Impossible Is Nothing (An Iggy Azalea/Eminem Fan Fiction)

Chapter 12: Never 2 Far

Days later

Marshall's P.O.V.

I woke up to the sound of alarm at the side of my bed. It was 9 A.M. right now. Great, work. At Gilbert's, of course, which starts at 10 today.

I leaped out of bed, took a quick shower, and got myself ready. Once I got dressed in my work clothes, I grabbed something from my kitchen to eat as breakfast on-the-go, which ended up being a bagel. Stuffing it in my mouth, I shortly left my place, making sure I'd make it on time for the bus.

This was my basic routine on most mornings. I worked an average of six hours a day, five days a week (usually), and it mostly being the morning shift from 10 to 4. And, just like now, I'd take the bus to and from work. It wasn't bad, it only being about a fifteen minute ride. But I still wanted to get my own ride eventually, hoping it to be a used Mercedes-Benz or something like that. That'd be ill. Maybe some day. But for now, I'm still saving up in the meantime.

I was gazing out the window in the bus, head bobbing to the rap music playing on my Walkman when I finally reached my destination outside the restaurant. Pulling my headphones off, I jumped off the bus, shortly on my way in through the front wooden door.

Before proceeding to get to the back of the lodge to start my shift, something stopped me there. There was a small group standing around there waiting to be served. They weren't just any group though—they were foreigners not from around here, speaking a language I immediately recognized: French.

Where the hell were the other employees right now? I knew I wasn't punched in yet but I decided to go ahead and help them out right there. Usually, I'd be in the back working, never the server or anything, but I figured helping these people could make this day interesting.

As I made eye contact with the others, I immediately blurted out random shit I remember Brittany teaching me from the other day. "Bonjour! Uh... feel free to sit wherever you like."

After that, they were going off fluent French at me. Fuck, I didn't know the language! I only knew some words and terms. I kept saying "Oui's" while nodding my head retarded at them as they got seated. I handed them the menus, them eventually talking in English to me with a heavy accent. It was hilarious, I had to admit. I eventually had to excuse myself from them though because doing that made me late for work, which was kind of ironic.

Hours later after flipping burgers, baking pizzas, deep frying fries, etc. my boss surprised me by calling out my name as he sauntered into the kitchen. "Marshall. We need to talk."

I jumped as I turned right away to face him. Crap. I wondered what this was going to be about. I was sure it was going to be about this morning, how I fooled around and wasn't at the right station. Maybe because I was late again, because of that. Man, was he going to scold me. I knew for a fact. Watch this totally be the day I get shit-canned—

"You're getting a raise."

I blinked. What the? "Come again?"

He laughed at me. "You're going to be getting a whole six bucks an hour now. I saw what you did out there earlier. I never knew you spoke French," he said to me, impressed. He finished what he had to say. "You're a hard, superior worker. One of my best employees."

"M—Man, wow..." I stumbled over my words. "Thanks."

He nodded his head at me, looking around the work area. He began again. "Get to washing the dishes when you get a chance; we'll have somebody cover this area for you. Then after that, you can take your break."