Chapter 2: Plankton's Plan Purloined

"Today is the big day! How bad off are we, Ferg?"

A smartly dressed, tangerine colored fish flipped through pages on a clipboard as he went with SpongeBob from the restaurant's outdoor patio space, into the dining room, walking shoulder to shoulder. "The truck delivering the beef for dinner is late…" the young fish answered in a clipped voice.

"Oh, that's not good. But at least we can get started on the appetizers—"

"The glasses still need to be polished."

"Really? Thought they were taken care of last night like I asked. Well, I can—"

"The table cloths were never picked up for washing."

"Uh… it's a good thing the laundromat is only half a mile away, hehe… um, Fergus?" SpongeBob put his hands behind his back, adding each of his assistant's notes to a mental checklist that never seemed to end. "Do me a favor, and just hit me with the rest of them all at once, like the bonus round, like ripping a bandage off real fast!"

Fergus Finnegan pursed his full, widely admired lips and did precisely what his manager told him to do. "Silver needs polishing, out of garlic, someone put their shoe in the sous vide machine, and you're not wearing any pants."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh—Oh!" The sponge froze in his tracks and looked down, remembering he'd never changed out of his bath towel. "Ooops… Tehehehe …" he sped out of the room in a flurry of bubbles, and returned instantly, dressed in long blue pants and sky blue dress shirt.

"SpongeBob!" It was at this time that Mr. Krabs decided to make his appearance, scuttling out from behind the kitchen door. "It's about time you got here!" He folded his arms and stopped just short of the men. "Looks as if I can only count on one of my crew to show up on time and dressed for the job!"

"My apologies, Mr. Krabs!"

SpongeBob had opened his mouth to respond, but someone had beat him to it.

The three men turned, and behind them stood a young, heavyset fish, a stained apron over his trashed blue jeans. "My little sister needed to be dropped off at the daycare, and I haven't had time to do laundry!"

The fish was aggressively polishing one of the wooden tables, face lined with anxiety. Finished, he grabbed the clean linen, shook it free of its crumbs, and laid it back down on the tabletop. "I will run home on my break and come back dressed for tonight, I promise!"

"Hm." Mr. Krabs's eyestalks extended out to scan the young man's appearance. Painter's jeans and a MermaidMan T-shirt were far off from the official Krusty Klass uniform, but at least the chubby angelfish made the effort to grab the original Krusty 1 hat along with his ensemble. "If it were any other day, I'd have a few words for you, Mr. Riverez. But SpongeBob's praised you to no end since you started working here. I'd rather you not muck up your best waiting outfit before the cameras start flashing tonight. Carry on, lad."

"Thank you, sir." The young man nodded, carrying on his work in an efficient flurry that could've made SpongeBob jealous, if he wasn't so grateful to have him on the same team right now.

He sighed dreamily. "Oh, to be so young and promising. Only seventeen, working to pay off his college classes, planning to become a CEO." SpongeBob folded his arms with a proud smile. "He's going places, Mr. K."

"Thank Neptune it's not today. He's promised to work both the day shift and the Gala as long as I drop him off at his mother's afterward." Krabs sighed. "I'm gonna camp out in the kitchen and focus on churning out orders, and maybe finish off that last precious sip of seven hundred dollar Chateau Cove while I'm back there, seeing as there's not not enough to make a customer glass. Mr. SquarePants! Take the helm." He scuttled away quickly. "Get the boys sorted on deck, and then start pitching in where you can."

"Aye, aye, sir!" SpongeBob raised his hand for a dutiful salute, just like the old days. "Mr. Finnegan! The chart for the party seating arrangement is in my office. Grab it and start arranging as many tables on the perimeter for tonight that you believe we can spare for the remainder of lunch. Place cards with names and numbers are on the chart as well. I want every table to look like it's fit for King Neptune himself!"

Fergus winked and cocked finger guns his way. "You got it."

"Mr. Riverez, in between waiting tables, I need you to jump in with the cleaning. Help me in the dining room polishing the silver, then the glassware hanging up above the bar. If we have time, we'll do it all, but for now, just take care of the frontmost row."

"Well, I'll— Oh! " Angel fumbled with his tub of dishes and they fell to the floor, some bouncing out and smashing in the process. "I'll do what I can, but I can't guarantee it'll all get done on time."

