“Chuck, explain this.”
“I knew you’d call. Which part?”
“Start with what I found when I opened today. What the hell happened on your shift last
night?”
“Steve, these freaks dressed as Vikings showed up in
drive-thru and wouldn’t leave! Twenty of
them! Big scary beards, leather clothes,
those horn hats—riding motorcycles!”
“Vikings? In the
suburbs, for God’s sake? ”
“YES!!”
“Charles, I don’t believe you. In twenty years as GM, I’ve never heard a
story THIS stupid from a closing manager.”
“But it’s true!
Steve, what can I do to convince you?
They ordered thirty-five triple baconburgers. When I told them there’d be a wait, they got
mean. Five or six of them pulled up and threw
bottles at the window. We locked
ourselves in the office!”
“And the side of the building? Also Vikings?”
“When they ran out of bottles, they got out spray paint!”
“It says ‘Fuck you, burger bitches.’”
“I know, right?!”
“And the dead squirrels out front?”
“Ritual sacrifice.
Oh, God, Steve, the squealing was blood-curdling!”
“Do I want to know who overturned the grease barrel?”
“Midgets.”
“I thought they were Vikings.”
“They had midgets with them.
On the bikes.”
“Chuck, you’re fired.”
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