was not exactly the best.
Now, Fluttershy stands once more at the dreaded drive-thru register, headset squishing her skull, her precious hair stuffed underneath her hat and the awful feeling of a squid squirming around in her stomach. Next to her, the red numbers tick up further and further on the monitor bolted above the window.
34... 35... 36... 37... 38... 39... 40...
And on and on the numbers go. On and on the numbers climb, accompanied by the rumbling of the large vehicle belonging to the driver that thought it would be smart to park their damn engine right in front of the fucking speaker like a total prick!
Fluttershy's eyes close tight, and with a deep breath and clenched fists she forces to the front of her mind the happy thoughts of baby bunnies and fluffy birds playing in a lush field under a cheerful sun. Gradually her hands open, leaving streaks of red on her palm, and in steady tone, she speaks.
“I'm sorry, I can't hear you. Can you please repeat your order?”
RRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrRRARARRRRRARRRRrrrr
“I said warggle blarggle girbble burger barge Dank and guglrgl frrerrs,” says the driver.
“I'm sorry, I still can't hear you.”
“THEN I'LL GO SOMEWHERE ELSE WITH BETTER SERVICE!”
Tires squeal and a large truck meant to bash through barricades speeds by the window, and Fluttershy's heart sinks. She is still annoyed that the customer didn't have any patience with her, but that helpful voice in her head is telling her that he didn't know that he was parked too far from the speaker. She makes a mental note to politely ask the customer to pull closer to the speaker.
Even though the it should be obvious that the engine is in front of the speaker.
Should be obvious.
Should be.
Should be very much.
Fluttershy shakes her head to purge the annoyance from her. Things happen. Things happen all the time. Like grouchy customers coming in and looking down on a simple worker trying to save up money so she can afford veterinarian school. Or clean up someone's chocolate and red surprise all over the toilet. Or being scheduled alone on frontline to deal with the choking sensation of a constant stream of customers in drive and lobby, both of which lack any observational skills. Or, like today, having the schedule changed at the last minute and not being notified of it until after walking in late, as per the new schedule.
Fluttershy closes her eyes and rubs her face. Up and down her palms go, dragging across her skin. She tries yet again to purge such malicious thoughts of impatience from her. Her heavy breathing lightens with steady breaths, and she reaches down to grab a towel from her bucket of sanitized water. She is about to wipe off a spill of tea on the counter when the door opens up and a group of teenagers wearing the Crystal Prep Academy suits come strolling in, talking loud, laughing louder, and reeking of sweat and pot. Their shirts are untucked, their ties loose and their jackets are far from acceptable. It brings a sense of disappointment to Fluttershy, seeing the students treating their nice clothes with disregard. She knows if she could she would get clothing similar to the Crystal Prep Academy, but she cannot and knows she has no right to condemn how others dress, so she says nothing.
They stop at the edge of the metal guides, leaning on them or balancing against them, all staring at the menu with glazed eyes and bizarre smiles.
Fluttershy smiles and meekly waves to them. “Hello.” She turns to the backline. “Um, one group in.”
The worker -who is not Applejack- doesn't hear her because he is too busy drumming on the make-table with tongs.
Not wanting to raise her voice, Fluttershy looks back at the group, taken back by their sudden close proximity to the counter.
“M'kay, girl, I wanna number one large with curly fries,” says the first teenager.
“Okay... Is that for here or to go?” says Fluttershy.
The first teenager looks at the second teenager, who is texting on his phone.
“Yo, what do you wanna eat?” says the first.
“Chicken club with mushroom sauce, fries, drink, large,” says the second. He scoffs and looks at the third. “Can you believe this? I swear she's bipolar.”
“Well, her parents did name her Sour Sweet. Maybe they have future seeing powers and saw her being an unstable poohead,” says the third. He then looks at Fluttershy and points at the board. “I want that one without the veggies and onion rings, small drink, and a salad.”
Fluttershy looks at the board of a dozen meal selections, brain straining to figure out where he pointed, but the items all blur together and her vision fuzzes out for a moment. She blinks rapidly and looks back, failing at hiding her confusion.
