Author's note: I sat outside the real Lai Lai for a good twenty minutes before I realized I was an hour early. If I repeated what I said to the Nikkums then, I would have to change the rating of this story. Happy Daylight Saving Time Day, everyone!
I drove to work without dying. It was an amazing accomplishment. Trust me.
And when I got there, the Parker-free part of my bad day got even worse.
There are some advantages to being soft-spoken, you know. For example, a beef entrée sans drink is $5.88, so when someone orders beef when I'm in a really bad mood, I can say, "Fine, idiot," and they'll just think I'm telling them the price and dismiss me as a mumbler. I only do that on really bad days, though, because I always feel guilty afterwards. After all, my job is to be friendly and polite and never insult the idiots.
Well, this was a really bad day.
How was I supposed to know Dr. Langstrom had hypersensitive hearing?
At least he was human at the time, so he didn't kill me. I wouldn't want to face him in his other form…
Besides Dr. Man-Bat, I had a string of normal people. You'd think that would be better, but you know, at least the villains are smart enough not to act like total douchebags to a person who has such close, personal contact with the stuff they're about to ingest. Not that I would have wanted to spit in the Joker's chow mein, no matter how rude he might have been…but the point is, Gotham's super-criminals weren't rude to me. At least, not nearly as much as the sane folks. Part of that was because I always tried to be friendly and polite to them, and part of it, I think, was that the crazy ones wanted to build a relationship with me. Relationships based on fear, of course—they wanted to keep me at least a little in awe of them—but at least they treated me like something more human than a malfunctioning ATM. Maybe they just realized I wasn't likely to be terrified of some doof who had the nerve to call me an idiot after ordering "Saskatchewan" chicken with "regular" rice.
First of all, REGULAR rice? Is that rice with high goddamn fiber?
And second of all, it's Szechuan. Sez-zhwan. Saskatchewan is in Canada.
And while I was still fuming from that, some nutcase called the Condiment King came in and demanded a gallon of red sauce. I was seeing red, all right.
"It's called sweet and sour sauce," I said. "Anyone who calls himself the Condiment King should know that!" And then I threw down my ticket book and left.
When my boss finally found me, I was shivering but still in no mood to leave the freezer. It felt better than the heat wave outside, anyway.
But I was feeling guilty about hiding out in there instead of doing my job (and also about the frozen wontons I had smashed…temper, temper.)
We decided that I should take over phone duty, which would be good because I could still see the front and rush to the rescue if any special customers came in, but I wouldn't have to deal with any normals except the ones I could make faces at without getting busted. Yay.
Now, one thing you should know about Lai Lai's phone is that there's a nice metal shelf just above it that's absolutely perfect for head-bangs of frustration. And I made full use of it.
I have a script, you know. Every time I take an order over the phone, I stick to the script. I never deviate. Never, never, never, unless the customer decides to go and screw things up for the both of us.
The script:
Me: Lai Lai, how can I help you?
Customer: I'd like to place an order.
Me: For pick-up or delivery?
Customer: Delivery.
Me: What can I get you?
Customer: Blahdey blah blah chicken.
Me: With steamed or fried rice?
Customer: Blah.
Me: Will that be all?
Customer: Blah.
Me: Can I get your name and phone number?
Customer: Blah blah. Blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah.
Me: And your address?
Customer: Blah blah blah blahdablahdablah. Blahdiddy blah blah. Blah.
Me: Will you be paying cash or credit?
Customer: Credit.
Me: What's the card number?
Customer: Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah.
Me: And the expiration date?
Customer: Blah blah, blah blah.
Me: Okay, your total is going to be blah blahdey blah, and it should be there in about forty-five minutes to an hour.
Customer: Thanks.
Me: Thank you!
The actual phone conversation:
Me: Lai Lai, how can I help you?
Customer: I want the Two Entrée Special.
(Well, at least he didn't pronounce it "entry.")
Me: Is that for pick-up or delivery?
Customer: Yes.
Bang.
Me: Which one?
Customer: The Two Entrée Special.
Bang.
Me: Pick-up or delivery?
Customer: Oh. Delivery.
Me: Okay. And what would you like?
Customer: John.
Bang.
Me: Okay, John. What would you like to order?
John: The Two Entrée Special.
(Long pause.)
Me: Okay…
John: My phone number is 246-3718.
Bang.
Me: Okay. What would you like?
John: What?
Me: Your order?
John: The Two Entrée Special.
Bang.
Me: What entrées do you want?
John: 42 Watermelon Road.
Bang.
Me: What would you like to eat?
John: I'm paying with a credit card.
Bang.
Me: Okay, what's the number?
John: Blah blah blah blah.
Bang.
John: Blah blah blah blah.
Bang.
John: Blah blah blah blah.
Bang.
John: Blah blah blah blah.
Bang.
Me: And the expiration date?
John: Blah blah, blah blah.
Me: Okay. And what would you like to order?
John: …the Two Entrée Special.
Bang.
Me: Which entrees?
