Hopes were often shattered in this cruel, cold world. Not only did you run into Mr. Jack again, but you saw him at least two or three times in the weeks that followed your first day. To make matters worse, he always seemed to gravitate toward you. You tried to avoid incidences like your first meeting, but he somehow would arrive right when you ducked behind the counter to restock the sauces ("Someone's not keeping an eye on the register!"), or would catch you just as you laughed at a coworker's joke ("Chatting instead of working? For shame, Ms. Y/n.").
Sometimes he'd show up in the front lobby, sometimes he'd catch you in the back drive thru. It was like he had a radar for when you were the most unprepared to see him. It was honestly beginning to make you a little bit paranoid. His voice was always politely chiding, so you never knew when he was joking or serious.
"It's strange," Maddie murmured to you one day while you both cleaned out the fry machine, "Seeing him so often in the same location is unheard of. He's usually hopping from state to state, or staying in his headquarters." She sprayed cleaning solution onto the fry freezer door. "I wonder what's so interesting about our restaurant?"
"I don't know," you lied. Well, it was only half a lie. He seemed to spend most of his visits "yanking your chain", but you had no idea why. You reached into the freezer to pull out an old, stale french fry. "Maybe he's just good friends with Moira?" The manager was on slightly more familiar terms with him than the rest of the employees.
Maddie shrugged. "Maybe." She grinned. "Or maybe he just likes to get the jump on you."
You gave a dead pan laugh and threw the old french fry at her. She giggled, and you two went back to cleaning.
Three weeks later, it was summertime. Kids and their parents flocked to fast food restaurants as they enjoyed their vacations. Jack In The Box customers nearly doubled, and lunch rushes were brutal on the weekends.
On Saturday, life seemed to have it out for you. Your mother's chemo treatment had been particularly hard on her, and you hated to see her suffering. Then, after you got her back home, you went to get in your car to head to work. You turned the key, only to discover the battery went kaput. Not wanting to be late, you had to shell out some extra cash to take the bus to work. All the way there, you were despairing, wondering how you were going to scrape together enough funds to fix your car.
When you finally clocked into work, you were told that two of the other workers had called in sick, so everyone had to pick up the slack. You were manning the cash register, trying your best to efficiently ring up customers, get drinks, and call out orders, all during the lunch rush. To make matters worse, the customers today were extra rude.
"This is not what I ordered," snapped a gray-headed lady. She plopped the bag on the counter and pointed to it like it had committed a crime. "We are missing two sandwiches!"
"I'm so sorry ma'am," you said as sincerely as possible, "Can you show me your receipt so I can see what two sandwiches you ordered?"
"My receipt? Why should I need to show you that? Just give me the two sandwiches!"
You struggled to keep your face neutral. Behind the irate woman, the line of customers was growing. "Ma'am, I need to see your receipt. I don't know what you ordered."
"How can you not know? You just took my order!" The woman crossed her arms, a stubborn expression on her face. "I'm not leaving until I get my sandwiches!"
But I don't know what you ordered! You thought, panicking. Aloud you said, "Okay ma'am, give me one second." You turned around and said to the grill, "Can I get two, uh...ultimate cheeseburgers?" You hoped that those were the sandwiches the woman wanted. You glanced back, but she just glared at you, no change in her expression.
As you waited, you heard the other customers begin to complain.
"Ugh, seriously? This is taking forever!"
"This is ridiculous!"
"I should have just gone to Burger King."
A presence materialized beside you. No. No, no, please not now! You didn't want to look. But you did anyway. Mr. Jack was standing behind you, looking from you to the register. He did not look pleased. "This is quite the crowd, Ms. Y/n," his voice sounded different, almost disappointed. His tone made your stomach clench in fear.
You opened your mouth to explain, but the sound of burgers hitting the delivery counter distracted you. Desperate to fix things, you grabbed the sandwiches, put them into a bag with some napkins, and scurried over to the woman. "Here you are, ma'am." She snatched the bag from you.
Flustered, and acutely aware of Mr. Jack's gaze boring into you, you went back to the register and began taking another order. You were halfway through ringing them up when you heard the grey-haired woman's voice again. She stalked up to the counter and dumped the bag, spilling out the two sandwiches.
"These are not the sandwiches that I ordered!"
You gave your current customer their change, and hurried over to the woman. "I'm sorry ma'am, but—"
"But nothing! This is unacceptable!" Her voice grew in volume, and she leaned over the counter as she continued, "You have been nothing but rude and disrespectful, and now you give me this slop and expect me to pay for it? You young people these days have no idea how to act in a professional capacity. I want a refund!" She all but screamed the last part.
