The Stupid Story Collection of Princess Audi Girl
A series of stupid stories (Hey! Alliteration, yo.)
Chapter One: OMG a French guy in my kitchen!
There once was this girl. She was 16 years old and loved to do stuff. Ok, that's vague. But seriously. There once was this girl, and she, like a lot of kids her age, wanted to get a job and earn money so she could go to the mall and shop and pay car insurance and buy highlighters and snacks and those little horoscope magazines. So, when she saw that there was a restauraunt downtown that was hiring, she eagerly walked in, asking for an application. The guy at the register handed her one. She thanked the counter dude and left, ready to go home and fill out the little application.
When she got there, she looked it over. It was a standard application-you know the types, just asks if you are a bad guy or a good guy (bad guys have had something other than "minor traffic violations," I assume), if you do any extra-curriculars and if you got education (you know, as in, "I have completed high school, yo,"). This girl (whom upon the reading of this application, bears the name of Amber) was hyped. She turned it in the next day. Then, she played the waiting game.
And then, "Woo hoo!" Yes, I know it's not a verb. But that was the sound Amber made when she was called for an interview. "Being a good guy paid off!" she said to herself happily. That afternoon, she combed her hair and put on nice black pants and a nifty pink sweater with these little puffballs. The puffballs served no purpose other than looking good. You couldn't even tighten the sweater. They were totally useless. I mean they were just there. A total waste of fabric. Who has the money to waste fabric? I guess the guy that runs the nifty sweater factory. Now that is a perfect example of a bad guy. A fabric waster.
So Amber, clad in puffballs, went into the restauraunt and sat down at a booth. This lady came over and talked to her. She introduced herself as Jenny. She was an older lady, well, not old as in old lady old, but as in 40's older. So she informed Amber of her duties as the new kitchen helper monkey. Jenny took Amber to the back of the restauraunt and into the kitchen, showing her all the different machines and all the places where ketchup packets could be found as well as the store room (Let me interject. The store room had SO MUCH FOOD! You could have lived in there! It also had rubber gloves. There were so many, you could blow them all up and throw them at people, or pretend it was a cow udder, or wear it on your head like one of those red thingys chickens have) and all the funky stuff there. (It was so funky somebody hung a disco ball from the ceiling).
So, Amber couldn't wait to begin her new duty as kitchen helper monkey. She would start that Thursday.
Amber's Thursday at work went well. And so did the following Tuesday, and the Monday two weeks from then, the Saturday three and a half months from then, as well as four years from then did on that fateful Friday when Amber got the Employee of the Week award, complete with a cute little ribbon and a five-dollar gift certificate. But there was a Wednesday when things were really strange. It was night time. People were coming in left and right, and Amber was rushing around the kitchen trying to cook the dinners fast enough. The grill girl and the waitresses were all going crazy and the dish guy was up to his elbows in that murky dishwater. Didn't you ever wonder how much somebody would be paid to drink that? If a guy walked up to you with a million bucks, would you take an eight-ounce serving of Murky Water, (knowing that you wouldn't die from it) to get that money? Think about that. But anyhow,the restauraunt was busy. Real busy.
The grill girl called back. "I need a French, and a Ranch,"
Amber had heard this command many times. She eagerly rushed over to the dressing containers and dished them out, bringing them out to the grill girl. But the plates had begun to shake, and the people were shaking in the dining area. The waitress, whose name was Christina, had trouble keeping her balance.
"What is happening?" The dish guy was being splashed by the icky water in the sink now.
Suddenly, the back door opened. A guy wearing a cowboy hat stepped in. He also was wearing chaps, spurs, a cowhide shirt, gloves, and a leather belt. He even had the sweetest snakeskin cowboy boots ever. He was a real cowboy.
He also had a herd of horses behind him. They were the prettiest looking mustangs ever. There even were a few cows in there too, some Angus and Holstein mostly.
"Somebody called for a ranch?" the cowboy said.
"Well... no. We meant, um, the dressing." The grill girl said looked sheepishly at her feet.
"Well, that's okay little lady. I thought it was kind of odd for a restauraunt to want a ranch. I'll be seein' ya. Look out for the rattlesnakes. At high noon those varmints get tough."
"Okay. Thank you." The grill girl waved goodbye. "Back to work, people. Hey Amber! I need that French." Amber set to work and filled the container with French. But then a huge spaceship in the shape of the Arc de Triomphe landed in the back parking lot. Nobody heard it 'cause this guy was crafty. He had one of those pointy mustaches, which denotes craftiness in my opinion. He carried two baguettes in his hand and wore a blue, white, and red suit.
"Ze restauraunt people want to play? Well zen, I have ze cure for them!" With that he uttered one of those cheesy cartoony evil French guy laughs. He boldly knocked on the door, and entered the restauraunt.
"Can I help you, sir?" Grill Girl asked. (She prefers to go by her codename for privacy reasons.)
"I want to battle you, madamoiselle. En garde!" The French Guy stuck out his baguette.
"Oh, no. Dad told me about this." She had hoped never to be in this situation, but it had come to her. She picked up her grill spatula and held it out for defense while she backed slowly to the phone. The phone had a blue button on it that had never been pressed. You see, all restauraunts have this blue button for situations like these. You press them if you are in need of serious help. Some hide theirs, some are right upfront with you about where the blue button is. Well, it is a wasabi button. If you press it, a Japanese cooking master will come and save the day. French Guy was jumping around in the lobby while the dining guests watched in awe. Grill Girl pressed the blue button and waited. Suddenly, some Asian-sounding music played, and out of the top of the ice cream machine came a Japanese chef in a tall hat and a white suit.
"I will bring honor to the restauraunt!" He yelled, and held up his huge knife.
"Amber!" Grill Girl yelled. "Get ready to bring Japanese Master Chef stuff to cook!" Amber rushed to the cooler and got out all sorts of foods, like pies and steaks and shrimp and some batter to fry.
"French Guy doesn't stand a chance," said Amber. She readied her food and Japanese Master Chef held up his cooking tools-a knife and a spatula. He made the first move, getting on the grill and cooking up some shrimp. French Guy simply waved that stupid baguette around. Japanese Master Chef cooked up the shrimp and tossed it into Grill Girl's mouth, who fainted from the good taste, but popped right back up. Somebody had set up a boombox and was playing hip hop from it. The French Guy was running out of moves fast. He pulled out some little quiches and tried throwing them at Japanese Master Chef, but he simply held up his knife and they all bounced off.
"Ooooh! What now! What now, French Guy?" Somebody yelled in the crowd.
Japanese Master Chef did some fancy pants moves with his tools. Somehow, the ninja-like moves resulted in the French Guy's bauguettes being cut in half. The French Guy had lost. He hung his head in shame, and the Japanese Master bowed to his opponent.
"You put up a worthwhile challenge," said Japanese Master Chef. "I thank you for your time." The French Guy walked back to his spaceship and left. Japanese Master Chef bowed and left, back through the ice cream machine.
Amber and Grill Girl smiled and the crowd gradually dispersed. Everyone resumed their duties, and at the end of the night, Amber had a good story to tell all the generations. She even told it when she was an old granny to all the grandkids who didn't believe her. They all thought she was a crazy old kook until it happened to the darn whippersnappers. Served them right. mountain due is great but rootbeer is better!