Chapter 21: One Last Ride
Walter was boiling with anger and resentment. He was beside himself, foaming at the mouth with nothing but indignation for the people around him. Skyler was holding out. Jesse wasn't answering his calls. Whenever he tried to have an intelligent conversation about politics with his son, all the kid could talk about was "Harambe", whatever that is.
"That's it," Walt said, leaving the dinner table abruptly and grabbing the car keys.
"Where are you going now?" Skyler exclaimed, annoyed. "You haven't even finished your food."
"I'm going to get a REAL Man's breakfast, not this veggie bacon crap," Walt slammed the door behind him.
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"Hello Sir, welcome to Wendy's, how may I take your order?" the voice on the other end of the line was clearly a young millennial whipper snapper.
"I need a small chili, nothing else please."
"What was that, ma'am?"
"A SMALL CHILI! ARE YOU DEAF? AM I NOT SPEAKING ENGLISH?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am-"
"I AM A MALE, I AM A HE. I DON'T DO THAT MENTALLY ILL STUFF."
"Sir, I'm really sorry, I'd like to help you-"
"IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO HELP ME YOU WOULD HAVE TAKEN MY ORDER INSTEAD OF CREATING ALL OF THESE PROBLEMS. I SAID I WOULD LIKE A SMALL CHILI AND YOU WANT TO ARGUE WITH ME ON IT. AM I NOT A VALUED CUSTOMER?" Walter screamed, spitting over the intercom.
"Sir, the chili is not a breakfast item. I'm afraid you're going to have to wait until 10 before you can order that, my apologies-"
There was a brief pause. Walter felt his blood pressure raise as the ringing in his ears started. The intercom in front of him became blurry.
"MANAGER" Walter finally stated.
"I'm sorry?" the voice over the intercom replied.
"GET ME A MANAGER RIGHT NOW"
"Give me one moment, sir. Our manager is currently prepping the store."
Walter waited, furiously staring at his watch that read 9:49AM. Cars began to pile up behind his own as he waited.
"Hi sir! My name is David, I'm the manager this morning-"
"GET ME MY CHILI DAVID. I DON'T CARE WHO YOU ARE. I WANT MY CHILI."
"Okay - I understand you're upset right now, but we don't have the chili prepared at the moment. It's not typically ready until 10am. Would you be willing to pull to the second window and wait for about 10 minutes sir?"
The ringing in Walter's ears got louder.
"I WILL PULL AHEAD ALRIGHT. JUST YOU WAIT."
Walter pulled his car forward to the first window and began immediately slamming his fist on the closed window. An employee, who looked to be slightly older than a teenager looked on as he continued punching the window.
"OPEN THE GODDAMN WINDOW! OPEN IT RIGHT NOW!" Walter screamed. The window started to crack slightly as he continued banging his now bloodied fists on it. Realizing this may prevent him from achieving his goal, he grabbed his ice scraper from his car and began wielding it as a weapon. The young employee returned on the other side of the window.
"Yes, he's about six foot, bald, he's really angry, please hurry!" The petite teenage girl frantically spoke on the phone, choking back tears as she did so. Walter continued attacking the window. Conveniently, a police officer two cars behind his own stepped out of his vehicle.
"Sir, you need to stop and put the weapon down now." The officer commanded. Walter was completely invoked with rage and disregarded the police officer as a distraction.
An older employee appeared behind the window.
"OH, SO I DON'T HAVE RIGHTS ANYMORE IN JOE BIDEN'S AMERICA? ORWELL COULDN'T HAVE SAID IT ANY BETTER!" Walter's shrieking reached a fever pitch as the line of cars and the employees looked on.
"SIR! DROP THE WEAPON NOW!" The officer yelled back, taking his taser from his belt and pointing it at Walter.
In just a split second, the window opened and Walter's swing fell onto nothing. Looking up, he saw the older employee wielding a ladle. The officer continued to scream at him to drop his weapon.
"HERE'S YOUR CHILI SIR!" the employee shouted as she tossed the ladle of scalding chili directly onto Walter's face. Before he could even scream, the irate officer fired his taser, directly hitting Walter. As his body convulsed and dropped to the ground, Walter let out a blood curdling scream.
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Walt sat handcuffed to the bench, his rage having dissipated hours ago yet his blood still boiling and his tummy still rumbling. He perked his head up slightly as he couldn't help but hear a familiar voice in the next room over.