SpongeBob calmly bent down to help put the dishes and broken pieces back in the tub. "Your best is all I can ask for," he told him. Although if he were being honest with himself, that was only fine on a day-to-day level. Angel had a pattern of screwing up under stress, and it was giving him intense deja-vu.

I need the best of the best tonight. Maybe even a miracle… but miracles are hard to come by.

"Isn't there any way we can hire more people?" asked Angel. "Just for tonight? It seems like a really big social media thing, and I wonder if we won't look a little silly, being so unprepared?"

"Can't say I disagree." SpongeBob rubbed the back of his head. "But we're on a hiring freeze!"
But as SpongeBob stood, Fergus came around and derailed those thoughts with a firm pat on the back. "Chill, Mr. S. We've got it covered, your two boys. Front to back row, every glass shining like a star reflecting on the water of the surface world. Just the way you like it. We're gonna make this joint pop off, just for you."

SpongeBob gave a relieved smile. "I'm glad you're here, Fergus. I mean, look at you! Always so nicely dressed, with your black dress shirts, and that tie!"

Fergus took the ends of his brand new neck tie and rubbed the satin between his fingertips proudly. "The best color there is."

"Even your little ponytail and goatee combo is so masculine! You just emit so much confidence!"

"As an assistant manager should."

"Teamwork works wonders. Now, time for a workout, team! Bahaha!" SpongeBob snatched the bag of dirty linen waiting unattended by the door. "I gotta get these tablecloths and napkins white and bright, pronto! Be back soon!"
ManagerPants sped out the door, leaving a trail of smoke in his wake. Angel watched on, his nervous expression easing into a weak smile.

"Hope he remembered to grab a roll of quarters. And some OxyClean ." Fergus shook his head. "Well, I'm not chasing after him. Dude's probably gonna tear up the road and everybody who stands in his way of that washing machine."

"He's admitted himself that he's a little loco, " Angel said to Fergus. "You can't say he doesn't pull his weight, though."

"Yeah." Fergus turned back to his clipboard, then reached into his pocket and retrieved the office key. "Looks like you get to see the office today, bud. Lucky you."

Angel held the key out, confused. "I thought Mr. SquarePants asked you to move the tables."

"Yeah, but here's the thing." He pressed a thumb-shaped fin to his chest. "Then my nice black dress shirt would get all sweaty, and that wouldn't be a good look, would it? Meanwhile, you're already dressed for some hard work. I think you'd be the better fit. Remember, tonight, our image is what matters."

"Our image." The teen narrowed his eyes. "So, you'll be polishing the glassware, I guess?"

"Of course! Now go on! Before you've got another table to wait on." Fergus tapped Angel on the back as he went, and unlike SpongeBob's comforting pat earlier, a flash of heat spiked where the other fish had touched him.

After Angel disappeared into the office, Fergus pulled his mobile shell phone, and sauntered outside onto the patio. The sun was shining, and hidden in the safety of a cocktail umbrella sat a young woman with black hair hanging low on her face, waiting on a diet soda with a textbook spread out on her lap.

"Hey, pretty mama." Without asking first, he pulled a chair out and sat at the table across from her. "You look like a rocker. Wanna see pictures of my band opening for Blood on the Ship Deck?"

"Today's the big day, Karen."

"The day you clean the restaurant?"

The big monitor overlooking the Chum Bucket's dining room bore an annoyed 8-bit expression, behind a screen lined with dust. " I'm starting to go blind!"

Plankton ambled into the middle of the floor, wearing an unbothered smirk. "Bigger fish to fry today, my darling DOS. For thirty years, I've meticulously tested every combination of ingredients until I've identified what I believe to be all the exact components for the Krabby Patty!"

He reached behind his back and produced a remote control, fixed with a walkie talkie. "Staffbot Number 3! Wheel out K.P. dash 198."

Through the kitchen's double doors, and balanced on a single wheel came the basic pincer-handed robot, dressed white apron and black bowtie. One of its arms was draped with a napkin, the other a plate with a fully assembled burger patty that he set down on the nearest empty table. "Your order as requested, sir."

"Oh, yes. This is the combination." Firing up a mini jetpack, Plankton rose into the air and planted himself with a gentle arch onto the table top. "It looks like a Krabby Patty… " He tossed the jetpack offscreen, ran to the patty, and ripped off a chunk before stuffing it into his mouth. "Bleh!" He spat it out. "It tastes almost just like a Krabby Patty, but it's still missing something."