John: What's the total?
Bang.
Me: What!
Bang.
Me: Would!
Bang.
Me: You!
Bang.
Me: Like!
Bang.
Me: To!
Bang.
Me: Eat!
John: What?
Bang.
Me: The Two Entrée Special comes with two entrees. I need you to make a choice here, John.
John: Ohhhhh…Hey, Tim, what entrees do you want?
Bang. (Tim was a regular. He knew how to order, and I don't know why he didn't just do it himself that day.)
John: Sesame chicken and sweet and sour chicken.
Me: With steamed or fried rice?
John: Tim, you want steamed or fried rice?
Bang.
John: Fried rice.
Me: And what would you like to drink?
John: What do you want to drink?
Bang bang bang.
John: Mountain Dew.
Me: Will-that-be-all-your-total-is-$9.72-that-should-be-there-in-about-forty-five-minutes-to-an-hour.
I hung up. At high velocity.
I was taken off phone duty and moved to the deep fryer. That, by the way, was the opposite of a good idea. Well, at least my tofu mishap didn't scar anyone.
The last Lai Lai employee who had an accident with the deep fryer was Blake, a delivery guy who left shortly after I started working there. It was because of him that our poor cook was brutally maimed. He looked better than Two-Face, but a little worse than Scarface. Tragic, really.
But my exploding tofu didn't injure anyone but myself, and all it did was whang my arm and make me curse a little.
I was removed from deep fryer duty.
We decided this was as good a time as any for me to become a delivery driver. The other guy had only left one order behind, and it was pretty close. I was fairly sure I could find it.
I did not choose to share any information about my little phobia. At the time, I felt anything was better than staying in there. Besides, delivery orders tip better. So I walked out into Gotham's muggy false summer, picturing a map in my mind, marking the location of Bent Tree Apartments. My sense of direction…not so great. But this, I told myself, was going to be easy.
Nothing exploded when I turned the key in the ignition. Nothing fell out when I put my foot to the gas pedal. The traffic was light, for Gotham, and all the other drivers seemed to be trying not to kill me. In fact, the only problem at all was that the air conditioner wasn't blowing cool air, and I could live with that. For a little while there, I actually believed that I could make my delivery without dying or having a panic attack.
And then my car started laughing at me.
I just took my foot off the gas and coasted for a couple of seconds while a Jokery "HA HA HA HA! HEE HEE HEE HEE! HO HO HO HO! HOO HOO HOO HOO!" blasted from somewhere underneath me. Then I looked up and saw the sign for Bent Tree and decided that if I could just get there before my imminent demise, everything would be fine. Yeah. But first I had to stop at a red light.
The second I hit the brakes, the car went chuggity-chuggity-chuggity-die.
I totally panicked.
The car kept laughing.
"I'll give you a dollar not to do whatever you're about to do to me," I babbled.
It kept laughing.
Then people started honking, and I realized the light was green. What could I do but restart the car? Despite the laughter, the engine didn't sound too happy with the way I was treating it.
So I bumped over a curb and turned into something resembling a parking space in the Bent Tree lot, and the car went chuggity-chuggity-chuggity-rattle-rattle and I ripped the keys out of the ignition and it still kept laughing, and I had the food and was halfway across the parking lot before I took another breath.
I guess I must have knocked on the door, but I don't actually remember that part. The next thing I remember, I was lying on the ground, still not breathing, I felt a weird tingling in my hands, and the Scarecrow was standing over me, asking me if I had asthma.
"No," I said. (As it turned out, I actually did, but it hadn't been diagnosed yet because of that whole ignore-it-and-maybe-it-will-go-away philosophy.)
Then he put an inhaler in my mouth and told me to hold my breath and count to ten.
One, two…(what kind of idiot are you?)
Three, four…(this isn't funny anymore!)
Five, six…(you've fallen for their tricks.)
Seven, eight…(and now it's too late.)
Nine, ten…(but then again…)
I sat up, breathing just fine and nowhere near my previous state of panic.
"What was that?" I demanded.
"Just a new toxin I've been working on. How do you feel?"
"Like kicking your ass!" I thought about that. "But I still want to feed you."
"Do you, now?" He helped me up.
"Yeah. You look hungry." He led me inside, sat me down on a sofa that was pretty obviously not his, and took out his notebook and pencil. He asked me questions, and I marveled at his ability to write with his right hand and use chopsticks with his left.
"Describe your emotional state before you came here."
"A little angry at my stupid customers. Confused, because I don't know how to deal with you guys. Also confused because I think my best friend just turned into my boyfriend, and that's just weird. Upset, because my great-grandmother just died, and I'll never get to say goodbye. Annoyed, because the Joker gave me a present I never asked for, and I can't give it back or not use it because you just don't offend the Joker; he's scarier than you." He looked amused by that. "And of course I was freaking out because I have a deep-seated fear of driving, and that car is freaking insane."
"Yes? And how do you feel now?"
