"Without Alfred for One Day!"
By Velvet Shadow
Rated: G
Disclaimer : Characters belong to DC Comics.
Author's Note - - I would like to thank 'Paula' for reviewing my story and telling me what she thought of it. It is because of your review that I decided to pull my story, revise it and then resubmit it with the help of DC Luder. DC, Thank you so much for your betaing my story. Without your help and encouragement, this story would not anything nearly as good. Thanks a whole bunch again. I really appreciate it. :) For anyone who would like to email me concerning fanfiction, please email me at Anything concerning fan-fiction is fine. I will consider all requests sent to me but those who would send me flames do not bother, it is a waste of your time. Also if any of you would like for me to write a story based on one of your idea's, I will consider it and if I decide to write it, I will put your name in the AN as the person who gave me the idea.
Author's Note #2 - - This is a crazy story that just popped into mind one day. It is crazy because I am at the moment extremely hyper. Also, this is my first time writing a sillyfic. I hope that it is funny, because that is my intention. Please read and review!!!
P.S. If you guys think that my title sucks, I agree. I am terrible when it comes to titles. Oh, well, I guess that it is the story that counts. Also, this is not my personal view of Bruce Wayne, but oh, well. shrugs and sighs
P.P.S. This is also used as an explanation for why Bruce Wayne isn't allowed in his own kitchen.
"Alfred!!!" Bruce Wayne ran frantically to the kitchen where the butler usually was at eight o'clock in the morning. The faithful butler was nowhere in sight. Standing in the kitchen doorway, Bruce slapped his head, a little too hard and let out a squeak of surprise, when his head made contact with the doorframe.
"Ow!!!" Man that hurts. "Alfred, where are you?!" He walked over to the toaster. Nope, no Alfred hiding in there. He went through the kitchen opening up every single drawer and cabinet door. There were about 150 cabinets and drawers, so it took him about thirty minutes to search each one. Alfred was not hiding in any of them. Darn. He went to the refrigerator to get some orange juice.
Oh, look! Alfred left me a note. Wonder why I didn't see it? Oh, well. Bruce took the note off of the refrigerator and read out loud to himself. "Master Bruce, as I'm sure you remember, I will be gone for most of the day. There is bread in the refrigerator for you to toast for your breakfast. DO NOT USE A KNIFE TO GET OUT THE TOAST WHILE THE TOASTER IS STILL ON!!! I sincerely hope that I put enough emphasis on that last sentence. I was unable to iron your suit for your meeting this morning with Mr. Fox, so you will have to do it. The tea that you like is in the canister by the stove; fill the teapot with enough water for a few mugs. When it boils, pour the water over the tea bag after you have put it in the mug. Don't forget that your meeting with Mr. Fox is at eleven o'clock this morning. You should have plenty of time to be fully together. I shall see you this evening.
"Oh, riiiiight! Alfred's gone today," Bruce said out loud to himself. He poured himself a cup of orange juice, without spilling a drop, he noted smugly. He put the loaf of bread in the toaster. Jeez, they really made toasters small these days, didn't they? He filled the teapot with enough water to fill a few cups and put the pot on to boil. So far so good. He waited for the water to boil and the bread to toast. He finished his glass of orange juice and filled it again. He was halfway through his second glass, when he smelled smoke.
Uh Oh! He dropped to the floor so that he could breath then tucked and rolled. Oh wait, that was in case your clothes caught on fire. He looked for the source of the smell. The toaster! He grabbed the fire extinguisher and poured foam on the non-existent flame. He heard crackles. Grabbing a fork from the silverware drawer (after all, Alfred had said not to use a knife) Bruce shoved the fork into the depths of the toaster. Reader, picture a cartoon flash of flame, then Bruce standing there, hair on end, smoke coming out of his ears holding the burnt loaf of bread triumphantly
I wonder what would have happened if I had used a knife, or a spoon instead? Just then the water decided to boil over. Oh, darn!!!
Bruce grabbed the handle of the teapot without using potholders and burned himself. He dropped the teapot back on the stove, it slid off and fell on the floor, shattering into a gazillion pieces. Boiling water splashed all over the clean kitchen floor. Bruce jumped back just in the nick of time to avoid getting scalded by the hot water. Giving up on eating breakfast, Bruce went to the laundry room to iron his suit. He placed the suit hanger and all on the ironing board. He turned the iron on and waited impatiently while it warmed up. When it was hot, Bruce put the iron on his suit pants leg and stood back.
"Okay, iron, iron the suit!!!" Bruce commanded. Nothing happened. Oh, great! Was the iron broken? He tried again. "Iron, iron!!!" Nothing at all. Must be broken. Wonder where Alfred keeps the instruction manuals? Bruce left the iron on the suit pants leg, not noticing that it had begun to smoke.
Bruce looked for the iron instruction manual everywhere in the kitchen. He pulled everything out of the cabinets and drawers and tossed it on the floor. Eventually he ran out of things to toss and stopped. Sniffing the air, Bruce smelled smoke. What? The iron! He waded through the mess on the kitchen floor and ran to the laundry room. He saw smoke billowing from the iron. Bruce grabbed the iron, yanked the plug out of the wall and threw it across the room. His pants leg where he had left the iron had a hole completely burned through the leg the size of the iron. The iron had started to burn through the material underneath.
