McBrian

June 2, 2009
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If he would have been a cartoon swirls of odorous green gas would have been seen leaking out of him. A reeking mix of mayonnaise, grease, and sweat hammered the nose of anyone who neared him. At the register, he greeted the customers with a mumbled “Welcome to McDonalds, may I take your order?” The name tag stuck to his wrinkled, red shirt stated “Brian”.

Behind Brian, hanging on the wall, was a plaque with his picture above it. The plaque read Employee of the Month-June. Though it was not yet twenty, the face in the picture appeared to have had its youth sucked out. Purple bags had sunk down below the eyes and then inflated like air bags in a car wreck. It was mid July, but his skin did not show the faintest golden tint that so often graces people’s skin in the summer months. His greasy, jet-black hair hung limp from underneath the red and yellow hat pulled as far down over his head as possible.

Though nobody did care to watch Brian when there were no customer’s orders to take, if someone did, he would have appeared incredibly busy. Behind the counter he would shoot from place to place, lingering here for a little bit and then lingering there for a little bit longer. He’d run by the fries, look at the cups and make a mental note whether or not they were stocked, and on rare occasions he’d even venture out to the dining area to see if everything was under control. His great secret to success was that, even though he kept a sharp eye on everything, he never actually did anything with the fries, restocked cups, or cleaned up the dining area.

Brian kept his eyes pointed towards the ground as he walked from place to place giving the illusion of work. When a customer came in they were given a polite, though not sincere, greeting. A smile was a rare thing to be seen on his face. However when a cute girl happened to waltz in, in need of a Big Mac, Brian would crack his lips apart and expose his chompers. On these occurrences Brian would dust off his old charm he had left back in high school and could not be more likable. However, when she left the counter so would any of Brian’s gleam that had shone through.

Every day Brian came into work he swore it would be his last day, and every day he walked out the doors towards his Buick he did it in self disgust for he could not find the courage to quit. In bed he would swear the next day would be the last, but it never was, and it never will be.





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