Chapter Text
“Someone threw up in the ball pit again.”
Rhett McLaughlin hated his job with a slow burning passion, his hatred burning hotter than all the frying oil in the deep fryers combined.
How he had ended up at this place, smashed between shopping centers and industrial buildings he did not know. He had left his cherished home in North Carolina to move to Los Angeles, where everything was supposed to be bigger, faster, stronger, better.
Now there he was, engineering diploma in his pocket and a mop in his hand, on the lookout for the source of his most dominant annoyance. He could not see the puke but he could smell it. He fucking hated his job.
This had been the third time this week some little brat had decided to release their just eaten food the fastest way possible and thus the third time Rhett had nearly wrenched himself. He usually did have a calm stomach, but now he only had to think about half eaten fries mixed with the stench of soda and ketchup to make his belly ache in objection.
It took him about two hours to get every ball out of the pit and to clean up the mess, then he decided to close the space altogether for the time being. He did not care about the pouting faces of the children, in fact, he only cared about his lunch break. He had not been this excited about lunch since middle school, even though now he couldn't care less about the actual food involved.
Employees were allowed to eat a small amount of fast food during their break every workday, but Rhett had opted out of that option a long time ago. The smell was definitely the worst. A constant mixture of burger patties, mushy bread and pickles.
Sure, he certainly had enjoyed eating a Big Mac every day, for the first week or so, but now he was on a steady diet consisting of Sprite and the cigarette smoke his coworkers seemed to be constantly evaporating. He'd lost all appetite.
It was late afternoon and business was relatively quiet. Most guests were eating alone, carefully trying to not stain their clothes with ketchup and only one or two kids were running around now that the ball pit was closed for visitors.
He was mentally preparing himself for Steve, the lousy shop manager, to come up to him and release him into his thirty minutes of freedom, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned around, mop still in hand. In front of him stood a small man with glasses and a weird haircut.
“Yes”, he mumbled and tried to make himself sound only half as annoyed as he actually was.
“Excuse me”, the smaller man said with a faint smile, “but the hand dryer in the men's toilet is broken.”
“Oh”, Rhett said. The guy continued to look at him, smile still glued to his face. Rhett was used to having to look down when talking to people. Growing up it had made him feel uncomfortable, but nowadays he appreciated the advantages. Looking down at the man currently standing in front of him made him feel edgy.
“I mean, I'm going to repair it, thanks for noticing”, he added, just to have an end to the conversation. He could practically hear the benches in the break room whisper his name.
“Could you have a look at it now? I really want to wash my hands before I eat but I hate leaving them wet, you know?”, the man said, adjusting the pair of glasses on his nose.
“Eh, sure.”
Rhett followed him reluctantly, discarding the mop on the way.
The men's washroom faintly smelled like piss and cheap air freshener, just like it usually did and the brown tiles on the floor and walls were adding their own unique charm.
Rhett stepped in front of the mechanical hand dryer. It was one of those models that acted just like a hair dryer but then again sounded like a rocket setting off into space. He moved his hands in front of the sensor, with semi-satisfactory results: nothing happened. He sighed quietly and went down on his knees to have a better look, albeit having absolutely no idea what he was supposed be doing.
He decided to stare at the machine for a few seconds, then moved his hands over the sensor one more time. As expected, nothing happened.
Rhett sighed again, this time audibly.
“I mean, I do have an engineering degree, maybe that means I'm supposed to know how these things work, but I really don't. Sorry”, he said while pushing himself into a standing position.
“Same”, the man was smiling again, now looking vaguely excited. “Every time someone finds out I studied civil engineering in college they expect me to repair all their stuff, but I'm always clueless.”
He was laughing now and small lines were forming around his eyes and lips. Rhett put on his fake work smile and shrugged his shoulders apologetically, not knowing what to say.
They stood around silently for a few moments and Rhett was trying really hard to ignore the fact he had to delay his break for an awkward staring contest next to some urinals.
“Right, I think I have to go back to work”, he concluded and started to walk away, but the costumer stepped in front of the door. Rhett was trapped.
“Just one question, please”, he smiled.
“Yeah?”
“What do you think about parties?”, he asked.
“Depends on how much booze is involved”, Rhett retorted without thinking.
His opponent giggled, face lighting up. It was an almost refreshing sound to Rhett's ears, it had something childishly innocent.
“No no, I was talking about the birthday party you can book here. Cake, Happy Meals, garlands. All that stuff. Not for me of course, my son is turning six next month.”
“Oh, right”, Rhett said and immediately felt stupid for his sarcastic remark. He sometimes forgot not everybody had the same dry humor he had accumulated over the past few years at this workplace.
“You should talk with the manager about that.”
“I thought you were the manager”, the man said, looking surprised.
Rhett couldn't help but laugh. He was in his thirties, he was actually older than the manager, but he was nowhere near the position. The only thing he was good for was working the McDrive and cleaning up ball pits. Sure, mentally he might have been miles ahead of his coworkers, but other than that he was nothing.
“Not even close”, he said.
The man nodded solemnly.
“Then I'm going to give the manager a call tomorrow. Thanks for helping me with the dryer.”
Rhett decided to leave the fact he had not actually accomplished anything unremarked and brought up his fake smile one more time.
“I'm Link, by the way”, the man extended his hand. He tried not to stare at it and took it, shaking it hesitantly.
“Rhett”
“Good bye, Rhett. See you next month, maybe?”, Link asked.
“Probably”, Rhett murmured, thinking about his overflowing work schedule and the fact this stinky restaurant had become something like his primary home.
Link grinned, adjusted his glasses one last time and finally stepped out of the bathroom.
Rhett continued to stand inside the room for several minutes, mentally marking Link down as the weirdest costumer he'd served this week. Only as an elderly man stepped into the washroom and gave Rhett that kind of look that asked Why aren't you working for me right now? he snapped out of his trance and walked towards Steve's office.
It was only after his backside had connected with the hard benches in the break room that he was finally able to relax.