Mod, yet not your typical "Newsies in high school." They're in the working world now…sort of…
A/N: Most of the occurrences that take place in the Chicken Shack are garnered from personal experiences throughout my two years of working at a quick-service restaurant that shall remain nameless…even though some of you already know, haha. Needless to say, modifications and such have been made and such, but it's based on actual events. The newsies characters are based vaguely on my own co-workers, but for the most part, they all retain their newsie-ness. The female characters are some of my girls from the NML, and are also based on my co-workers. Josef's only in here cause I love him dearly. Hope you think it's as fun as I do! Read and review, pretty please!!!
~*~
Chapter 1: Pre-job
It happens to us all eventually. For me, it was right after my sixteenth birthday. My parents were making me get a job. I'm growing up, I need responsibility, blah blah blah. Yeah, they just wanted to get me out of the house…
But I did, after all, have bills to pay now. My parents had gotten me a BMW for my birthday, and it was agreed that I pay for insurance. My parents still covered the gas and my cell phone bill, but I figured that I should start taking at least some responsibility for myself before I moved out of my parents' estate…
Yep, my parents are rich. Not rich enough to fix my eye, apparently, but it's all good. The patch is cool. My father is a computer programmer and my mother's a high-power lawyer with a future in politics. Obviously, they weren't around a lot. My mom was always off doing who knows what -- it's not like I really cared -- and dad was usually either locked in his den glued to some new beta version of such-and-such a product or away somewhere, testing some beta version of such and such a product. But, they took care of me, made sure there was always food in the house and such. They tried to provide all of life's finests for me, including enrollment at the most prestigious private school in NYC: Pineview Preparatory High School.
It's not as bad as it sounds, really. Sure, it was filled with stuck-up rich preps, but they considered my to be one of them, so they liked me. Plus, the patch was quite a conversation piece. The entire school, 7-12 grades, consisted of about 300 kids, most of which were of the rich, stuck-up prep variety. Needless to say, you had your skaters, jocks, brains, and a goth or two, but they were all rich anyway, so they just kind of meshed into the whole picture. With so few people, there were a few that didn't really like me, a handful that tolerated me, and most of the rest pretty much liked me. Of course, everyone knew each other, which inevitably made your business the whole school's business. It was for this reason that I kind of kept to myself. My and my best bud Todd "Mush" Myers. There were only a few people I really liked, but I got along with just about everyone pretty well. I've been known to have my fights and all, but not unless there's a really good reason…but enough about school…
I usually didn't come home right after school. The emptiness of it all was so overwhelming. So, I would go to a friend's house, chill at the mall, or just hang out at school. I had drama practice until five every other day, but other than that I wasn't really active in extracurriculars. Well, I was in choir and occasionally did a page layout or what-not for yearbook. But I didn't play any sports. Too small for football, too short for basketball, too slow for baseball.
However, I could dance. I didn't like to bust out my moves too much in public, though. I would always just crank up Bowling for Soup, Green Day, Relient K, or Red Hot Chile Peppers down in the basement after a bad day and let out some stress. I had also picked up my dad's old guitar a couple of years ago, blown the dust off, and taught myself a thing or two. I could pick some mean riffs. It was a beautiful instrument: electric cherry red Monkee's Rock Edition Gretch. Her name was Wendy. My baby… But, I digress…
So, about the job. The Saturday after I turned sixteen, my father just happened to have more than an hour off to breathe, and he insisted on taking me to the mall to fill out applications.
"But Dad, I have my own car, I'll go later," I groaned, rolling over and shoving a pillow over my head.
"Get up, Trey, I'm taking you. We need some good father-son bonding time." He yanked the pillow off my face, smiled "fatherly" at me and threw the pillow on the floor. "Be out at the car by ten, son." Finally, he left my room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Gosh, I hated when people did that! Always been quite a pet peeve of mine…
I pulled myself out of bed and staggered into the bathroom, a knot beginning to form in my stomach. Now, don't get me wrong, I love my parents and all, but spending a Saturday at the mall with my geeky father wasn't exactly my idea of a good weekend. What were we supposed to talk about? Money, most likely. That's all me parents talk to me about. Money, school, and occasionally college. Not that they really talked to me that much anyway. Dang, I sound bitter. I suppose deep down I could be harboring a bit of angst, but overall I'm a very pleasant, good-natured person.
I had great respect for my father, which is why I didn't dare pitch a fit about the whole getting a job thing. My mother, on the other hand…I love her to death, but she's just so stupid sometimes! Like, seriously dumb…opposite of coherent and intelligent. Like I have to tell her something at least five times before she understands it. I guess she uses all her brains at her job and I get the left-overs…
My dad started honking the horn impatiently, so I tied on my patch, dragged myself out of bed, and threw on some clothes. Somehow, my hair always manages to look fine without me ever doing a thing to it. It's quite a blessing, I must say.
