The 15th Fire: A Tale of Work

Employment is one of those things that we all seem to need if we're not smart enough or skilled enough to make money on our own. I've been employed much of my life, and recently have made the big jump. Yay for me! Now I look back to one of those shit jobs I used to work and this was the kind of stuff I would write back then. Dark, but I see humor and hope in it. Have a good Friday, and remember to keep grinding, keep making, keep creating. It does make a difference, whether you see it now or not.

Taco Hell

He’d been hearing that God-damn buzzing for months now.

Every single fucking day, from when he first walked in and put on his uniform, to when he finally got off and started up his car.

Always that loud buzzing in between. Sometimes it got so loud that he couldn’t even hear what the customers were ordering.

One day, when he was standing there taking order after order of the same slop with a different slogan, he suddenly found out where the buzzing was coming from!

“I’ll take a number four, no lettuce or tomatoes, with extra cheese and meat” the faceless customer half ordered/ half belched.

He put his finger slowly up to the customer’s rounded face.

“Wait…” He slowly began. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” The customer answered.

“That buzzing… It’s so God-damn fucking loud! Don’t tell me you can’t hear it?”

He walked from behind the register and put his ear on the wall to his left.

“Buzz, buzz, buzz, you little bastards! I found you!”

He brought his hand up, clenched into a fist, and then slammed it into and through the wall. The woman next in line gave a shocked scream.

As he pulled his bloodied hand out from the newly christened portal, thousands of beetles, spider, and ants poured out onto the floor and up his arms.

“Don’t tell me you can’t see these, too!”

***

He was mad. I could tell by his stance. I reached down on the headset and pressed the button.

“A customer would like your expert services, Mr. Manager,” I said into the mic.

As the manager came up to talk to the disgruntled guest, I snuck into the back.

Adam was in the back, where none of the nosey customers could complain, as they do, of us goofing off and making fun of them.

Adam put his hands out in front of his stomach to simulate being fat. I already starting to chuckle. This kid always cracked me the fuck up. No matter how busy, boring, or fucked up a day could get, this kid always took it upon himself to make everyone laugh.

He then mockingly waddled over to the scrap sink and dug his hands into it, bringing up an oozing pile of discarded food slop. He then pretended to take a bite of the vile blob squeezing between his fingers.

“There’s not enough onions!” He bellowed.

I lost it. I couldn’t stop laughing for the rest of the night. There's always some good in these days.

***

I could always smell the oily pungence of meat in the air. It was always there, but only now it smelled bad. Like, really bad.

The taco! That accursed taco, that breaking and buzzing. There!

Under the drainage sink is where I kept that damnable taco.

But there was nothing there.

Unless you counted the bits of cheese and lettuce, chunks of tomatoes and beans, even strips of flesh that accumulated from carelessness and burritos playfully flung at each other.

Everyone here is crazy. Except for me.

Whoever orders from this palace of self-degradation is either fat, wants to be fat, or is a tweeker finally coming down.

I hate them all.

They all probably hate me too.