“I'm sorry, but which one-”
“Gimme a number five,” interrupts the fourth teenager. “No tomatoes, no bacon, no cheese, no mayo, add mustard, add lettuce, add onion, but sub the big meat for a little meat. Just a drink. No fries.”
“I-I'm sorry, but was this for here or to go?”
“We already said it was for here.”
“Oh... Can you please tell me your orders again?”
The group groans impatiently and Fluttershy squeaks and shrinks back slightly, fully ashamed of not hearing them the first time.
After a few minutes of hearing, confirming and waiting for the order to be made, Fluttershy makes her way to the table the group has claimed. They have collected about a dozen cups of ketchup and already made a mess of the salt and pepper, turning the red table into a modern arts piece.
Her heart stresses and her eyes want to twitch since she spent a good portion of the time cleaning and bleaching the tables. But she once again pushes back her annoyance. They didn't know of her troubles. Had they known surely they would have been more careful. And surely they would have thanked her if they were not too engaged in a thoughtful discussion about sex, drugs and violence. Or, as thoughtful as a “Would you ever?” type of conversation go.
BLEEP!
The sudden noise jerks Fluttershy like a puppet on a string, causing her to nearly drop the tray she used to carry the food. The group doesn't notice this. Or, at least they don't appear to notice this.
BLEEP!
Fluttershy presses her headset and rushes to the drive thru register.
“Hello, welcome to-”
Bee-Boo-Bummmmm
And thus signals the end of the battery's life.
BLEEP!
“Oh, dear,” mutters Fluttershy frantically.
BLEEP!
She yanks off her headset and jerks out the battery, running to the charging port. “Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear.”
BLEEP!
Fluttershy slips in a new battery, but-
BLEEP!
The battery won't fit!
BLEEP!
Fluttershy swallows a growl and flips the battery, but-
BLEEP!
It still won't fit!
'Why won't it fit?' is what Fluttershy wants to scream, but she can't scream. That will be rude and-
BLEEP!
Ruin the customer's meal.
BLEEP!
“Are you going to get that?” says the backline worker, who is now standing behind the dirty behemoth that is the charbroiler.
BLEEP!
Fluttershy finally gets the batter to fit at the cost of her hands trembling, her fingers sweating, and lack of airflow from something wet stuffing her throat.
BLEEP!
“HellowelcometoHeartysJuniorwouldyouliketotryourcheeseburger?” says Fluttershy as she races to her register and slides to a stop in front of it, having to use the beverage bar to keep herself from breaking her face on the greasy tile.
The engine on the other end revs like a beast challenging its lesser to a duel to the death. It also sounds like 3.8-liter, twin-turbo six-cylinder engine to Fluttershy, but she can't be too sure. She is more into fashion than cars.
“Uh, yeah, hi, I wanna burger,” says the customer with a voice deep and that sounds like it is stuffed with chewing tobacco.
“You came to the right place. We have a lot of burgers,” says Fluttershy. She pulls herself up and wipes a lock of pink hair from her eyes. “Do you want to try our double cheese burger. Its really good.”
“Nah, but I do want a burger.”
“...Okay. We can get you one.”
“I see a burger I want, but I don't know what it is. It has meat and stuff on it.”
The backline worker groans, and Fluttershy is compelled to follow his example, but she bites her tongue. The customers are still munching on their food and now throwing fries at each other.
Fluttershy shakes her head and puts her focus back on the drive-thru monitor.
“Okay, what number are you looking at?” asks Fluttershy.
“Why do you want my number?” asks the customer.
Fluttershy squeaks and blushes. “What? No-”
“I mean, you got a cute voice, but I'm taken. Like I got a cutie kind of taken, but you can be my backup if it don't work out.”
“N-No, I mean, what number are you looking at on the menu?”
“Oh, that number. I don't know. It's got lines or something. It looks weird. But I see some green stuff on it, like peeled skin from the public pool.”
