McDonald's Situation

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It was another day working at McDonald's for a certain person. It was one of those happy days when there were hardly no customers and the restaurant was quiet. Except this time, it was missing the quiet part. Alfred would have been sleeping over the cash register if it weren't for the two customers sitting in the booth next to the door. Technically, one of them was screaming and the other was crying. It just had to be between an angry German and an crying Italian.

"You asked to go to McDonald's to eat fries and I brought you here to find you eating pasta," the german yelled in his thick accent.

The Italian cried, "I'm sorry!"

Indeed, there was a plate of hot, steaming pasta between the two. The image of the delicious food made Alfred's mouth water. Living on Ramen noodles and McDonald's became bland in his stressful life. If he had a new meal that was filled with worms and beetles, Alfred would pick it over normal college food any time.

"Pardon me."

The sweet sound of a British man's voice interrupted Alfred's thoughts. The sound of his voice made it as if he was mad at the worker. Using his smart thinking (which isn't smart), Alfred decided that the man was infuriated. That would mean another complaint in the complaint box. Nobody would want an old, fat manager with bad breath to start yelling at them. He should've never joined McDonald's in the first place, Moe's sounded like a good place to work at by now. Just hope they don't ask if he owns a car.

"Hello, nincompoop!"

Alfred needs to pretend to be someone else that he isn't. What should he be now? No one wants an Alfred to think, it always come to bad situations dealing with the cops in some way.

"Hola, señorita! Je suis Barbie Fernandez Martinez. Gracias, weewee," Alfred saluted as if he was in the military.

Silence left the man as he blinked. His bushy eyebrows furrowed.

"Since when do you mix two languages with each other?" The man asked angrily.

"Si," Alfred agreed and nodded.

"And on top of that note, I am not a 'señorita,' if you want to know, I am a male," the man added.

Alfred started to get annoyed by the snobby rich guy.

"Okay, dude. Sorry about that, just give me your order," Alfred sighed in an annoying way.

The old man scoffed, "As if I would let you take my order."

Alfred was mentally ripping off the cash register and beating the costumer with it. Alfred inhaled deeply, forcing a smile on his face.

"Wow. I do apologize for my actions. Now order a Whopper and you can go listen to One Direction," Alfred said sarcastically.

"If I could get your manager to take my order instead, that would be splendid. On another note, I prefer you call me Mr. Kirkland," Mr. Kirkland scoffed.

"I would not mind to take your order, Mr. Kirkland," Alfred muttered and looked to the side. Luckily, the annoying costumers have left, except they left another annoying costumer with him.

Mr. Kirkland held a small smile on his face. "Of course you can take my order, just don't do that idiotic thing again," Mr. Kirkland said. Alfred tapped his fingers along the cash register.  He looked around and decided to think about inappropriate  things to past the time. Alfred took a sip from his sweet tea.

"I would like a—" Mr. Kirkland stopped talking staring at the drink in Alfred's hand.

"What?" Alfred questioned.

"Why would you take a si—"

Alfred threw the cup at the man, spilling sweet tea everywhere.

"We have freedom from you England people," Alfred yelled, jumping on the counter, "who won the revolutionary war, bro? America!"

Alfred pulled out a copy of the Declaration of Independence and slapped the man with it. He always knew it would come in handy other than cheating on a test. Mr. Kirkland's words were muffled by the paper being almost stuck to his face.

"I never liked this job," Alfred continued to yell. He threw his hat on the ground and walked out the door.

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