"Still angry. But mostly confused, now." A little kitten appeared from nowhere and started climbing up the Scarecrow's pants leg. He let out the cutest sound of alarm and tried to pry it away. Watching him squirm and dance was the funniest thing I've ever seen. I couldn't help giggling hysterically.
"Have you lost your fear entirely?" he asked, still fighting the kitty (and losing the battle, poor guy.)
"Yeah, I think so." I reached out and gently pulled the kitten away from his leg and held it in my lap. "Who's this little cutie? I can't see you as a cat owner."
"The woman who owns this apartment is a Crazy Cat Lady who firmly believes the myth that Chinese food is made of stray cats."
"So you ordered Lai Lai just so you'd have another way to scare her?" He nodded. "And it had nothing to do with you being addicted to the ginger sauce." The kitten wrapped its little legs around my arm and started playfully biting me and scratching me with its cute little claws. I pulled my hand away, was mildly surprised by the amount of blood, and immediately went back to scratching its tummy. And it went back to slicing me up. "What did you do to me?"
"I took your fear away. You must let me know how it feels when it begins to wear off, Space Monkey." He reached out and took the kitten away from me before it could bite me all the way down to the bone.
"I wish you wouldn't call me that." And I wished he would give my cuddly kitty friend back. Somehow I didn't care just then that it only wanted to hurt me.
"Why? Are you frightened by the reminder that the Joker is stalking you?"
"Most of the time, yes. But I also don't like having a private nickname appropriated by the entire Evil Population of this city." Another kitty came slinking into the room, and I reached down to pick it up. The Scarecrow stopped my hands.
"Not that one," he said seriously. I pouted. All I wanted to do was snuggle with something. I'm not sure Professor Crane realized how dangerously close he was to being glomped.
He sent me to wash my hands in the bathroom, where I met little Mrs. Fitzwalter, tied up in the bathtub and moaning in terror. I patted her shoulder comfortingly and left a bloody handprint behind. It didn't occur to me to help her escape. Being fear-free does funny things to your mind.
My delivery driver swung by to pick me up on his way back to Lai Lai. I waved goodbye to the Scarecrow, thanked him for getting me a ride, and promised to take notes for him as soon as I felt the effects of his toxin start to wear off.
He didn't believe me. He showed up at the restaurant about an hour later with a strange little smile on his face and took a seat in an out-of-the-way corner to watch me. I didn't care. Nothing was bothering me then.
Sally got out of the hospital that day. She came looking for me, saw the Scarecrow, got this look like a deer in headlights, and walked right back out again. I found that hilarious.
I was still laughing about that when the Joker and his girlfriend came in. I stopped laughing fast. He seemed surprised to see me for the first time without a smile on my face.
"What's the matter, Space Monkey? Didn't like the car?"
"It laughed at me," I said. Gravelly doom!
"That's the warning system. I don't like idiot lights. I like something a little more…cheerful."
I glared at him.
"It laughed at me! You made the car laugh at me!"
He and the Scarecrow glanced at each other; obviously, they had been chatting.
"What's the big deal, S.M.? It just overheated."
"I have a phobia, you psychotic clown—"
You know what? The toxin didn't wear off. It just ran out of me all at once.
I realized I was screaming at the Joker, and ran off to hide again in the freezer. This time, nobody came looking for me for a good little while.
I think I may have been in the early stages of hypothermia when I was summoned to answer the phone.
My dad had called me. At work. Perfect. Just perfect.
"Hello?" I said, trying to stay out of the customers' line of sight.
"Hey, Fran. Are you busy?"
"Well, I'm at work," I said. Then I realized that he already knew that. I was a little too distracted to carry on a decent conversation with my father, but telling him the reason why would only make him worry about me more.
"Did you get my messages?"
"Um…yeah. Sorry. I was going to call you back tomorrow." He let out a little sigh.
"Okay, babe. So are you going to be able to go to Nana's funeral?"
"What?" I said, and then burst into hysterical tears and giggles at the same time. Tears because it was my Nana, the grandmother who loved me more than anything, and this was right on the heels of my Maw-Maw's death, and I hadn't even known she was sick, and I had planned to call her just to talk and then I hadn't done it.
Giggles, because, holy crap, what a way to find out.
Distantly, I heard my dad trying to un-say what he had just said. I said nothing to him. I just cried into the phone.
Then I looked up and saw them, all of them, staring at me, and I realized that I was doing exactly what Parker had told me not to do.
I hung up on Dad—I could bloody well call him back later—and started to go back to the freezer. But the phone rang again. I looked around…everyone else was busy…so I answered.
"Lai Lai…how can I help you?" I sounded like I was crying. It's one thing to cry over the phone, but quite another thing to sound like it. I did my best to fight down the hysterics, wondering if someone was going to come up behind me and pump me full of some kind of drug to take away the emotions again.
"Can I place an order?"
"For pick-up or delivery?"
I never heard the answer, because that's when I had the stroke. Apparently, the Scarecrow's toxin had some unexpected physical side effects. Isn't that just freaking swell?