:Author's Note:
Here is a story I began last year (during the original run of Operation Overdrive) and sort of abandoned. I was feeling down about various things and wasn't able to work on anything too slapsticky right then. Fast-forward to July 2008, and Slapstick has become my middle name. So, I decided to give this story a go again!
Of course, I don't own Power Rangers Operation Overdrive. "Heck's Oven" and "Norman Hennepin" are very, VERY thinly veiled parodies of the Fox series "Hell's Kitchen" and its star, Chef Gordan Ramsay. (Where did "Hennepin" come from? In my home state of Minnesota, we have counties named Ramsey County and Hennepin County. Yes, you see what I did there. Kind of an in-joke, but now you understand it, even you non-Minnesotans.)
Six eggs landed on the floor in rapid succession, and Dax Lo stared dumbly at the yellow and white puddle that oozed across the Hartford kitchen floor at his feet.
"Well, that's okay. I'm sure the recipe will be just fine without the half dozen eggs," he said cheerfully. "You know, eggs are notoriously high in cholesterol!"
Before him was a large mixing bowl with a runny, disgusting combination of poorly measured ingredients, and he began stirring the egg-less concoction vigorously.
"Okay, what's next? Milk. Milk! Of course, milk! Of course, it's milk. Does a body good and does a recipe even better. Ha ha, old advertising slogan. Added a bit of my own personal touch there, and adapted the slogan to fit the situation. That's what's known as improvisation!"
He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a plastic jug of milk. Without thinking, he began liberally pouring the liquid into the mixing bowl, and it was only after the bowl nearly overflowed that he remembered the measuring cup.
"Oh! Oh, boy. Uh... that's a... a cut, there. Cut. If there was a camera rolling, I'd... that would be a cut."
He gave the bowl a few futile stirs, and pulled out the spoon, which was coated in watery slop.
"Well, you know, appearance isn't everything," he said, and licked the spoon. "Hmmm... boy, you know, maybe I should have held on to those eggs. Yeah, oh, I really didn't stir this very well."
Unbeknownst to him, his colleague and friend, Rose Ortiz, had entered the kitchen, and was now watching him through horrified, unblinking eyes.
"Dax, what are you doing?" she asked worriedly.
The spoon immediately flew out of his hand in his surprise, and Dax suddenly slipped on the splattered egg while trying to appear nonchalant and, with a scream, he crashed to the floor.
The bowl somehow managed to fall off the counter above him, and it landed on his face. He'd been temporarily knocked unconscious, and the majority of the contents landed in his open mouth.
"Yeah. I guess I should have known that was going to happen," Rose sighed.
Dax groaned and held his bright blue ice pack tightly against the large lump that was in the process of forming on his forehead. Every so often, he coughed up a small amount of the mixture that he'd managed to swallow as he'd regained consciousness.
Across the kitchen, Rose was pushing a mop over the messy area, and every so often, commenting to herself about the fact that Dax had used a liquid measuring cup to measure flour.
"Oh, ow. Rose, you don't have to clean that up. We'll make Spencer do it," Dax said, cringing as his head pounded in tune with his voice.
"We're not making SPENCER do it. Spencer does enough around here. YOU should be cleaning it up," Rose said.
"Oh. Hey, you're right! I should be cleaning it up!" Dax jumped to his feet, but immediately doubled over in pain, clutching his head with both hands.
"You probably have a concussion. Sit back down," Rose sighed. "I'm almost done. You do know that celery seed and celery salt aren't the same thing, don't you?"
"Oh, I don't bother with spices. They distract the palate from the natural flavors of the food!" Dax exclaimed.
"What flavors? It looks like all you had here was butter, flour, potatoes and milk."
"And my secret ingredient, which I'm not going to tell you about, because it's a secret! You'll have to find your own secret ingredient!"
"Oh, and half a packet of ramen noodle seasoning," Rose added, picking up the wrapper and cringing. "Oh, ew, shrimp flavor?"
Dax sighed and put his head down on the table.
"Well, sure, announce my secret recipe to everybody, why don't you. That's just fine."
"Dax, WHY were you trying to cook?" Rose asked, finishing her mopping.
Dax looked at her and sighed.
"It was for an audition."
Rose stared at him, aghast.
"An AUDITION?! Dax! Don't you remember what Mr. Hartford said?! Don't you remember the... bathrooms from before? Don't you remember how many of them there were?! Oh, Dax, don't you remember the SMELL--"
"I know! But, Rose, this is different! This isn't the role of a lifetime! This isn't the stepping stone to a new and greater career! This isn't my one way ticket to fame, fortune and awards show gift bags full of complimentary doodads I couldn't afford now if I sold both kidneys to the president."
Rose raised an eyebrow.
"Okay... well, what is it, then?"
Dax reached into his pocket, and pulled out a sloppily folded flier. He whipped it open and handed it to Rose.
"'Heck's Oven'?" she read.