"LOOK BUDDY, OKAY, WOULDN'T YOU BE MAD IF SOME SNOT NOSED TEENAGER REFUSED TO SERVE YOU CHILI?"
Walt had never been so relieved to hear Hank's voice.
"I SAY WE CUT WALT SOME SLACK, ALRIGHT?"
After briefly apologizing to the police officer and the manager of the Wendy's, Walt was free to go, although he had to be driven by Hank as his car was towed from the Wendy's drive thru.
"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED BUDDY? YOU LOOK LIKE THAT ONE BATMAN GUY, WHAT'S HIS NAME?" Hank snapped his fingers repeatedly as he tried to come up with the name of the character.
"I'm fine, Hank, really. I just had a little… meltdown. I'm perfectly okay."
"YOU DONT LOOK SO PERFECT TO ME, BUDDY. ALLS IM SAYING. ANYWAY, FORGET ABOUT ALL THAT. HOW'S ABOUT TONIGHT YOU AND ME CUDDLE UP WITH SOME BREWSKIES AND PLAY A LITTLE APEX?"
Walt couldn't possibly imagine a worse fate than the outing that Hank was describing.
"I'm actually feeling very ill, Hank. Could you please turn the car around and take me to the hospital again?" Walter replied, pretending to feel faint.
"SURE THING BUDDY LET ME JUST POP A U-Y" Hank replied as he whipped the steering wheel around, performing an illegal U-Turn on the wrong side of the highway.
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"So, how am I doing?" Walt asked.
"Well, the good news is that the burn on your face should heal within a few days, but your vitals… I'm sorry Walt, they're not looking so good." Walter's doctor said, matter of factly.
"What do you mean? The cancer's back? How many months do I have?"
"It's not so much a matter of months," the doctor continued, trying to be professional but obviously concerned. "I would be very surprised if you were to survive another week."
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Another day in the Superlab. Nothing out of the ordinary - Walt doing all the work, and Jesse spinning around in an office chair, because nobody from this new generation wants to work anymore.
"Jesse. I need you to help me lift the methylamine," Walter was clearly zoned out. Jesse stood up and walked over to him nonchalantly.
"So you know you're like, viral, right?" Jesse asked.
"Viral. What does that even mean?"
"I don't know, all's I know is that when I woke up this morning you were on Twitter
screaming at some kid in a fast food joint," Jesse explained. "What's up with all that, yo? You got some mental problems or something? "
Walt gritted his teeth. "I do NOT have mental 'problems', Jesse. Could someone with mental problems run an empire?" he snapped back.
"I mean, yeah. We learned about this one king in high school, he was crazy yo. You're kinda like that." Jesse said.
Walter felt his rage coming back inside of him. He stopped what he was doing and paused.
"JESSE, I ASKED YOU TO HELP ME LIFT THE METHYLAMINE, NOT ACT LIKE YOU ARE SMARTER THAN ME. CAN YOU LISTEN FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE?" he shouted.
"What, are you gonna ask for my manager if I don't?" Jesse said, laughing. Immediately, Walter dropped the methylamine and punched Jesse in the jaw.
Jesse fell down, his hand covering his face. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU MAN?" he screamed at him before grabbing his ankle and ripping Walt to the ground with him. Walt responded by attempting to tackle Jesse while throwing punches at him.
After 2 hours of brutal fisticuffs with each other, Jesse stood across the room facing Walt.
"I'M DONE MAN," Jesse said, his voice straining. He limped his way to the exit of the lab. Walt stood there, feeling smug. He definitely won that fight and showed that snot nosed kid who is boss.
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After enjoying his victory, Walt returned to his home with his shitty annoying kid and bitchy wife. He opened the door to his home to see his son with his nose in his phone, as per usual.
"Dad, you're like, a meme!" Flynn said excitedly.
"What is with you kids and your made up words? What are you even talking about?" Walt said sternly.
"Here, just, just look." Flynn handed his phone to Walt. Twitter was opened showing results for #TheManagerGuy.
Walt began scrolling. There were thousands of people discussing his incident at Wendy's, which wasn't even a big deal and was a perfectly normal response. Someone autotuned his scream to sound like some rap song. Walt sat down, in shock, as he began to see more and more tweets. One of them from a popular conservative commentator by the handle of Kekistan1488.
"See what happens when you are denied your lawful rights? Liberal institution Wendy's DENIES a man food for the basis of him being a white man. We will not stand for this injustice. Liberal snowflakes are raging." it read.
