Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner
Officer Beautiful Booty
"Hi, Shane." Would you look at that, another fudge bar.
"Janice, you know you can buy fudge bars in packs of six, right?"
Janice did the weird look that was a mix between yeah-bitch-wanna-say-that-again and I-feel-verbally-attacked-someone-please-call-the-po-po-to-shut-this-bitch-down before smacking her lips. Because she was Janice, and that was that. "Is this a problem?"
"No it's - uh. You're my favorite lady. You know that!"
She looked pleased (A VERY RARE EXPRESSION, PREVIOUSLY THOUGHT TO BE EXTINCT) before flipping the switch in her brain to Gossip Mode.
"Did you hear that Tracy is going to keep that black man's baby? Horrible."
"Yeah, totally."
"And Melissa's son doesn't want to go on his mission."
"I'm haunted. I think your fudge bar is starting to melt."
She waved a hand in the air, "are you going to the barn dance? I - oh, look. There's the new deputy!" And really, she earned a solid D-minus on the subtlety chart.
Shane's hand was starting to get sticky from the ice cream starting to squeeze its way through the wrapper he was holding for Janice and waiting for her to take. This was fudge-bar abuse; he shouldn't allow this in his store, not under his watch, no way-- holy hot damn. Holy hot diggity darn. That ass is his yarn. He's really fucking glad he didn't shoot himself last week, because, and he stresses, that ass. That beautiful, twerkable --
Officer Beautiful Booty turned around from where he was hunched over the glass separating him from what was probably going to be dinner, looking expectedly at Shane.
"Oh, sorry. Can I get you something?" He patted Janice on the shoulder as he exited from behind the check-out counter and wished her luck on her (melted) fudge bar, waving to Officer Beautiful Booty as he went into the back room to wash his hands. Because fucking Janice's fucking fudge bar. This job is going to give him PTSD what with all of this fudge-bar abuse he's been witnessing. He then skipped out behind the Hot Food Counter, smile planted jauntily on his face.
"What would you like? We've got chicken, chicken and... Chicken. Well, there's corn dogs and some sort of beef thing but that is an awful, awful idea. Like a day-old Indian buffet kind of bad idea. And the potato salad is a no. So, chicken?"
"Yeah," Officer Beautiful Booty spoke. He looked so pained, like has a pet chicken waiting for him at home. Or maybe it's Shane's face.
Nah. He definitely has a pet chicken.
"How much?"
"Just... enough."
"How many people are you feeding?"
"Uh."
"Uh. So like, is there a special lady or--"
"Just. Just me."
"Great, so you can English. What pieces?"
"That one," he waved his hand halfheartedly at an equally half-hearted looking piece of Chicken. Seriously, Officer Beautiful Booty would be better off living on Hot Pockets and fudge bars for the rest of eternity.
It seemed to be working for Janice, after all -- she is way too alive. Kind of like the old grandma from Spongebob that nobody liked and wanted to rub chocolate-
"I'm kind of hungry."
And I'm kind of working on it, Shane had wanted to say, but instead mumbled a "sorry," as he worked faster on bagging the chicken and placing it on the scale. He sort of did this thing where he turned into a space cadet sailing through the galaxy of his mind and forgot he was supposed to be doing stuff sometimes.
"Whoa, hey. That's an even five dollars, and that never happens. Congrats, man."
Officer Beautiful Booty raised an eyebrow (eyebrow configuration one: give me my chicken) at Shane before handing over the wrinkled bill and grabbed the plastic bag of food as if it pained his soul.
It pained Shane's soul as well because seriously that chicken is gross.
"Janice, you know you can buy fudge bars in packs of six, right?"
Janice did the weird look that was a mix between yeah-bitch-wanna-say-that-again and I-feel-verbally-attacked-someone-please-call-the-po-po-to-shut-this-bitch-down before smacking her lips. Because she was Janice, and that was that. "Is this a problem?"
"No it's - uh. You're my favorite lady. You know that!"
She looked pleased (A VERY RARE EXPRESSION, PREVIOUSLY THOUGHT TO BE EXTINCT) before flipping the switch in her brain to Gossip Mode.
"Did you hear that Tracy is going to keep that black man's baby? Horrible."
"Yeah, totally."
"And Melissa's son doesn't want to go on his mission."
"I'm haunted. I think your fudge bar is starting to melt."
She waved a hand in the air, "are you going to the barn dance? I - oh, look. There's the new deputy!" And really, she earned a solid D-minus on the subtlety chart.
Shane's hand was starting to get sticky from the ice cream starting to squeeze its way through the wrapper he was holding for Janice and waiting for her to take. This was fudge-bar abuse; he shouldn't allow this in his store, not under his watch, no way-- holy hot damn. Holy hot diggity darn. That ass is his yarn. He's really fucking glad he didn't shoot himself last week, because, and he stresses, that ass. That beautiful, twerkable --
Officer Beautiful Booty turned around from where he was hunched over the glass separating him from what was probably going to be dinner, looking expectedly at Shane.
"Oh, sorry. Can I get you something?" He patted Janice on the shoulder as he exited from behind the check-out counter and wished her luck on her (melted) fudge bar, waving to Officer Beautiful Booty as he went into the back room to wash his hands. Because fucking Janice's fucking fudge bar. This job is going to give him PTSD what with all of this fudge-bar abuse he's been witnessing. He then skipped out behind the Hot Food Counter, smile planted jauntily on his face.
"What would you like? We've got chicken, chicken and... Chicken. Well, there's corn dogs and some sort of beef thing but that is an awful, awful idea. Like a day-old Indian buffet kind of bad idea. And the potato salad is a no. So, chicken?"
"Yeah," Officer Beautiful Booty spoke. He looked so pained, like has a pet chicken waiting for him at home. Or maybe it's Shane's face.
Nah. He definitely has a pet chicken.
"How much?"
"Just... enough."
"How many people are you feeding?"
"Uh."
"Uh. So like, is there a special lady or--"
"Just. Just me."
"Great, so you can English. What pieces?"
"That one," he waved his hand halfheartedly at an equally half-hearted looking piece of Chicken. Seriously, Officer Beautiful Booty would be better off living on Hot Pockets and fudge bars for the rest of eternity.
It seemed to be working for Janice, after all -- she is way too alive. Kind of like the old grandma from Spongebob that nobody liked and wanted to rub chocolate-
"I'm kind of hungry."
And I'm kind of working on it, Shane had wanted to say, but instead mumbled a "sorry," as he worked faster on bagging the chicken and placing it on the scale. He sort of did this thing where he turned into a space cadet sailing through the galaxy of his mind and forgot he was supposed to be doing stuff sometimes.
"Whoa, hey. That's an even five dollars, and that never happens. Congrats, man."
Officer Beautiful Booty raised an eyebrow (eyebrow configuration one: give me my chicken) at Shane before handing over the wrinkled bill and grabbed the plastic bag of food as if it pained his soul.
It pained Shane's soul as well because seriously that chicken is gross.
♠ ♠ ♠