"Maybe it'd help if the food was made by a person," Karen supposed, as a nearby panel dropped out from the wall, and a robot arm holding a giant duster started cleaning the monitor. "Somebody with taste buds?"

"If I only knew what that secret sauce was. Then the entire recipe is mine! But what could it be? Tartar sauce?" Plankton shook his head. "Nah. Too obvious. Thousand Island? Too derivative."

"Have you ever wondered if it's nothing at all?" asked the computer, hiding her arm back inside the wall panel. "What if the secret ingredient for the sauce isn't anything but what you've already discovered, and the only reason it doesn't taste the same to you is that you perceive it to be different?

"Pfft. Now you're just being pretentious."

"Being made on a grill that's not lined with cobwebs would probably help."

"Must you mock me? Curses!" He bashed his tiny, balled up nubs on the hollow steel of the table, hard enough to make an audible 'tink'. "I've tried a thousand different sauce combinations, fusions of sauces together, and I can't figure out what it is!"

"What exactly are you planning tonight that you haven't tried before?"

"Isn't it obvious? Tonight's that phony charity Gala at the second restaurant." He went over to the window, pulling the steel blinds up just an inch. Outside The Krusty Klass was a road sign advertising the Gala. If not invited by staff, VIP invites could be obtained with a 100 dollar minimum entry donation. To ensure only ocean's most prestigious influencers who could advertise the restaurant were filling those seats, and only those who could afford to donate a pretty penny to Sailors of the Seven Seas. "With all those Hollywood snobs keeping Krabs distracted, I'll be able to sneak into the original Krusty Krab, and finally take the secret formula for the Krabby Patty's secret sauce!"

"And what makes you think Krabs won't have the sauce under lock and key while he's next door?"

"Why, I'd be insulted if he didn't. Which is what this is for!" Plankton stuck his numbs between his teeth, blowing a distinct, sharp whistle. "Staffbot Number 3! Bring me the schematics for Lockpick Bot Number # 17."

"Yes. Sir." The robot responded, and gracefully glided back through the double doors, still carrying the platter and napkin.

Plankton rubs his nubby hands together with a devilish grin. "I knew this bad boy would come in handy someday. I can assemble my new lockpick robot faster than you can say 'stolen formula', and by tonight, I'll have a perfectly disguised, remote control, speed-running lock pick robot to… well. Y'know. Pick locks and steal things." He pulled his hands apart, shrugged and smiled in earnest at the monitor. "Plus, it'll keep me out of the line of fire for once!"

"Lockpick Bot Schematics: Whereabouts Unknown."

"What?" Plankton spun to the doorway.

"Mission failed." Staffbot stood holding the double doors open, head bent forward at the neck joint, metal eyebrows turned down, as if deeply dejected. "Order undeliverable. Self district initiated…"

"No…" Plankton wagged his arms frantically. "NO, NO, WAIT A MINUTE! We can talk it—!"

bLAST

The Chum Bucket's windows spewed out an ultraviolet glow as the robot exploded. Unfortunately for his half-pint creator, he was standing just within the blast radius.

"...out." Plankton recovered, shaking off the soot instantly. "Ugh. Good thing I'm insured for staff with clinical depression, but now that's two robots to build." He snapped his fingers. "Karen, run a scan on the restaurant. Tell me where the blueprints are."

"I don't know where they are either, Plankton."

"What do you mean you don't know where the prints are? I was just working on those plans last week! Remember? We were watching Rambo together?"

"You were watching Rambo and doodling something on the blue paper with you in a bandanna, holding a machine gun. I was on call with my mother, trying to convince her not to file me as corrupt and unable to make my own decisions and file a divorce from you in her name. I don't know where that paper went ."

"You're telling me that on the eve of my comeback, my greatest plan is missing? If you don't know where they are, how'd you know I drew myself with muscles?"

"I filed it away in your miscellaneous drawer like I always do! You know. The drawer that's labeled 'Not sure if related to evil plan, or a self glorifying graphic novel?'"

Plankton slapped his forehead. "Of COURSE!"

"And when did I say anything about muscles?"