"Service workers are paid pennies on the dollar to deal with disrespectful customers and a harsh work environment. People like #TheManagerGuy show us why it's extremely important that service workers nationwide are challenging their greedy employers and starting unions," another one read.
"This is very stupid, as usual, Flynn. I'm going to lie down," Walt shuffled to the bedroom, only to find that the door was locked from the inside.
"Leave me alone, Walt!" Skyler yelled from the other side.
Left with no other option, Walt gathered a bunch of blankets and pillows and tried his best to make the floor of Holly's room comfortable. As he lied down on the floor, he couldn't help but ponder at the meaninglessness of it all - the futility of human existence. Nearly every relationship he had ever been involved in was transactional, and even then most of the people he knew couldn't stand to be around him for more than a few minutes at a time. More than that, he had only one week left to live, if that, which made raising enough money for his family practically impossible. Before he could think any more, Walt drifted off into sleep.
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Walt was walking happily down the street. In one hand, he had a cup of Wendy's chili. In the other hand was his spoon. The sky was blue, and the birds were chirping. Also Trump was president. Suddenly, a man approached him.
"Hey! You're that guy - the manager guy!" he exclaimed, pointing at him.
Walt paused for a moment. This guy seemed happy to see him. People generally are not happy to see him. This was…almost nice.
"Yes, that's me." Walt said as he ate his chili.
"You're awesome man! Can I take a picture with you?" he said as he got his phone out.
"Of course." Walt said as he posed with the stranger. The camera clicked.
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Walt woke up in a cold sweat on the couch. His thumb fell out of his mouth. How did he end up on the couch, he wondered? It didn't matter, he needed to speak with Flynn immediately. Quietly sneaking through the house, Walt slowly opened Flynn's door and peered inside to see him playing some stupid fucking game on the internet.
"I'm a changed man, Junior," he said as he hovered over his son's desk space in nothing but his tighty whities.
"Hold on guys, my dad came in," Flynn said into a microphone before taking off his headphones.
"I'm so sorry for the way I've behaved all these years," he almost began to sob. "I'm just so glad to see I've been able to make people all over the world happy with something I did."
"What are you talking about, Dad?" Flynn asked.
"You know, son. The may may. The video."
"Oh, that. That's a dead meme, Dad, nobody cares about that anymore. Wendy's turned it into a commercial and everything. It's totally corporate now. Only normies laugh at stuff like that."
"I see," Walter responded, wiping the tears off his face, a cold chill washing over him.
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Walt sat in his car, inside of his garage. The only lights in the room were the headlights that automatically turned on. He glanced at his own face in the rearview mirror for a moment, looking into his own eyes hoping to see something that was once there a final time. The gaze that reflected back at him was one of a soulless being. Deep inside, this reaffirmed to him that the decision he was making was the correct one all along. All of this 'empire' talk, trying to take care of his family - Walt knew that man was no longer here. He would not be coming back. Slowly, he reached to turn his car stereo on. Kom Susser Tod began to play as Walt slipped away.
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"Where's the fuckin' money Howard?" an Italian mobster asked, banging on the glass Jewelry stand with his baseball bat.
"I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I'LL FUCKIN' HAVE IT FOR YOU, I PROMISE!" Howard screamed back, his girlfriend cowering in the corner of the store.
"You have it by five o'clock today or your ass is done. You hear me?" The mobster pointed the bat at Howard before clocking him in the face.
"JESUS CHRIST, I'M FUCKIN' BLEEDING YOU SON OF A BITCH," Howard yelped as his girlfriend came over to his side.
"Oh yeah? Well it's nothing compared to what's coming to you," the mobster spat on his face before walking away.
"Are you okay, Howie?" Julia asked, tears streaming down her face. "We need to get you to a doctor!"
"I'm alright, I'm alright," Howard said, barely able to speak, his jaw completely busted.
Out of nowhere, the bell rang.
"Shit, who is it now?" Howard asked before getting up to check the camera. He saw nothing but a USPS delivery man dropping off a package. "Oh shit, my new opal is here!"
The man almost seemed to skip across the broken glass of his store before opening the door and taking the package inside. As he tore it open, he quickly realized this is not what he had been expecting. The address of the sender was not Africa, but New Mexico. 308 Negra Arroyo Lane, to be exact.
"What the fuck?"
"What is it, Howie?" Julia asked from the other side of the room.
"Some stupid fuckin' book, says Death Note."