Fast Food in Flames

By Caroline N. Chandler

“So, Aedan, I’d like you to take care of the place today. This will be an opportunity to get your feet wet managing the business.”

“What?” I glanced up from my phone, sipping my rapidly-melting milkshake. Uncle Johnny didn’t usually bother me on my lunch break.

He sighed. He looked frazzled, and his white hair stuck out at odd angles. “Kids and your smartphones! I have a meeting today, so you’re going to play manager.”

My eyes widened, and I dropped my phone in my milkshake. Sure, I’d worked weekends and summers at the diner for years, but I was still a lowly minimum-wage employee. “You want me to run the diner?” I hurriedly fished the device out of my cup.

“Well, it’s not as if I’m dying! I thought you’d like an opportunity to prove yourself.”

“But…” I hesitated, not wanting to offend him. “I don’t want to.”

“I truly don’t care.” Uncle Johnny ran a hand through his hair, making it look like a cat with its tail in an electric socket. “You’re going to manage the restaurant because I said so.”

He walked away, leaving me wiping splattered ice cream from my shirt.

***

Hours later, Johnny Jim’s Beefy Burgers was in chaos. Of course, Uncle Johnny had shown me how to run everything, but I hadn’t really been listening.

“Number five with an extra order of fries!” Latitia called, her hair every bit as frizzy as Uncle Johnny’s but twice as large—as if the cat had been shocked a second time. My own hair was a mess, too, though it probably resembled a cat that had lived in a storm drain for the last three years.

Latitia yelled again, “Number five and fries!”

I dragged a bag of fries out of the freezer and dumped them unceremoniously into a basket. I dunked it into the fryer, then realized that was the last bag. I rushed to the box of potatoes, whipped out a knife, and began furiously chopping.

“Cheeseburger with a large drink!” Ray yelled. The humidity caused his hair to look like a twice-electrocuted cat that had lived in a storm drain for the past three years.

“I’m a little busy!” I retorted, nearly chopping my finger off.

“Aedan! The fries!” someone scolded.

“That’s what I’m—” I remembered the ones in the basket.

Abandoning the potatoes, I turned to the deep fryer. It cradled a batch of hopelessly burnt fries. My stomach wrenched at the sight—and smell—of the soggy, oily mess. But I couldn’t mourn. There was another order at the drive-through. I opened the back door and chucked the ruined fries into the dumpster.

I jogged back to the counter and sighed in relief. Someone had finished the chopping.

“Cheeseburger with no onions and a vanilla shake!”

I wiped sweat out of my eyes. Grabbing the metal cup and ice cream, I tossed the ingredients together and stuck it onto the blender.

A horrid cacophony ensued—as if I’d filled the cup with staplers. The milkshake exploded out of the cup. I wiped ice cream from my face with my sleeve. “Milkshake maker is out of order!”

“The AC is broken!” someone announced.

What else can possibly go wrong?

I needed help, ASAP. Mind racing a million different directions, I wondered who I could trust. Immediately, I knew: Josh—the guy who’d won Employee of the Month for as long as he’d worked at Johnny Jim’s. Josh, whose t-shirt wasn’t irreparably stained, and whose hair didn’t resemble a cat in any way.

I found him and yanked him into the bathroom.

“Josh, I need help!” I whispered frantically. “I’ll give you my paycheck, or buy your lunch for the next month—anything you ask. I just need you to keep this place from going up in flames!”

Josh considered, apparently unfazed by being abducted into the bathroom. “You’re right, kid, this place needs ordering.” He rubbed his chin. “I have a proposal.”

“Please, anything!”

“Let me take over as manager ’til Johnny gets back. Don’t need extra pay or anything, but I hate to see this place in ruins.”

“Yes! Right away! Just please don’t tell anyone. My mom would kill me.”

Josh grinned. “It’ll be our secret. You just fry burgers. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No matter what anyone says, don’t leave that grill. There are enough employees that you don’t need to be chopping fries and murdering the milkshake machine and such.”

“Yes, sir,” I repeated.

We nonchalantly stepped out of the bathroom. I headed straight for the burgers.

“Dumpster fire!”

Employees rushed about more frantically than before, carrying fire extinguishers and various vessels filled with water.

“Aedan? What did you do?” Josh demanded.

Why had he immediately blamed me? I remembered the scalding fries I’d absent-mindedly tossed out back. I probably should have let them cool first.

“I was just flipping burgers, I swear!”

“Right. And dumpsters spontaneously combust into flames?”

“I was chopping potatoes, a-and making fries—”

“You caught the dumpster on fire! How’d you manage that?”

“I was just flipping burgers!”

***

“All right, all right. I get the picture. The place was in chaos.” My uncle rubbed his eyes. “What happened afterward?” He sat across his desk from me and Josh, the day after the disaster.

“We put out the fire, and Josh set everyone straight. I flipped so many burgers!”

“So I guess I can thank Josh for the restaurant being ship-shape.”

“Yeah,” I admitted, glancing guiltily at Josh.

He had a mischievous glint in his eye. “The kid flipped some glorious burgers. I had one for dinner.”

“I suppose I’ve learned my lesson,” Uncle Johnny said. “You won’t be put in charge for a long time, Aedan. You’re on burger duty until you graduate.”

“Yes, sir.” It’s the only appropriate thing to say sometimes.

“Hopefully we won’t have any more dumpster fires in my lifetime.” He eased out of his cushioned chair.

I couldn’t have agreed more. “Yes, sir.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Caroline N. Chandler is a very random person. She likes random things like swing sets, sci-fi with heart, books featuring unfortunate children, and listening to Christian metal. Her random hobbies include sketching, writing (obviously), eating pasta of any kind, and basing her entire personality on her current read. Above everything else, she loves God and believes that all things (yes, even stories) should be made for His glory and the spread of His gospel.

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