Pulse
Yumm Burger Adventures
Ivy argued with herself all through her oh-so-wonderful day at Yumm Burger. Her head was in the clouds, and her cooking suffered because of it.
“Elaine. Elaine! ELAINE!” Her boss yelled, interrupting Ivy’s quiet time. “This is unacceptable. Whatever is wrong needs to be gotten over quickly. This is not how we behave ourselves at Yumm Burger. Our founder, the great Mark Finch, would expect much more from young people like us.”
Ivy half-smiled to herself. Her boss had multiple personality disorder, and commonly spoke in the plural. He was blissfully unaware that he was in his late forties, and had a bald spot. He also seemed unaware that he himself was “the great Mark Finch”, who was no more than a huge, oily tub of lard in a blue sports coat whose only job was to threaten employees with the possibility of unemployment, an unattractive option for most.
Ivy did her best to keep her head in the present, in the real world. But she failed. Often. Once she was carrying a large tray of hot, greasy fries to a customer when she started to think, and ended up standing in front of her fellow employee, Rena, watching as the fries all spilled down the front of her low-cut blouse. She only got a few minor burns, thankfully, or else Ivy would probably have been sued for suffering and treatment. Which inspired Mark Finch to put her on cooking detail.
Or that time she spaced out instead of watching the French fries cooking. Oddly enough, all of Ivy’s misadventures involved French fries in some way or another. She always swore it was their fault, and not hers. Not hers at all. Anyway, the fries were cooking and she stopped watching them. To make a long story short, her hair caught on fire, and poor Rena, the burns still on her boobs, had to find the fire extinguisher and put her out. She almost burned down the building that day. Which inspired Mark Finch to put her on cashier duty. She supposed it wouldn’t be long before a customer asked for change for a five and she gave them all the money in the drawer. Then she’d be on janitorial work only. Then where? Absolute employment termination?
Ivy was on her way home before long, still arguing with herself about Daniel. He seemed nice, but still, one never can be sure about those kinds of things. He also never said if he liked her music. He also never said if he could play it. In fact, he looked embarrassed when she had asked him. Did that mean he couldn’t? Did it mean he could and he thought it was so incredibly easy that it was embarrassing? Argh. What she wouldn’t give to have been inside Daniel’s head when she had asked those questions earlier. And-
Shitfuck. She had forgotten her music at Yumm Burger. Sighing heavily to herself, Ivy pushed her bag back onto her shoulder and turned the car around, wincing at the thought of those precious wasted dollars.
As Ivy pushed her way into Yumm Burger, she looked around for where she may have put down her music. And there he was. Daniel. Eating with some guys she had never seen before. Holding her music. Ivy’s eyes narrowed slightly as she walked over and began hearing little snippets of their conversation.
“Yeah, and I do like it, but the lyrics seem so…. I don’t know, there’s just something about them that makes me unsettled…” The one to the right of Daniel said, stealing Ivy’s music and flipping through it quickly.
“Yeah, and besides, what does this even mean?” the one across from Daniel said, stealing it and pointing to a series of eight measures, across which were seven different options to play, each written in a different color ink. Across the top it read: POYL.
Ivy let out a loud growl, which cause them all to jump, and Daniel to steal the music back and cower against his seat. Ivy simply held out her hand for her music, her mouth pressed into a line.
Daniel handed it over willingly enough, but it was not enough for Ivy. She said, through gritted teeth, “I’ll see you tomorrow. And you’ll tell me everything. The truth. And none of this discussing my music behind my back if you value your health.”
With that, she turned and walked away, to a chorus of loud, ‘oh, you got told!’s, squinting her eyes against the angry tears that threatened to spill over.
“Elaine. Elaine! ELAINE!” Her boss yelled, interrupting Ivy’s quiet time. “This is unacceptable. Whatever is wrong needs to be gotten over quickly. This is not how we behave ourselves at Yumm Burger. Our founder, the great Mark Finch, would expect much more from young people like us.”
Ivy half-smiled to herself. Her boss had multiple personality disorder, and commonly spoke in the plural. He was blissfully unaware that he was in his late forties, and had a bald spot. He also seemed unaware that he himself was “the great Mark Finch”, who was no more than a huge, oily tub of lard in a blue sports coat whose only job was to threaten employees with the possibility of unemployment, an unattractive option for most.
Ivy did her best to keep her head in the present, in the real world. But she failed. Often. Once she was carrying a large tray of hot, greasy fries to a customer when she started to think, and ended up standing in front of her fellow employee, Rena, watching as the fries all spilled down the front of her low-cut blouse. She only got a few minor burns, thankfully, or else Ivy would probably have been sued for suffering and treatment. Which inspired Mark Finch to put her on cooking detail.
Or that time she spaced out instead of watching the French fries cooking. Oddly enough, all of Ivy’s misadventures involved French fries in some way or another. She always swore it was their fault, and not hers. Not hers at all. Anyway, the fries were cooking and she stopped watching them. To make a long story short, her hair caught on fire, and poor Rena, the burns still on her boobs, had to find the fire extinguisher and put her out. She almost burned down the building that day. Which inspired Mark Finch to put her on cashier duty. She supposed it wouldn’t be long before a customer asked for change for a five and she gave them all the money in the drawer. Then she’d be on janitorial work only. Then where? Absolute employment termination?
Ivy was on her way home before long, still arguing with herself about Daniel. He seemed nice, but still, one never can be sure about those kinds of things. He also never said if he liked her music. He also never said if he could play it. In fact, he looked embarrassed when she had asked him. Did that mean he couldn’t? Did it mean he could and he thought it was so incredibly easy that it was embarrassing? Argh. What she wouldn’t give to have been inside Daniel’s head when she had asked those questions earlier. And-
Shitfuck. She had forgotten her music at Yumm Burger. Sighing heavily to herself, Ivy pushed her bag back onto her shoulder and turned the car around, wincing at the thought of those precious wasted dollars.
As Ivy pushed her way into Yumm Burger, she looked around for where she may have put down her music. And there he was. Daniel. Eating with some guys she had never seen before. Holding her music. Ivy’s eyes narrowed slightly as she walked over and began hearing little snippets of their conversation.
“Yeah, and I do like it, but the lyrics seem so…. I don’t know, there’s just something about them that makes me unsettled…” The one to the right of Daniel said, stealing Ivy’s music and flipping through it quickly.
“Yeah, and besides, what does this even mean?” the one across from Daniel said, stealing it and pointing to a series of eight measures, across which were seven different options to play, each written in a different color ink. Across the top it read: POYL.
Ivy let out a loud growl, which cause them all to jump, and Daniel to steal the music back and cower against his seat. Ivy simply held out her hand for her music, her mouth pressed into a line.
Daniel handed it over willingly enough, but it was not enough for Ivy. She said, through gritted teeth, “I’ll see you tomorrow. And you’ll tell me everything. The truth. And none of this discussing my music behind my back if you value your health.”
With that, she turned and walked away, to a chorus of loud, ‘oh, you got told!’s, squinting her eyes against the angry tears that threatened to spill over.
♠ ♠ ♠
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