Becoming Mrs. Box

Chapter 2

Hopes were often shattered in this cruel, cold world. Not only did you run into Mr. Jack again, but you saw him at least two or three times in the weeks that followed your first day. To make matters worse, he always seemed to gravitate toward you. You tried to avoid incidences like your first meeting, but he somehow would arrive right when you ducked behind the counter to restock the sauces ("Someone's not keeping an eye on the register!"), or would catch you just as you laughed at a coworker's joke ("Chatting instead of working? For shame, Ms. Y/n.").

Sometimes he'd show up in the front lobby, sometimes he'd catch you in the back drive thru. It was like he had a radar for when you were the most unprepared to see him. It was honestly beginning to make you a little bit paranoid. His voice was always politely chiding, so you never knew when he was joking or serious.

"It's strange," Maddie murmured to you one day while you both cleaned out the fry machine, "Seeing him so often in the same location is unheard of. He's usually hopping from state to state, or staying in his headquarters." She sprayed cleaning solution onto the fry freezer door. "I wonder what's so interesting about our restaurant?"

"I don't know," you lied. Well, it was only half a lie. He seemed to spend most of his visits "yanking your chain", but you had no idea why. You reached into the freezer to pull out an old, stale french fry. "Maybe he's just good friends with Moira?" The manager was on slightly more familiar terms with him than the rest of the employees.

Maddie shrugged. "Maybe." She grinned. "Or maybe he just likes to get the jump on you."

You gave a dead pan laugh and threw the old french fry at her. She giggled, and you two went back to cleaning.

Three weeks later, it was summertime. Kids and their parents flocked to fast food restaurants as they enjoyed their vacations. Jack In The Box customers nearly doubled, and lunch rushes were brutal on the weekends.

On Saturday, life seemed to have it out for you. Your mother's chemo treatment had been particularly hard on her, and you hated to see her suffering. Then, after you got her back home, you went to get in your car to head to work. You turned the key, only to discover the battery went kaput. Not wanting to be late, you had to shell out some extra cash to take the bus to work. All the way there, you were despairing, wondering how you were going to scrape together enough funds to fix your car.

When you finally clocked into work, you were told that two of the other workers had called in sick, so everyone had to pick up the slack. You were manning the cash register, trying your best to efficiently ring up customers, get drinks, and call out orders, all during the lunch rush. To make matters worse, the customers today were extra rude.

"This is not what I ordered," snapped a gray-headed lady. She plopped the bag on the counter and pointed to it like it had committed a crime. "We are missing two sandwiches!"

"I'm so sorry ma'am," you said as sincerely as possible, "Can you show me your receipt so I can see what two sandwiches you ordered?"

"My receipt? Why should I need to show you that? Just give me the two sandwiches!"

You struggled to keep your face neutral. Behind the irate woman, the line of customers was growing. "Ma'am, I need to see your receipt. I don't know what you ordered."

"How can you not know? You just took my order!" The woman crossed her arms, a stubborn expression on her face. "I'm not leaving until I get my sandwiches!"

But I don't know what you ordered! You thought, panicking. Aloud you said, "Okay ma'am, give me one second." You turned around and said to the grill, "Can I get two, uh...ultimate cheeseburgers?" You hoped that those were the sandwiches the woman wanted. You glanced back, but she just glared at you, no change in her expression.