The ride to the mall consisted of the epitome of small talk. "How's school?"
"Fine…How's work?"
"Good, good. Well, good for work, that is." The nervous guffaw confirmed my suspicions that that he was feeling the awkwardness just as much as I.
Silence regained control for a moment, then, "Any girls in your life?"
Truthfully, there were a couple that wouldn't have minded dating me, and a few more that I wouldn't have minded dating. But I could never seem to find any girls that fit into both of those categories. But I just kept it at, "No, not really." Keep it simple, I always say.
After approximately 87 years of excruciating small talk, we finally pulled into the mall parking lot. My father, being the perfectionist that he is, drove around for about three days looking for the perfect parking spot. Once parked, we headed into the "arena" as Dad so aptly put it, through the food court and began hitting up the restaurants for applications.
Dairy Queen wasn't hiring, Frank and Stein's was out of the question (they served alcohol…my dad was kind of religious), I was too American for the Chinese places, and Sbarro's just somehow didn't appeal to me. The wore those stupid little ties and crap. But I got applications from Quizno's and the cookie place, and by then, we had exhausted the food court of possibilities. Working retail really didn't appeal to me. Folding clothes and helping people try stuff on all day? I don't think so! Books-a-million looked boring. KB Toys was about to close down (which greatly disappointed me!) and only a bunch of old guys worked at the arcade.
Then my dad remembered the Chicken Shack down by Sears. It had been around for awhile, like, since the mall opened. It wasn't in the food court because there was no food court when this place was built.
"Hi," I muttered with a small smile as my dad pushed me up to the register of a semi-cute girl.
"Can I help you, sir?" she asked expectantly, obviously somewhat eager to get me out of there so she could get back to sweeping her floor.
"Can I get an application, please?" I could tell she tried to hide a small smirk as she tore an application off the pad and handed it to me in one fluid motion.
"Good luck."
I replied with merely a small nod and a slight chuckle, turning back to my dad. "Alright, let's go home."
No such luck. Dad cocked an eyebrow at me, shoved a pen in my hand, and marched me around the corner into the dining room on the side of the restaurant, sitting down at a table across from me and giving me an expectant look. "Go on."
I sighed and got to work. The applications were pretty general stuff, what kind of hours I wanted, what kind of stuff was I into, had I ever committed a felony…well, to make about a month-long story short, I never heard back from Quizno's or the cookie company, but I got the job at the Chicken Shack. Only time would tell what I had gotten myself into…
A/N: Most of the occurrences that take place in the Chicken Shack are garnered from personal experiences throughout my two years of working at a quick-service restaurant that shall remain nameless…even though some of you already know, haha. Needless to say, modifications and such have been made and such, but it's based on actual events. The newsies characters are based vaguely on my own co-workers, but for the most part, they all retain their newsie-ness. The female characters are some of my girls from the NML, and are also based on my co-workers. Josef's only in here cause I love him dearly. Hope you think it's as fun as I do! Read and review, pretty please!!!
~*~
Chapter 1: Pre-job
It happens to us all eventually. For me, it was right after my sixteenth birthday. My parents were making me get a job. I'm growing up, I need responsibility, blah blah blah. Yeah, they just wanted to get me out of the house…
But I did, after all, have bills to pay now. My parents had gotten me a BMW for my birthday, and it was agreed that I pay for insurance. My parents still covered the gas and my cell phone bill, but I figured that I should start taking at least some responsibility for myself before I moved out of my parents' estate…
Yep, my parents are rich. Not rich enough to fix my eye, apparently, but it's all good. The patch is cool. My father is a computer programmer and my mother's a high-power lawyer with a future in politics. Obviously, they weren't around a lot. My mom was always off doing who knows what -- it's not like I really cared -- and dad was usually either locked in his den glued to some new beta version of such-and-such a product or away somewhere, testing some beta version of such and such a product. But, they took care of me, made sure there was always food in the house and such. They tried to provide all of life's finests for me, including enrollment at the most prestigious private school in NYC: Pineview Preparatory High School.
It's not as bad as it sounds, really. Sure, it was filled with stuck-up rich preps, but they considered my to be one of them, so they liked me. Plus, the patch was quite a conversation piece. The entire school, 7-12 grades, consisted of about 300 kids, most of which were of the rich, stuck-up prep variety. Needless to say, you had your skaters, jocks, brains, and a goth or two, but they were all rich anyway, so they just kind of meshed into the whole picture. With so few people, there were a few that didn't really like me, a handful that tolerated me, and most of the rest pretty much liked me. Of course, everyone knew each other, which inevitably made your business the whole school's business. It was for this reason that I kind of kept to myself. My and my best bud Todd "Mush" Myers. There were only a few people I really liked, but I got along with just about everyone pretty well. I've been known to have my fights and all, but not unless there's a really good reason…but enough about school…
I usually didn't come home right after school. The emptiness of it all was so overwhelming. So, I would go to a friend's house, chill at the mall, or just hang out at school. I had drama practice until five every other day, but other than that I wasn't really active in extracurriculars. Well, I was in choir and occasionally did a page layout or what-not for yearbook. But I didn't play any sports. Too small for football, too short for basketball, too slow for baseball.
