disclaimer: i don't own twilight.


Maybe he'll go away. Just take a deep breath in… hold it… hold it… hold it… Alright, now you can let it out. There.

I opened my eyes.

Nope, he's still here.

The chubby man standing before me had not moved a fraction of an inch. Unless you counted the contractions of his belly as he breathed in and out, he was still in the same position he took upon entering this dump of an eating establishment three minutes ago.

Only three minutes ago? That's not that long, you say.

Zip it.

Now, some of my peers, upon finding out where I worked, wondered, "Bella, if there were an award for Most Impatient Person in the World Who Should Definitely Not Work in the Fast Food Industry, the award would definitely go to you; why work where you work?"

The answer:

I am home for the summer. I need money. Get off my fucking back.

Okay, it is 7:13 PM. Your shift started thirteen minutes ago. Less than four hours until you can blow this shithole. You can do this.

Chubster's eyes darted from right to left as he read from the menu behind me. His lips were pursed, pink and slightly damp. A look of complete concentration was ungracefully gracing his pudgy face. Why he needed to dedicate the attentiveness he was currently displaying, attentiveness that would normally be needed to draw blood from a squirming infant, on 'dinner' baffled me. In typical Bella fashion, I decided to ignore Customer X (in this case, Chubster) for causing me undue stress and would not address him until he had finally made up his mind on whether he wanted the McHeartAttack or the McStroke.

I heard my coworkers behind me bustling about, bagging orders, shoveling French fries into their little holders, conversing over the low drum of the machines. I heard those noises every day so I didn't pay too much attention to what was happening behind me.

In the dining area, I saw a small girl with curly blond hair scurrying between the white tables, a small toy in her hands. Her parents were waving her over from the opposite side of the restaurant alternating between whispering things to one another from the corners of their mouths and loudly saying, "Casey, get over here, it's time to clean up." Whatever had caught Casey's attention on the other side of the restaurant was gone now and she turned right back around to rush over to her parents. Once back at their table, she helped place all the wrappings of their food on the plastic tray her mother was holding before her. They all rose and after their trash had been properly disposed of, they exited.

The only other people left here to people-watch were an old man sitting at the far end of the restaurant reading today's newspaper and a bum sipping on coffee at the other end. And Chubster. Couldn't forget about Chubster.

Not people I wanted to be watching for the next few hours of mind-numbing labor.

Unsurprisingly, my usual pastime distracted me from Customer X (Chubster) for all of ten seconds; I had no other choice but to observe my surroundings.

There was not much to it. Once you took in the brown and white color palette of the entire area, the metallic overtones of the kitchen, the crappy fluorescent lighting, windows covered in

"ITEM X
(PICTURE)
ONLY 3.99"

advertisements, and the truly on-par-with-van Gogh paintings lining the walls, you realized this place wasn't that different from any other.

I sighed.

There go another ten seconds.

"Hey, lady—"

"Hi, welcome to McDonald's. May I interest you in our frozen strawberry lemonade this evening?" I rattled off on instinct.

It took me two seconds to realize that I had just spoken to Chubster. I was staring into his beady brown eyes and he was staring into my eyes, his eyebrows raised.

There was silence and then –

"Yeah, I'll take three number ones, hold the…"

Let the nightmare that is my job begin.


note: hello. don't take this story seriously. you'll live longer. smiles all around.

i would like to thank pearl and fo for a night of brainstorming long ago. also, angelica pickles: thanks for looking over it.