"It's a cooking reality show!" Dax cried, despite the ringing in his ears and the painful throbbing of his forehead. "Isn't it great?!"
Rose peered at him over the top of the flier, and frowned.
"You must have hit your head really, really hard. Do you want to go to the hospital?"
"Rose, I'm serious! Do you know what an opportunity that could be?! It's hosted by Chef Norman Hennepin!"
"Gosh, Dax, I didn't realize you had such a passion for cooking."
"I don't!" Dax laughed. "I can't microwave a burrito! But you don't have to know how to cook! All you have to do is know how to stand there while an irate British guy yells at you, then say something funny! It's a slam dunk!"
"Well, that will definitely come in handy, after Mr. Hartford finds out about this and Spencer makes you clean all the bathrooms again. Dax, why would you want to go on a show like that?"
Dax's eyes widened and he began flailing about, waving his hands in the air, sputtering. Rose took a step backward, then two.
"Dax? Dax?! Okay, that's it, I'm calling an ambulance. This isn't normal--"
"What do you mean why would I want to go on a show like that?" Dax eventually managed to spit out. "What do you mean WHY?"
"Well, I mean... why?"
"Fame, that's why! Fame! I, me, Dax Lo, could be a breakaway star! Just like Carrissa Nance, Ben Sanderson and Jack Jennings!"
"And... Who would they be?" Rose asked, leaning against the counter. She was getting exhausted just looking at him.
"Who are they? They're... the breakaway stars of Heck's Oven! Carissa and Jack ended up co-hosting a show on the Television Tome Network, and Ben Sanderson does color commentary at awards shows. They started out as losers who can't cook; foils for Chef Norman Hennepin, and look at them now!"
"So you think you're... going to be the next... one of those people."
"Exactly! Or, at least, I could be."
"Dax, didn't you learn anything last time? Didn't you, really? You haven't got time to run off and film a TV show!"
Dax held up a finger, grinning deviously.
"I certainly have time to film one episode and get thrown off at the end!"
"What good would that do you?" Rose asked.
"Carissa Nance got voted off at the end of episode one. So did Ben Sanderson. And Jack Jennings, the legendary Jack Jennings, left halfway through the first episode! Halfway through, Rose! We're talking two hours! Instant fame! Instant!"
"And then what? You'll have to do all kinds of TV show appearances and--"
"Not until the show's over, Rose! Not until Heck's Oven wraps up the season!"
"And when will that be?"
"Not for six months! Please, Rose, if we can't find the rest of the jewels within six months, we're... we have no business even trying."
Rose shrugged.
"We'll finish here, you know... saving the world and all, just in time for me to go off and become the next big thing! And from there, it's only a hop, skip and a jump to my own sitcom. Maybe my own dramatic doctor series. Do you think I could fake a British accent?"
"No," Rose replied. "Dax... are you going to tell Mr. Hartford?"
"Why should I tell him? I'll be gone twenty minutes!"
"Twenty minutes?"
"I'm gonna beat Jack Jennings' record. I'll be the worst chef they've ever seen!"
"Well... good luck," Rose said hesitantly.
"No, Rose. No. BAD luck is what we want. Bad."
"What the hell do you call that?!" Chef Norman Hennepin shouted in the ear of a sweaty, wide-eyed, trembling young culinary school student. "You call that risotto?!"
"Yes, chef-" the boy mumbled, glancing backward at the girl who had claimed, to his face, to be his best friend, but who, unbeknownst to him, was plotting to sabotage him. "I--"
"You call it risotto?! I call it a steaming pile of dog shit! That's what I call it!"
"I'm sorry, chef..."
"And it's cold on top of everything! Oh, fuck me! Maria!"
The boy's "confidant" stepped forward, trying to hide her mirth.
"Yes, Chef?"
"Get on risotto! It's clearly too much for Danny to remember to wipe his ass after he goes to the loo, let alone make a risotto fit for human consumption!"
"Yes, Chef!" Maria exclaimed, shooting Danny a sympathetic look.
"Oh, and what the hell have we got going on over here? Table seventeen still hasn't got their appetizers! Wake up, will you!"
Dax grinned to himself. This was perfect! This was beautiful! This was a shoo-in! Danny was the one who had gone to culinary school, and he was getting his white-clad butt handed to him on tacky dinnerware. Dax would be given no mercy whatsoever, and before he knew it, he would be out on his white-clad butt and his ticket to fame and fortune would be stamped. He would officially be the worst chef to ever appear on Heck's Oven, bar none.
"And then what have we got-- do you intend to serve that, Mr. Lo?! Do you honestly intend to serve that?!"
"Of course I do!" Dax grinned, staring into the camera. "It's a down home specialty!"
"Down home where?! In the toilet?! That doesn't look like two spaghettis and seared whitefish to me, MR. LO!"
"Oh no!" Dax cried, putting his bare hands over his mouth in a room in which raw foods were handled and cleanliness was paramount. "Was I supposed to be making spaghetti? But I thought Sven was on spaghetti! Everyone's against me! I am hated and despised!"
