Sorry for the Inconvenience

“I’m sorry, sir, our ice cream machine is broken.”

I didn’t belong at a fast-food restaurant working graveyard shift. I had a plan for college. I had a goal. But I also had that one mistake years prior. It was a while ago, though, and I’ve done my work to get past that.

“I apologize she didn’t tell you while ordering. I will go ahead and refund you, one moment.”

I didn’t belong with my coworkers either. Miguel, the security guard who barely spoke English and barely looked an age where he’d be spry enough to protect anything. Thomas, the fryer, who wore headphones in place of having to make conversation and showed up nightly more fried than the food he was preparing. And lastly, Stacy, a girl around my age who graduated high school and went straight to get her ‘McDegree’. 

She used to work afternoons, but she lacked the social skills and common intelligence to actually do the job correctly, so she was moved to graveyard. She was painfully quiet and at times blatantly dismissive of my attempts at hello. I had known her for a brief time before her shifts were reassigned from when I worked early evenings. Before my class schedule changed and I was asked to pick up the graveyard drive-thru slack.

“Stacy, you have to tell them the ice cream machine is broken. You let that man purchase something we can’t even make.”

She was silent to no surprise. Meant more for me to do. I walked to the cashier computer and began the refund process. That’s when Barret the manager walked out.

“Refund? Laura, what happened now?” Refunds were becoming a common thing the more Stacy worked drive-thru. 

“This one was me this time, Barret, ice cream machine again,” I lied.

“Shame. It’s been a while since that thing stopped. Don’t worry about the refund, just be careful. I suppose you’re allotted one every now and then with the chances she’s been getting,” he motioned with his chin to Stacy who was cleaning out the clogged machine.

I walked back toward the kitchen and handed the money through the window. 

“Stacy if you don’t keep doing your job right it’s not going to be good for you. You already were moved to graveyard, now’s your chance to get things straight again while there’s less of a rush.” 

I looked out the window to the community college across the avenue and exhaled slowly. Graveyard at a fast food restaurant. Struggling graveyard at a fast food restaurant. Poor Stacy didn’t know much. She was lucky I took the hit for her. But once I finally left this place, got my life back– Stacy will drown on her own. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I spoke into my microphone in a small, shaky voice that was more breath than word, and more static than breath on the drive-thru speaker. The man was impatient and spoke over my apology for the broken ice cream machine inconvenience. He hadn’t heard. The thought of repeating myself made my neck begin to stiffen. My jaw began to clench. My body crawled in dry sweats. My plastic gloves became tight on my hands. My hat, too. My sweat-covered microphone brushing my lips. The computer wasn’t allowing me to enter the ice creams. It was broken. The man wasn’t letting me refuse him. My voice was broken.

“That’ll be $11.32, next window.”

I added the two ice creams and large coffee in my head, tax included. It was simple enough, once you knew the updated state sales tax percentage. 

I was good at solving problems but this one was different. This involved cues and emotions, demands by inconsiderate people and an expected way of acting that had no defined formula. But problems on paper, those were computable. Tests made demands but ones that could be reasoned with and met with a defined strategy. They’re simple and I like that. I guess that makes me a nerd.

No one at my high school was surprised to hear that I won valedictorian. Or got accepted into an ivy league. Or so people told me that. But neither were they to hear I declined giving my speech at graduation. Or returned home after two and a half weeks dealing with a roommate and college surroundings. People didn’t have to tell me that.

I hurriedly tried fixing the ice cream machine. If I fix it, the man gets his satisfaction (output) and we get his business (input). 

I heard Laura speaking with the man. She told him about the machine. He listened to her. Not that that was surprising. Most men listened to her when they pulled up to the window. So, Laura enjoys hanging out by it to pass the time. She should be cleaning the ice cream machines, though. Or they will break like it did today. It was her job but she never did it. Probably believed she was in a better spot than cleaning ice cream machines at a place where no one plans to end up. Probably why Barret reassigned her to graveyard shift.

Laura had spoken to me but I was still quietly humming to myself to lower my anxiety from the interaction. I have bad anxiety. Laura left for the cashier. I kept cleaning. 

There were more voices. Barret was out now. He enjoyed talking with Laura, too. He didn’t know I was covering for her with the machines. All he knew was Laura would be out of here soon– she was a girl meant for college, meant for a successful life. But when you don’t calculate consequences you make mistakes. And Laura made one. But she was lucky and life works for lucky people and she’d get a second chance even though she barely earned her first.

I made eye contact through the window with the man sitting in his car. I pointed at the machine which was disassembled and clogged. Told you. He was in a big hurry to go nowhere at two in the morning. My movement was too small for him to even notice.

He noticed Laura. He got back his input. He drove off.

“Stacy if you don’t keep doing your job right it’s not going to be good for you. You already were moved to graveyard, now’s your chance to get things straight again while there’s less of a rush.” 

Laura went back to the window to keep dreaming. To keep denying why she was moved to graveyard. To find the next boy to pull up. To finally get out of this place and get her life back– to drown on her own.