Question unanswered, Plankton burst through the double doors back to the laboratory. Rushing to that same-named cabinet at the speed of light, he yanked open the top drawer, and dramatically launched into the air. Tucking his feet underneath and pulling his antennae back by putting his numbs together above his head, he dove in headfirst like a pool. Papers, yellow, white, and blue soon began flying everywhere as he tossed them aside. "Lockbot, lockbot, lockbot, no, no, no!"

"Maybe if you'd actually try to organize your things for once like I keep telling you to do ," the computer voice droned, " you wouldn't keep losing components of evil plans like candy wrappers."

Plankton emerged from the top of the drawer, steam rising from his head, "Great. I don't have time to start the schematics all over again and build the robot! I'll have no choice but to enter the Krusty Krab tonight myself." He rubbed his chin. "I just hope that quadrilateral simpleton SpongeBob has his hands busy next door…"

"Napkins!"

SpongeBob had returned from the laundromat, finding the restaurant to be in even worse condition than when he left. He left the bag behind the host podium and went to wait on customers. "Done! Now, where is Fergus—?"

"Excuse me, sonny, do you work here?" To his right, an elderly fish with his wife were seated at a table just left to the entrance. "We've been here twenty minutes and haven't even gotten any water yet!"

"gAH! C-c-coming right up!" SpongeBob cupped his hands and shouted towards the waiter's drink closet. "TWO WATER BARRELS ON THE PORT BOW!"

"AYE-AYE-CAPTAIN!" cried back Angel. This was followed promptly by the sound of some sort of glasswear meeting an untimely death with the hard, unforgiving floor. And then the release of a young man's long-held sigh. "Ay-ay-ay... "

"Tone it down, lad!" Mr. Krabs emerged from the kitchen. After another hour of uninterrupted work, he'd been drawn out by the sounds of his employee barking orders like his very own navel captain, back in the day. "This is supposed to be a fancy restaurant, not a vessel sendin' out an S.O.S!"

"Sorry, capt'n! I'm bailing water as fast as I can, but I'm afraid our ship is going down!" SpongeBob sighed, finally ready to lower his voice. "I hate to say it, Mr. Krabs, but Angel's right! We do need more help."

"Hm…" Krabs rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm startin' to get that feelin', too. Maybe. Just for tonight. But who are we gonna find to fill in so close to the dawn of battle? Someone who knows how we operate around here?"

"Hm." SpongeBob rubbed his chin. "We need someone who really understands what it means to be fancy."

Dear Diary, How did it ever come to this? I stand outside of my former penitentiary on a clear summer day. The sun at my back, the wind in my clothes. No longer a cashier at a dead-end dump, but a changed man. A man of culture, of pride.

I've seen the world. I had the world, and I lost it all. And now I'm back, outside of the, not one, but two, Krusty Krabs. Do you remember that one movie, All Quiet on the Waterfront? When the young hero fought, got injured and shipped home, only to return to the front lines, because after having seen it all, it became impossible to integrate with the naive civilians again? I escaped. I was the lucky one. Finally, I was free. So, why in the name of Neptune's kingdom am I back?

Maybe it's a fascination. How did Eugene manage to churn a profit from a brand new restaurant right next to the old one? When the only condition is that it's tweaked to look like some sort of back alley derivative of a real fancy restaurant? Or, maybe it's Stockholm Syndrome. Blah, I can't say that! We all know the real reason I'm back, and it has nothing to do with love. for the Krusty Krab, or anybody inside! I wonder how long I'll last, once I pass those doors again. I wonder if I'll see a little clam on a rock, and get to doodle him before taking a spatula to the back of the head, ending a disappointingly underwhelming life. I'm sorry, mama, as Paul would say, in that lackluster remake, but I'm heading back. Back to where I belong. Just tonight. And no more.

"The Krusty Klass ?"

Squidward eyed the sign that stood outside of the second, newer restaurant.

The lobster trap had been painted bright pearl white, standing apart from the original restaurant to its right, and the ship-in-a-bottle Michelin-level restaurant Fancy! on the other side of town. The glass windows had been tinted black and outfitted so that they could be swung outward during daylight hours and let the refreshing warm currant in. There was something of a patio space, with white tables enclosed inside of a small black fence, and strikingly bright cocktail umbrellas to shield the diners. " Real Klever, Eugene. Heh.. heh… heh… Klever… heh, jokes that only make sense in text… heh heh..."

