Job 3: Fast Food

Briar had always prided herself on her ability to land on her feet, no matter how many times life tried to kick her while she was down. But today, her ability to get back up was being put to the test in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

It had started innocently enough. A job was a job, right? At least that’s what she told herself as she stared at the peeling sign above the greasy fast food joint: Sizzle Burgers - Hot & Fresh, Served with a Smile! Briar wasn’t sure what bothered her more—the cloying, overly optimistic slogan or the overwhelming stench of fryer oil that clung to the air. Either way, it was better than sitting at home, sulking over the mess her life had become.

The manager, a sweaty man named Doug who wore a stained polo with a nametag that read “Doug - Sizzle Team,” had been overenthusiastic during the interview. His welcoming smile had been just a little too wide, as if he were trying to convince her (and maybe himself) that he enjoyed his job.

“I think you'll fit right in here, Briar,” Doug had said, practically bouncing on his heels. “You’ve got that... I don’t know, that spark. You’ve got the energy for Sizzle! You’ll be great on the grill. Can’t wait to see you in action!”

Briar hadn’t been sure what kind of “spark” he was referring to. Perhaps it was the way she rolled her eyes when he mentioned their “team” culture. Or maybe it was her sudden, inexplicable urge to set the entire place on fire just to watch it burn. Either way, she’d accepted the job, determined to power through the absurdity for a paycheck.

Now, as she donned the plastic apron and slid the itchy cap over her messy hair, she felt an overwhelming sense of dread. The floor was sticky, the air thick with the smell of deep-fried everything, and the customers—god, the customers—were like a parade of caffeinated zombies, each one demanding more than the last.

Briar took a deep breath. She could do this. It was just a burger joint. Nothing she hadn’t seen before.

“Order up!”

A voice from the kitchen snapped her out of her thoughts, and she rushed to the grill, where a mountain of sizzling patties were waiting for her. The grease spat and popped, stinging her arm as she reached for the spatula. She expertly flipped one of the burgers, a rare moment of competence amidst the chaos.

But then, she made the mistake of looking up.

A woman in a too-tight tank top was standing at the counter, her hands firmly planted on her hips.

“Excuse me,” the woman barked. “I asked for extra pickles. You’re trying to shortchange me, aren’t you?”

Briar blinked, taken aback. “Uh, no, I didn’t—”

“I said extra pickles!” the woman repeated, louder this time, pointing toward her half-eaten burger. “You call this a deluxe double cheeseburger? It’s more like a pickle void. I want what I paid for!”

Briar resisted the urge to throw her apron at the woman’s face. Instead, she smiled with the practiced restraint of a person who hated their job but needed the paycheck. “Right, extra pickles, no problem. I’ll get that fixed for you.”

As Briar turned to grab a jar of pickles, a man stumbled into the restaurant, clearly having had a bit too much to drink. His wild eyes scanned the counter like a hawk on the hunt for prey.

“Two large fries, extra salt! I want my fries so salty they could kill a man!” he shouted, slapping his hands on the counter. “And don’t skimp on the ketchup. You hear me? Don’t skimp!”

Briar nodded, trying to keep the irritation from creeping into her voice. “I got it. Large fries, extra salt, and plenty of ketchup. Coming right up.”

Her hands moved quickly, slamming down the fry basket and dropping them into the fryer. As the oil bubbled, she turned back to the counter and saw the pickle woman glaring at her like a hawk. She sighed, reaching for the jar again, but it slipped from her grasp, sending a cascade of glass and pickle juice to the floor. The jar shattered with a loud crack, sending a spray of brine and pickles everywhere.

“Oops,” Briar muttered under her breath.

The woman’s expression twisted into a scowl. “That’s it! I’m reporting you! I want to speak to the manager!”

Just then, Doug appeared, looking like a man who had just stepped out of a How to Run a Fast Food Place manual. His smile was wide, his teeth unnervingly white against his ruddy complexion.

“What seems to be the problem here, ma’am?” Doug asked, completely oblivious to the disaster in progress.

“This young woman—” the pickle lady began, but before she could continue, Briar’s attention was snatched away by the drunk man at the counter, who was now loudly singing “Sweet Caroline” to no one in particular.

“You! There! Two fries, extra salt! I want my fries hot enough to burn my mouth off! You hear me?” he slurred.

Briar stood frozen for a moment, staring at Doug, whose expression was a blend of confusion and concern. Doug looked between the woman, the drunk man, and Briar, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece together the calamity.

“Look, Doug,” Briar said, her voice tight, “I don’t think this is working out. You’ve got people screaming for pickles and fries, there’s broken glass everywhere, and there’s a guy here who thinks he's auditioning for American Idol. It’s a mess.”

Doug’s smile faltered, but he quickly recovered, giving her a thumbs up. “It’s just part of the experience, Briar. We all have to work together. Sizzle Team! It’s about family!”

Briar gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded. “Right, family. Got it.” She didn’t even have the energy to pretend anymore.

Before Doug could launch into another speech about team spirit, the drunk man decided it was time to take matters into his own hands. He grabbed a ketchup bottle, aimed it at Briar, and squeezed. The red sauce splattered across her apron, her face, and—of course—her hair.

Briar froze.

Doug’s eyes went wide, but his immediate reaction wasn’t to call security or kick the man out. Instead, he sighed heavily, as if he’d just witnessed something he had seen far too many times before.

“That’s it,” Briar muttered, brushing ketchup from her face. “I’m done. I’m so done.”

Without another word, she grabbed her jacket, yanked off her apron, and marched out of the restaurant, leaving behind the chaos that had been her first (and last) shift at Sizzle Burgers.

As she stepped into the fresh air, Briar couldn’t help but laugh, the sound more bitter than funny. Sometimes, the universe really did have a way of putting her in the most ridiculous situations.

But today, at least, it had taught her one important lesson: Hell hath no fury like a fast food joint on a Friday afternoon.

When she entered the apartment, Cassie looked up from her phone with an amused smile.

“So, how’s the workforce treating you?” she asked innocently.

Briar’s face fell. “Well…it’s been chaos…I keep telling you..”

Cassie snickered. “That’s my girl.” She sat up and patted the couch beside her. “You can stay home and be cute, Briar. I think that’s the perfect job for you.”

Briar slumped onto the couch beside her, too exhausted to protest. "I’m supposed to be the one doing the helping around here."

“You’re helping. You’re helping by being here. It’s fine.” Cassie’s grin was so sweet that Briar couldn’t help but melt a little. “But if you want to get out there again, I can help you find a new job.”

Briar pretended to look offended, but deep down, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. “On second thought…I think I might just take you up on that offer.”

Cassie winked. “Don’t think you’re off the hook forever. I’ll find you another job.”

Briar let herself relax into the couch, her tail curling comfortably around Cassie's waist. She pretended to groan in frustration, but secretly? She kind of loved it.