"Unbelievable. Un-be-fucking-lievable!" Chef Hennepin screeched. "Everyone, stop what you're doing! We're shutting it down!"
Dax gave a little fist-pump of joy.
Here we go. Here we go! My first dinner session in absolute shambles! Clearly, I haven't got what it takes. I'm out the door! Buh-bye!
As predicted, the eliminations came down to Danny, poor, trembling little Danny, and Dax. Dax shot Danny a confident look; don't sweat it, kid. You're likeable. You have that 'it' factor. You'll make it at least two more episodes because the producers feel bad for you. And then you'll open a nice Mom and Pop diner somewhere while I interview Maggie Gyllenhaal on the red carpet somewhere, he thought.
"Danny, your risotto was absolutely inedible. It was the worst thing I've ever seen. I would be ashamed to have you cook for my restaurant," Chef Hennepin was saying.
Danny had tears in his eyes; perhaps artificial. Dax did notice the producers telling Danny to ham it up, to show some real grief. The lip biting was an especially nice touch. Dax might just have to steal that for when Chef Hennepin did his evaluation.
And there it was.
"Dax." Chef Hennepin took a deep, resonating breath, and he shook his head sadly. "I do not know where to begin. It is as though you have had no formal training whatsoever."
"You don't know me," Dax said, bitterness dripping from every syllable. "I'll show you all. I'll open my own restaurant."
Chef Hennepin raised an eyebrow.
"Nevertheless, I have made my decision." He paused dramatically. "Danny."
"Yes, Chef," Danny half-sobbed. He would be told he was safe in just a few seconds. The relief would wash over his face, and he would run to Maria's side and they would hug one another, and the viewing audience would groan as a voice-over of Maria saying "I'll get him next time. Sucker. I'll make him eat risotto off my naked body before I'm through with him," played over their emotional embrace.
Dax took a deep breath and tried not to smile.
"I'm sorry, you're out. Hand me your apron."
Danny's head snapped up, and he paled.
Dax had heard wrong. Dax had heard wrong and he had not heard right and what was going ON here he had heard wrong, this was some kind of joke, this was some kind of ratings ploy, they were both out, this was some kind of JOKE--
"Dax, you're still in," Chef Hennepin stared at Dax with luminous, energetic eyes. "There is something in you which cannot be explained, but I'm giving you another chance."
"WHAT?!" Dax screamed. "Are you some kind of idiot?!"
"That--" Chef Hennepin said, raising a finger, "Is exactly what I'm talking about. That special something. Now get back in line."
Dax could not speak.
"I've never been to culinary school. I've never taken home ec! I've never made anyone's lunch! I've never made my own lunch! Once I opened a slice of cheese and I ended up in the Emergency Room!"
Dax had run out of breath, and the executive producer of Heck's Oven, Sidney Reynolds, folded his hands over his desk and gave him a pensive look.
"So what are you saying? Huh? You came in here and decided to waste my time with this, uh, negative resume of yours? What else haven't you done?"
"I'll tell you!" Dax began, but Mr. Reynolds raised his hands, stopping him.
"No, no, no, you won't. Because I'm not going to listen. Because we never had this conversation."
"We're having it right now! Look, you... you gotta listen. I can't do this!"
"Well, we've decided you can. And the contract you signed when you agreed to do the show has decided it, too. You're to stay on the show until such time as the producers and/or Chef Norman Hennepin deem you unfit to continue on doing the show."
"But I'm terrible! I can't cook! Mr. Reynolds, this is a cooking show! Why am I on a cooking show when I can't cook?!"
"Why? Okay, you want to know why? Because you signed the contract."
"No!"
"And, because Misty is going to win."
"What? Who? Misty?"
Misty was one of his fellow contestants, a serious, all but personality-less woman who had moderate talent in cooking. Her evaluation from Chef Hennepin had been lackluster, even negative.
"Yes. Misty. Misty Reeves, third cousin of Associate producer Matt Reeves," Mr. Reynolds said. "Owed him a favor. He, uh, kind of, saved my life, a little."
"Let me get this straight," Dax said slowly. "You're rigging the reality show in favor of one contestant."
"I know, deplorable, isn't it."
"Where exactly do I come in?"
"You come in as the plucky little bastard who just won't go away. I see you being in the final three, I really do. Kind of a blessing we have you; it would be a shame to have to put little Misty up against someone who might theoretically beat her in the finale."
"In the finale?!" Dax screamed. "I told Rose I'd be back in twenty minutes!"
"Well, that was probably a mistake on your part. Are we about done here? I gotta go to lunch with the key grip. He, uh, kind of... saved my life, too. A little."
Dax stared at him, jaw agape.
"I should really stop trying to type while standing on subway tracks," Mr. Reynolds shrugged. "Oh, well, I'll learn. Hey, do you know anything about blood clots? I told the little punk I'd pay for his medical treatment, but it's starting to look like it's going to get kind of expensive."