Fluttershy grimaces.
“I think its a two,” says the customer. “What's the second number of the numberbet?”
“...Two...” says Fluttershy slowly, briefly wondering if that was right for some reason.
“... Nooo~ I'm pretty sure that's three. Yeah, the number three with a hotdog instead of fries!”
Fluttershy hits the number three burger icon. It is a mushroom and swiss burger with absolutely no vegetables on it, unless one counts the wheat bun as a vegetable. After hitting the icon it pulls up a screen showing a selection of sides ranging from fries to salads.
“I'm sorry, but the number three doesn't come with a hotdog,” says Fluttershy.
“Can't I sub it out? Like switch the fries for a hotdog?” asks the customer.
Fluttershy breathes slowly through her nose. “No. But you can get onion rings or curly fries.”
“How about a spicy chicken, instead?”
“No, we can't do that. The sides are either, fries, curly fries, or onion rings.”
“What about chili cheese fries?”
Fluttershy sighs and leans against the monitor, rubbing her forhead. “We can do that, too.”
“Okay, I'll take chili cheese fries, but replace the fries with a hotdog.”
Fluttershy's teeth crack from how hard she is clenching her jaw and she lifts a fist to bang it on the counter, but stops herself and resorts to wiping her mouth instead.
“Sir, we cannot do that,” says Fluttershy. “We can keep the chili cheese fries, but we cannot substitute a hotdog for any side at all.”
“Oh... Well, why didn't you say so? I'll just take an apple pie. Nothing else, just the pie,” says the customer.
And just like that, the world is shrouded into darkness. Fluttershy's eyes dim. Her bones lock in place. A cold cloud of poison seeps into her brain, killing the sun, skinning the rabbits, lighting the babies on fire. A plague of evilness descends on the happy village of elves, leaving them to be genocided out of existence. Her finger hits the clear button and her finger glides to the $0.99 apple pie.
“Just a pie?” says Fluttershy venomously.
“Just a pie,” says the driver.
She hits the pie. The total pops up on the screen.
“One oh eight at the window, please,” says Fluttershy.
“Thanks!” chirps the driver, now sounding strangely like a familiar girl.
Fluttershy shakes her head, takes a deep breath, puts on her best smile and goes to the window with the pie. Much to her surprise, Rainbow Dash is sitting at the drive-thru window in her fancy red sports car, which is definitely a model that supports a 3.8-liter, twin-turbo six-cylinder engine.
Rainbow Dash is sporting her sunglasses and soccer gear, and next to her is Sunset Shimmer, who is wearing the Caterlot High tennis team outfit, which kind of makes her looks like a skank. Just like all female tennis players with their stupid sleeveless shirts, shorts skirts and oh look at me I'm so fabulous because I can hit a stupid ball with a stupid stick hats! And no amount of internal chiding will banish that thought! Such thoughts only become more vocal in the chambers of her mind when she sees Sunset's face is red, her cheeks are puffed out and her eyes are watering, and Rainbow Dash has such a phony look of regret that she has found another thing to put in her book of regrets. And that is the desire to slap Rainbow Dash in the face. And Sunset, too. The thought of siccing Angel after them even crosses her mind, but that might lead to murder charges.
“Hey, Flutters, sorry, I forgot my wallet, so I'll snag the pie at a later time. See ya!” says Rainbow Dash.
And then she zooms off, leaving a trail of burnt rubber, and Fluttershy stands at her register, dumbstruck and fighting the tears building in her eyes. She takes a deep breath, puts the pie back in its slot, goes into the mop closet and after a quick look around she pulls out her phone and selects Zephyr for a text message, sniffling and blinking.
“Zephyr, Rainbow Dash just came through drive thru asking about you. She really wants to go on that date. Also, bring a friend, Sunset wants company. Dress nice!- Fluttershy.”
She then sends the message and goes to clean up the mess the group left, longer mad, no longer sad, but now blinking the remnants of tears from her eyes. She has found serenity for the night, and she will not be putting her message in her book of regrets.