Abruptly, slumped forward at the end of the patio walkway. "... Fin me."

"Hm. It's… bigger than I remembered it being."

With the patio windows open and part of the old backroom wall knocked down to make for a more spacious C-shaped dining room, the restaurant looked almost adequate. Twenty or so patrons were still scattered around the room having a late luncheon, but everybody knew the real crowds were going in tonight.

"Why of all places, did it have to be here?" He slapped the side of his head. "The restaurant is going to be closed to everybody but very important celebrities from all across the sea!" He held up his favorite black woodwind instrument. "I haven't got five dollars to my name, let alone five hundred for the ticket! And unless my Clarinet Journeys record goes platinum in the next five minutes, the only way to get back inside is to work for the restaurant."

Nobody was manning the host podium as he walked up. Squidward leaned his arm on the top and rapped his tentacle against his cheek, taking in the restaurant. "Figures. That cheapskate hasn't even tried to hire more help since I left. I just hope that means he's that much more desperate… hm? That's new."

Squidward eyed a menu left on the edge of the nearest table, and he reached for it. "The Krabby Gourmet Burger?"

He read off the ingredients. "The original Krabby Patty secret recipe sandwich with melted swiss cheese, mushrooms, and brioche buns. Comes with a side of parmesan kelp fries?" He read further down the entree list. "The… Mary-Brown-Mother-Of-Pearl? A bunless Krabby patty with mushrooms, onions, and sauce on a plate with a side of cauliflower? What's cauliflower?" He gave a glance around the paterons, enjoying their food quietly and pleasantly, just as they would have next door at the fast food shack. "This is supposed to be fancy food? The Crab-Steak Salad? A bed of the freshest kelp leaves served with a hearty topping of… Krabby Patty bits? Almonds, chopped onions, tomatoes, and tartar sauce reduction? Yeck!"

He slapped the menu back on the table, making it rattle. "I can't believe people are falling for this! It's the same fast food slop repackaged with glitter and sold at a markup! Who in the right mind would fall for this?"

"Well, well, well, look who we have here!"

Squidward's heart took a dive into his stomach.

When he turned around, Squilliam was sitting at a table in the dark back of the room, enjoying a cocktail. "Aren't you looking spiffy? TJMaxx, or Ross? Hope that new shirt didn't cost you a whole paycheck."

"Hardly." Squidward adjusted the collar of his new, favorite, bright red polo. "And don't tell me you actually came here looking for me! You know I quit months ago!"

"Oh, that's right!" Squilliam set down his martini and clasped his tentacles. " And how's the music store coming along?"

"It's doing a lot better now that it's in my hands, thank you! What's brought you back to this side of town? Don't tell me you've actually got suckered into this Klassy nonsense!"

"Not entirely." He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and retrieved a vape pen. Smoking wasn't allowed in most restaurants, but Squilliam had a way of bending people to his own set of rules with a help of a crisp dollar bill, so Squidward wasn't surprised. Not to mention Krabs would sooner put on a tutu and play every part in Swan Lake himself before he argued with a rich customer. "But as the most prestigious member of society in Bikini Bottom, I feel it is my duty to foster the social atmosphere for tonight's very important guests."

"y-YOU?" The power of Squid's shout launched him into the air. "You're invited to the Gala? For free?!"

"Well of course! Anybody who knows anybody is invited. It really isn't that hard to get an invite. Why, mine was shipped out months ago! Which is why I have no doubt that I'll be seeing you tonight as well, seeing as you're connected to me, as well as a… respected veteran of the staff."

… Fishpaste.

"Not unless you're about to tell me the music store isn't paying what I assumed it was, and that you, Squidward Tentacles, have come crawling back to your old workplace to beg for a second job, busing tables, and mopping up spills." The vapor from the pen wrapped around Squidward's nose. Butterscotch reserve. Even if he didn't smoke, the distinct smell was so delicious, it made Squidward's stomach churn. "That… isn't why you're here, is it?"

How he read him so well, Squidward didn't know. But he hated it, and he hated Squilliam even more. "Not… on… your LIFE, Fancyson! We Tentacles do not go back down the ladder once we have ascended. It'll be the day of days when I start working in food service again!" He leaned on the table and pointed a finger at Squilliam. "Put that in your vape and smoke it!"