Bruce gave a sound of disgust. He would have to wear the suit as wrinkled and holey as it was.
"Come on, come on!" Bruce exclaimed impatiently. He was sitting in his BMW in his garage going nowhere. He couldn't understand why. When Alfred was home the car went but when he wasn't it didn't. Bruce scratched his head. What was the 'R' for? Ummmmm… 'Right'? 'Rear'? Now why would a car have something on it that referred to the back end of the human body? Bruce really couldn't understand that part. What did the 'D' stand for? Dummy? Disgusting? Ewwwwww. What was disgusting? Forget that, now what did the 'P' stand for? Now that was rather obscene, Bruce thought. Why on earth would they have something in a car that referred to a – a bodily function? He gave up on trying to understand the letters on the dashboard. Now, what about the numbers and the other little symbols and letters? Huh? What could they be for? To practice counting by five's or maybe ABC's? He shrugged. He noticed the key in the side of the steering wheel. Oh cool, would that unlock a secret hiding place? Excitedly, Bruce turned the key and the car roared to life. Bruce jumped in his seat and banged his head on the ceiling of the car.
"Owwwww!!!!" He stomped his foot in frustration. The car shot backwards at 80 mph going through the closed garage door. Bruce pressed harder on the pedal trying to make it stop, go forward, or something and stop going backward. Oh look another pedal. Wonder what that one does? Bruce pressed it as hard as he could while his foot was pressed to the floor on the other one. Squeals came from under the car. Bruce was thrown forward and the airbags shot out as he hit his iron gates car rear end on (like head on, but with the back part). Bruce felt his face pressed against the airbag. Yanking his head up, he slapped the airbag. "Outta my way." He stuck his tongue out at the flopping white thing.
"You're not going to stop me! No one can stop me! Mwahahahahahah!!!" Bruce laughed like a mad scientist. Looking in the rear-view mirror, (something else with rear as a name), Bruce rubbed his hands through his head making his hair stand on end. Smiling, he sat back satisfied with his reflection. Reaching over into the dashboard, he looked for snacks and instead found something called the car manual. After a half hour of reading the diagrams, Bruce figured out how everything worked. Smugly, he sat back and laughed.
"Mwahahahahahahaha!!!" He put the shifter thingy to drive and pressed down on the gas pedal. The car shot forward and down the driveway. Now he was going in the right direction – forward. Were Alfred's pansies supposed to be there? Bruce drove through the garden. Alfred was not going to be happy about that. He drove towards Wayne Towers as fast as he could go.
When he reached the Towers, the guy at the gate's mouth dropped open so far, Bruce thought that his jaw would hit the ground. He wished he had a camera just in case he did. "Hey, Tony, how's it going?" he yelled out the car window as he drove by.
Tony struggled to take a breath. "I-I-I am d-d-d-doing okay, ummmm…"
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"Hey, Emmy Lou! What's going on girl?" Betty Cougar asked.
"Nothing much," Emmy Lou sighed. "Wish I could find a halfway decent guy."
"Oh, honey, still don't have a guy?" Betty asked sympathetically.
"No," Emmy sighed again.
"Well, Mr. Wayne isn't with anyone at the moment…" Betty voice trailed off then she gasped. "Oh my god!"
"What?"
"E-E-Emmy look over there!"
Emmy followed her friend's finger and gasped in horror when she saw who was coming down the hallway. "I-I-Is that Mr. Wayne?"
"I think so," Betty said, her face frozen in an expression of horror.
They and everyone else stared at the figure. Mr. Wayne had a very wrinkled suit with two huge holes in the legs. His hair was sticking straight up and it looked like he had a nosebleed that he obviously hadn't noticed yet. His face was starting to bruise and swell. At the moment, he was positively frightful. When Mr. Wayne went into his office and closed the door, the entire office building was abuzz with what their boss looked like and wondering what had happened to him.
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Bruce sat in his office drinking hot coffee and staring out the window. On the way to his office building, he had barely managed to escape getting into fifteen accidents – and that was only what he had bothered to count. While walking though the halls of Wayne Towers he had felt the stares directed at him and had ignored all of them. They were just jealous, that they didn't look as good. He looked at his watch. Six hours until Alfred would get back to Wayne Manor.
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Five hours and fifty-five minutes later, Bruce rushed into the manor and up the stairs to his room. Alfred would be home any minute and he had to change out of this horrible suit. Removing the clothes, he threw them into the garbage can in his bathroom. He changed into a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, something he never wore unless he was desperate. He was desperate to wear something that didn't have to get ironed.
"Master Bruce!!!!!!!!!" was angrily yelled from the downstairs.
Uh oh. Alfred never yelled unless he was extremely angry and most of the time not even then.
Bruce walked downstairs and followed the sound of Alfred muttering until he found him in the kitchen. "Hi, Alfred," he said with an innocent smile.
"Master Bruce." Alfred spun around. His face was a mask of tightly controlled anger. "Master Bruce, I am extremely upset over the condition of this kitchen, car and my pansy garden! Master Bruce, do not step foot in this kitchen ever again! Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now, OUT!!!"
The End.