My old job

I found this story I wrote as a goodbye to the folks I worked at Tim Horton's with... Gosh, I'm funny. :):

Rhetorical Fondant
by Janita Davis


I entered the room and it seemed to buzz with caffiene induced life and the air around me crackled like a wet and then dry again sugar packet. I sent a whistful glance towards the door hoping that merely a look would transport me back to somewhere, anywhere, that wasn't work with a preference given to my chesterfield at home while enjoying an episode of the ever fantastic Buffy series on television. With just a glimmer of a tear forming in the corner of my eye, oh Buffy, I turn my head back towards my eight hour imprisonment and finding myself strangely drawn into the kitchen. I sense something is amis and stride deliberately toward the sanctuary of the office where I intend to contruct some sort of doohicky designed to protect me from unseen evil out of drive-through time print out papers. They always work. After creating a large web-like barrier of protection in the office I spin around three times, raise my palsm up in the air calling upon supernatural forces to protect me from food poisoning and the bitchy lady in the white car who never smiles. Now I am ready to work.

The trees outside blew about omniously once night had fallen. A shiver ran through me and I shut the drive-thru window. A young man was staring at me intently as he stood in line. I caught his eye and couldn't look away drawn in by his questioning glaze. What is he thinking I wonder.... Could he be thinking... "Is franchising our society killing the newcomer small business owner, pushing low quality product like a clown with a balloon puppet and laying further foundation for the destruction of any remenance of a non-comercialized society?" I can feel his gaze penetrating my left earlobe as I draw up closer to the cash that he is approaching. He is near now and my palse begins to race as he gets closer; still he stares.... A hint of a smile is playing on his lips... Is he judging me? That judger... Now I need to know! Pushing my way to the cash I position myself so that I am his next server.. Tick tock tick tock.... I glance at the clock, still four hours left. I glance back. He smiles at me and I feel myself longing for the safety of the evil protected office. His mouth opens and he speaks...: "Hey, can I have a free donut?"

"No." I reply. "No, you can't." My heart is crying out! It is crying out for justice and values! It is crying out that nothing is free you creten! It cries out against the blackness in the hearts of our fellow human beings like the holes in ring donuts! I turn from the cash after the obligatory roll of my eyes and a profane decloration uttered underneath my breath... What I really need is a sandwich.

Time is a tricky thing. I broke the clock.

After the customer debackle I retreat to the back where I can, more or less, safely pretend that I'm in my happy place. ...And no, I'm not telling you where that is. I don't want it to get crowded.

Humans are creatures of habit and nothing cries out more of routine than staging donuts. It calls to me like a really creepy thing lurking about in the darkness that some stupid blond in a horror movie will no doubt be investigating at any moment. Like a film actress going back to her roots I stand at a forty-five degree angel to the freezer and cry in an overly loud talking voice... "If anyone needs me I'll be in the freezer." And I charge in gallantly with no regard for the my own life. A short while later I come out a bit colder, a bit foggier and quite possibly a hero. Yes a hero. A warrior of frozen goods cursed with the responsibility of ridding the world of it's supply and demand worries. Yes soon it will be another day and there WILL be a donut. As I stand brimming with pride the errie feeling of doom I felt earlier in the evening starts to return and I find my gaze drawn towards the fondant. All that chocolate, maple and vanella fondant... just siting there.... congealing innocently. My vision narrows to that of pin points and I know what needs to be done. I circle the the fondant trays menacingly as past experience has told me that is how best to handle this situation. I take off the lids and there it sits staring at me out of empty air bubbles. If evil bred goo this fondant would surely be it's spawn. Without giving it time to react, I charge forth arming myself with it's own wooden spoon and overpowering it, plopping it's gloppy contents into the garbage bin. It gurgled! I snarled working my way determindly from one flavor to the next. Unexpectedly some of the hot-ish contents spilled upon my arm and I cried out in pain! "Why God why? It burns! It burns! Why have you forsaken me?" I stop with the dramatics and settle on waving my wooden spoon disaprovingly at the fondant and retreating into paper webbed office coccooning myself protectively while I order someone else to finish the terrifying and sticky task I abandoned. Everything is okay now. The clock reads 10:45 and I know that the end of my time here draws near. As I wait and avoid further work for the rest of the evening I think to myself about the meaning of my existence and my role in society as fondant slayer and find myself wondering... What the hell am I babbling on about. : )

Thank you everyone and take care,

Janita