"I'll be looking for you tonight, then." Fancyson tucked away his vape and laid out enough bills for his tab and more, and then laid it on the table. "Compliments on the drink, Eugene."

SLAM! Like a radar had gone off, as soon as the bill fold hit the table, Mr. Krabs threw open the kitchen door, and rocketed from the kitchen and began cleaning the table after Squilliam. "Why thank you, Mr. Fancyson." He pocketed the generous tip with glee. "Always a pleasure."

There was silence until Squilliam was beyond the doors. And then it was just Krabs and Squidward. "Hm." The old crustacean eyed him up and down with narrowed eyes, then put his claws behind his back. "Looking sharp, Mr. Squidward."

"Uh… thanks." Squidward rubbed the back of his neck. He'd expected this to go differently, somehow.

"Big city life treating you well, I see."

"And well, that's… kinda what I came here to talk about."

Short on time and help as they were, Mr. Krabs began clearing off another nearby table while Angel worked in a flurry, soaping up the unused chairs on the patio. "The music business is a little too much fun for ya, ey? How's the champagne and caviar Squilliam promised you?" His eyestalks extended towards Squidward as if to point him down. "Do you even know what caviar is made of, lad?"

"Mr. Krabs, listen. I know I left on bad terms, but I'm asking you as someone who's served you for years with minimal complaint. I need a temporary job. I know you've got the Gala going on tonight, and a little extra help would go a long way! I can be a… waiter! I'll serve h'orderves! I'll-I'll even scrub toilets! I'll do anything ! I just need a job, and I need it tonight!"

"Hmm? Hmm…" Mr. Krabs turned around, dishes piled in his claws, while he swished imaginary mouthwash his cheeks back and forth. "I don't know."

"Oh, come on!" Squidward dropped to his knees, so that the crab was taller than him for once. "I put in a full two week notice when I left! I cleaned up my station, I even turned in my hat! You've got to admit I was one of your best employees!"

"Second of three," He clarified, no doubt referring to Jeff, the original fry cook. "But you got me there." He picked Squidward by pinching the top of his head up and put him back on his feet. "But why are ya asking me?"

"Because," Squidward looked left and right with confusion, "you're the manager?"

"Wrong. I am now the founder and CEO of Krusty Franch., and apart from today, I don't lift a claw. I most certainly don't do franchise hiring." His eyes sparkled as he added: "I just handle the finances!"

"Franchise? I thought it was just two restaurants?"

"Two ships is still a fleet, lad. As it were, you were employed at the original Krusty Krab, of which I was the manager. This is the Krusty Klass." He turned away with mock pity. "You'll have to turn your groveling over Klass's manager if you be wantin' back onboard this fleet for the Gala."

"But if you don't do the hiring," Squidward began. "Then who—?"

"SQUIDWARRRRRRRD!"

Dropping his bag of clean linen at the door, SpongeBob sprinted through the path clear of tables and chairs, straight towards Squidward.
"No-no— GAHHH! "

With a tackle-hug, the boys hit the floor with a thud. For being a lightweight that weighed next to nothing, SpongeBob could glomp with the best of them. At least hard enough to take down an interpretive dancer in their early fifties.

"Oh! I've missed you so much, Squiddy!" He grabbed the ends of his lips and and began squeezing them together, making Squidward kiss himself dozens of times, as if those kisses were from SpongeBob himself. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

"Eerrph— Get off of me!"

The squid pried the little yellow hands off of his face, then shoved the tiny square man off as if he were a mean cat. The men shuffled to their feet, with Squidward dusting himself off. "I still live next door, Barnacle-for-Brains!"

"I know, but it's not the same! A third of every good day is dedicated to work, play and sleep, and I only get to see you for a third of that!"

"You… see me when I sleep?"

"What are you doing here?" He pointed a finger at Squidward's noise with a sly grin. "Hey, were you here to pick up your spare pair of… uh… unmentionables from the Krusty 1? Because I already found those, and returned them to you when you quit."

"YOU'RE the one who shoved those in my mailbox?" Now Squidward was in his face. "I nearly got an assault charge from the post office for that!"

"Oh! Is that where I put those? Hehehe…" SpongeBob gaped, exasperation returning. "That explains why Grandma never got her care package."