You stared at her, wide eyed. Your face felt like it was on fire. The other customers were glaring at you too. Mr. Jack was bound to be upset by now. You were going to be fired, and you'd be without a job, without a car, and without a way to pay for the precious medicine your mother needed to survive.
"I-I really am sorry," you squeaked. Your vision grew blurry as you tried to hold back tears.
"I don't want your insincere apologies, I want a refund! Where is your manager—!"
"Ms. Moira is tied up at the moment, but I believe I can step in for her." Mr. Jack's voice came from somewhere directly behind you. You felt fingers ghost over your lower back, but the touch was so slight you thought you imagined it. "Ms. Y/n, I believe there is some product in the back that needs to be restocked. Will you see to it?"
All you could do was nod, not trusting your voice. You refused to make eye contact with anyone, keeping your gaze down as you turned and headed to the back. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Maddie give you a sympathetic glance.
You managed to make it to the back corner of the stock room before you finally broke. You stood, facing a box of sauces, trying to stifle your sobs as tears ran down your cheeks. I'm done. He's going to fire me. I should've insisted on seeing that lady's receipt. I can't do anything right, can I? You mentally kicked yourself. You stayed there, trying to get your tears to subside. You couldn't be seen as a failure and a crybaby.
You heard footsteps coming near you, and you hurriedly wiped your eyes. "Ms. Y/n?" That familiar, deep voice made you jump and turn around in surprise. Mr. Jack stood before you. To your shock, however, he did not look at all like you expected. You had it in your mind that he'd be furious with you. You did not expect him to look concerned, and you did not expect him to say your name so gently. "Are you okay?" He blinked, sheepishly. "Wait, stupid question. Here-" he drew a handkerchief from his suit pocket and held it out.
You stared at it, at him, and your tears started again. "I'm really s-sorry, Mr. Jack! I swear, I was trying my best. It's just been one thing after another and—"
"Ms. Y/n, It's oka—" Mr. Jack tried to interrupt, but the words continued to tumble from your lips in your rush to convince him not to fire you.
"I promise, I'm not slacking off or anything. I just got f-flustered and I should've asked for the receipt! Please, don't fire me—!"
"Y/n!" You flinched, shutting your mouth. Mr. Jack closed the distance between you and put his hands on your shoulders. You sniffled, looking up at him with tears coursing down your cheeks. You had to crane your neck, he was so tall. A distant part of your mind registered the scent of his cologne. It was...nice.
Your bottom lip trembled as you waited for him to start yelling at you. Mr. Jack took a deep breath. "I'm not going to fire you. So, you can stop crying, okay? Here." He took the handkerchief and gently dabbed at your eyes. It shocked you so much that you just let him, standing stock still as he wiped away your tears.
He seemed to realize how close he was, and what he was doing, because he drew back, clearing his throat. "Ah, sorry. I hope I didn't overstep. I just-" he rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't like seeing you upset." He straightened up, looking serious. "But, you are not in trouble. I saw how that old bat was treating you. She was in the wrong, not you."
"So...I-I'm not fired?"
"Nope."
Your shoulders slumped, and you wanted to cry again in relief. "Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Jack!" You almost wanted hug him. Almost.
Mr. Jack smiled at you. "You're welcome. I know you work hard. I've seen you." He turned around and started walking out of the stock room. "Take as much time as you need. Moira is manning the front counter until you're ready." With that, he was gone.
You did take as much time as you were comfortable with. It took you five minutes to completely calm down. You knew your face probably looked like a puffy mess, but life went on, and you had work to do.
By the time you made it back to the front counter, Mr. Jack was no where to be seen. The lunch rush had slowed considerably. Moira greeted you with an appraising glance. "You all right?"
"I'm fine." You smiled at her. She seemed unconvinced, but let you resume your post.
During the next lull in customers, Maddie came up beside you. "Y/n, you missed it!" She was grinning, "Mr. Jack put that Karen in her place after you left. He told her that company policy required her to show her receipt in order to get a refund. She tried to make up some excuse, but he didn't let her!" She winked at you conspiratorially. "Looks like you got friends in high places!"
You snorted as you swept the floor. "I'm sure he would have done it for anyone. He cares about his employees."
The look Maddie gave you said she didn't believe one word of that, but you ignored her. That wasn't special treatment. He was just being a good boss.
But how many bosses care enough to wipe your tears away? A small voice in your head wondered. You banged the dustpan against the trash can, dumping its contents, and tried to ignore it.