I. Smack My Bitch Up

My school had about 666 students…well, it had over 1300, but you know, that number described my daily life. Yes, there was a goth club, sports teams, glee, drama club and a coven met on the softball field every Tuesday afternoon until the sprinklers turned on.
I was not a member of any of the clubs. I wanted to start a ‘Volcano Worshippers’ group, but we couldn’t decide on which mountain to devote to, so it was disbanded that very day. There was more to life than spending my time at school: there was after school work that was supposed to fill me with confidence in my life and the capitalist system. No matter what they say, working at a burger joint does not install confidence. It doesn’t give any glory or rise in caliber. No, it only gives one depression upon seeing the amount of taxes that are taken out of your bi-weekly paycheck. Not enough to save to buy a car, never enough to rent the desire of a girl at school.
I worked in the back of the house—I was the guy who COULD hock some lung butter onto your burger if I knew who you were and you decided to piss me off earlier in the day, but for the most part it was just me playing the part of Spongebob to the girls in the front of the house. One was a Squidward, the other Sandy and the others were whatever they called those other characters.

“I need a double cheese on sourdough with everything!” Jamie, the owner’s daughter, and in my opinion, the “Patrick” of the establishment. Not because she was dense, it was because I never saw her do any work.
“We’re out of sourdough!” I would calmly shout back over the noise of the grills.
“You sure?”

I held the empty bag on the end of a spatula and waved it like a battle flag. It wasn’t my job to order items, just to cook them. I had some power in my domain, it didn’t come with any prestige but only a bit of self-satisfaction that no one knew hoe to do my job without turning everything to an a la flambe’.
“Can you just use a regular bun?”
“Does the customer want it like that?” I asked.
“It costs the same, so why would they care?”
I wanted to shrug my shoulders but instead I stayed quasi-cool: “Just trying to keep the customer satisfied.”
“Right,” she replied and left the window.
Jamie, as the owner’s daughter, was off-limits to me. Not because her parents said so, it was because I valued what little money I was making and—in some twisted parallel-inside-out-alternate dimension that I ever asked her out, it would be hell to work with her once we broke up.
And yeah, we would break.
It would be a hard break-up.
“Terry!”
I looked up from the fryer to see Jamie screaming at me from the window.
“I need you out here, now.”
I ran from the grill—and wondered if this trip was necessary. They never called me to the front unless there was a mouse or a cockroach on the floor…which we had not had in over a year since the owners got better pest control. There were however, other pests that we could never prevent…

I walked into the front area to see a man slamming his hands on the counter and screaming at Lydia, one of our new girls. His face was as red as Lydia’s hair.
Lydia saw me and stepped away from the counter.
“What’s the issue, sir?”
“Are you the manager?”
“Yes,” I lied, as I had done in the past. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell what’s going on. This damn burger tastes like it was made yesterday. I want my money back.”
“What did you order, sir?”
“I ordered a Double Charlie.”
The Double Charlie was a double burger with cheese, bacon, lettuce and mayo on …wait for it…sourdough bread. And we had been out of sour dough since earlier in the day.
“When did you order this?”
“Less than ten damn minutes ago! I should call the health department on you.”
“Great idea, sir. Jamie, can you flip the burgers on the grill please?”
Jamie ran to the back as I turned to Lydia. “You okay?”
“I’m the one you need to pay attention to,” the man yelled.
I so wanted to backhand him.
“So, what you’re telling me is that you…you got a cold sandwich?”
“Yes, I damn did?”
“On sour dough?”
“Yes!”
“Are you a dimensional traveler, sir?”
“A what?”
“Or can you time jump? I’m a little confused on quantum physics myself. Oh wait.. Yes, you’re Doctor Sam Beckett. Where’s Al?”
“Son, are you going to comp me for my shitty meal?”

“No. Because you got that yesterday. We’ve been out of sour dough since yesterday. So, either leave, or I’ll call the health department AFTER I call the police.” I picked up the phone next to the cash register and calmly waited for him to back down.
The man threw the remains of the burger to the floor and stormed out.
There was no thunderous applause or cheers to my handling of the situation. Most of the girls who worked at the place were cheerleaders—Jamie included—but none of them decided to huddle around and thank me.
I walked back to the grill where Jamie silently handed the spatula to me and went back to the front.