However, I could dance. I didn't like to bust out my moves too much in public, though. I would always just crank up Bowling for Soup, Green Day, Relient K, or Red Hot Chile Peppers down in the basement after a bad day and let out some stress. I had also picked up my dad's old guitar a couple of years ago, blown the dust off, and taught myself a thing or two. I could pick some mean riffs. It was a beautiful instrument: electric cherry red Monkee's Rock Edition Gretch. Her name was Wendy. My baby… But, I digress…
So, about the job. The Saturday after I turned sixteen, my father just happened to have more than an hour off to breathe, and he insisted on taking me to the mall to fill out applications.
"But Dad, I have my own car, I'll go later," I groaned, rolling over and shoving a pillow over my head.
"Get up, Trey, I'm taking you. We need some good father-son bonding time." He yanked the pillow off my face, smiled "fatherly" at me and threw the pillow on the floor. "Be out at the car by ten, son." Finally, he left my room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Gosh, I hated when people did that! Always been quite a pet peeve of mine…
I pulled myself out of bed and staggered into the bathroom, a knot beginning to form in my stomach. Now, don't get me wrong, I love my parents and all, but spending a Saturday at the mall with my geeky father wasn't exactly my idea of a good weekend. What were we supposed to talk about? Money, most likely. That's all me parents talk to me about. Money, school, and occasionally college. Not that they really talked to me that much anyway. Dang, I sound bitter. I suppose deep down I could be harboring a bit of angst, but overall I'm a very pleasant, good-natured person.
I had great respect for my father, which is why I didn't dare pitch a fit about the whole getting a job thing. My mother, on the other hand…I love her to death, but she's just so stupid sometimes! Like, seriously dumb…opposite of coherent and intelligent. Like I have to tell her something at least five times before she understands it. I guess she uses all her brains at her job and I get the left-overs…
My dad started honking the horn impatiently, so I tied on my patch, dragged myself out of bed, and threw on some clothes. Somehow, my hair always manages to look fine without me ever doing a thing to it. It's quite a blessing, I must say.
The ride to the mall consisted of the epitome of small talk. "How's school?"
"Fine…How's work?"
"Good, good. Well, good for work, that is." The nervous guffaw confirmed my suspicions that that he was feeling the awkwardness just as much as I.
Silence regained control for a moment, then, "Any girls in your life?"
Truthfully, there were a couple that wouldn't have minded dating me, and a few more that I wouldn't have minded dating. But I could never seem to find any girls that fit into both of those categories. But I just kept it at, "No, not really." Keep it simple, I always say.
After approximately 87 years of excruciating small talk, we finally pulled into the mall parking lot. My father, being the perfectionist that he is, drove around for about three days looking for the perfect parking spot. Once parked, we headed into the "arena" as Dad so aptly put it, through the food court and began hitting up the restaurants for applications.
Dairy Queen wasn't hiring, Frank and Stein's was out of the question (they served alcohol…my dad was kind of religious), I was too American for the Chinese places, and Sbarro's just somehow didn't appeal to me. The wore those stupid little ties and crap. But I got applications from Quizno's and the cookie place, and by then, we had exhausted the food court of possibilities. Working retail really didn't appeal to me. Folding clothes and helping people try stuff on all day? I don't think so! Books-a-million looked boring. KB Toys was about to close down (which greatly disappointed me!) and only a bunch of old guys worked at the arcade.
Then my dad remembered the Chicken Shack down by Sears. It had been around for awhile, like, since the mall opened. It wasn't in the food court because there was no food court when this place was built.
"Hi," I muttered with a small smile as my dad pushed me up to the register of a semi-cute girl.
"Can I help you, sir?" she asked expectantly, obviously somewhat eager to get me out of there so she could get back to sweeping her floor.
"Can I get an application, please?" I could tell she tried to hide a small smirk as she tore an application off the pad and handed it to me in one fluid motion.
"Good luck."
I replied with merely a small nod and a slight chuckle, turning back to my dad. "Alright, let's go home."
No such luck. Dad cocked an eyebrow at me, shoved a pen in my hand, and marched me around the corner into the dining room on the side of the restaurant, sitting down at a table across from me and giving me an expectant look. "Go on."
I sighed and got to work. The applications were pretty general stuff, what kind of hours I wanted, what kind of stuff was I into, had I ever committed a felony…well, to make about a month-long story short, I never heard back from Quizno's or the cookie company, but I got the job at the Chicken Shack. Only time would tell what I had gotten myself into…