"Mr. S," Fergus called from the bar. There was a glass in one fin, and a rag in the other. Between both of those was about twenty unpolished glasses. "Where can a guy find more Chateau Cove?"

"We're out, Ferg. If a customer asks for it, eh… just give them the nearest priced blanc for half the price."

"Gotcha, homie." Fergus uncorked another bottle of wine, and began pouring a glass, before taking a cautionary test sip. And then another.

"Homie?" It was then that the realization hit Squidward. "Wait a minute. If he's answering to you, and Mr. Krabs isn't really in charge, then…"

"Yes?" SpongeBob's eyes were starry with anticipation for the answer. His long pants, that new dress shirt, that suddenly very familiar manager's pin on his chest…

Squidward's pupils had shrunk to the size of pencil heads.

"No.
No.
No.
NO.

NONONONONONONONONO!"

There wasn't a great way to slam a set of glass double-doors, but Squidward sure tried, anyway. "Not if my life depended on it! It was bad enough being his co-worker! There is no way that I am working directly under the employment of the biggest barnacle head this side of the ocean!"

"PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!"

Back on his knees, in the privacy of the restaurant's office, Squidward took hold of SpongeBob's ankles. "You gotta let me work here, at least just for the Gala! With all the celebrities, it's gonna be the most prestigious thing that's ever hit Bikini Bottom since the capsizing of that ship carrying Velour tracksuits and Coach wallets! And if Squilliam finds out I lied, well, he'll… he'll find out I lied! Then he'll know the music shop he suckered me into co-signing with him really did ruin what little good things I had in my life! I can't miss this last chance at saving my honor! Please! I'll do anything!"

SpongeBob took all of this in quietly. When Squid was done, he replied with a calm, reassuring tone. "Sure, Squidward."

"But you gotta understand! I didn't mean it when I called you a buck-toothed barnacle headed weirdo, I just… huh?"

"It'd be great to have you back!"
"Really? You mean that?"

"Well, I can't promise you much more than minimum wage, but Mr. Krabs did say I could hire on one more—"

"Deal! Deal! " He sprang to his feet like a reverse slinky, and shook SpongeBob's hand vigorously. "When can I start? I want to get as much done as possible so I can spend more time with the celebrity— I mean! —make the restaurant as beautiful as possible for tonight!"

"As a matter of fact, you can get started right now!" SpongeBob looks left and right. "Our chief cook and bottle washer needs a lot of help in the kitchen, and you've got a fine eye for details! What do you know about faux crab pâté ?"

"Pâté!" Squidward sighed dreamily. "An appetizer for the fine and divine!" Compared to the menu he saw earlier, he was almost impressed. "Do you need my plating expertise?"

"Actually, it's more about prepping the tuna pate for plating that needs to be done."

"... Huh?"

Minutes later, he stood back and watched SpongeBob yank open the freezer door. At the front sat about a dozen boxes, coated in frost.

"Behold! The most expensive item on our menu tonight." SpongeBob bowed before the boxes as if they were the King himself. "Minus the patty wellington."

Squidward opened up a box, and instantly, his enthusiasm deflated like a punctured balloon. "... Fish. Paste."

"Faux fish paste!" SpongeBob clarified. "Fancy, huh?"

"Real hoity-toity. " Squidward closed the box.

"Oh, and—" SpongeBob snatched a handful of Squidward's shirt from the back—let's not get your street clothes dirty."

RIIP! The polo came off, and the Sponge vanished, leaving a naked Squidward standing there, stunned, growing as red in the face as the shirt that was now missing. " Hey !"

But before the rehire could finish his complaint, SpongeBob had returned, running at a speed that nearly matched his alter-ego as I.J.L.S.A's The Quickster. Around and around Squidward he ran, until his neighbor had been redressed with high-end waiter clothes, complete with four legged black pants. "There! Now you'll fit right in! Gotta motor!"

And the Sponge disappeared, leaving Squidward alone with his rather daunting task.

The squid growled and bent forward and scooped his red shirt from off the floor. "That was a hundred dollar shirt you just tore to shreds! I—" He paused, reading the tag inside. "Oh. Wait. It was TJ Maxx."

Imma have to draw up Fergus and Angel for reference at some point. There's only to be three major original characters in this story, and these two are important for SpongeBob's character arc. I really did mean to have this posted two weeks ago, sorry for anybody waiting. Cheers!