Sample

Forever a professional, Charlie started spouting his sales order blurb into the microphone hooked over his ear. “Good afternoon, err madam — Thank you for choosing the home of the perfect burger at McRonald’s. Could I take your order, please?” He looked expectantly at the senior officer sitting in the front of the car.

“Do you do children's meals at this hour?” Plummer asked innocently. Noticing the confusion of the young man's face that was taking her order, she simply explained.

“I have got to watch the calories. A woman has to take care of her assets — you know?”

Blinking twice, Charlie quickly recovered his momentum: “That’s a big smacker of the affirmative, hope you are having a great day.” He replied in a falsetto American accent, conscious of the company's customer guidelines.

“I’d like to order a McRonald’s fruit and meat child’s meal then, please. Oh, and whatever everyone else wants — I’m paying.” She jerked her thumb towards the rear of the car. The two young Constables poked their heads through the open rear window, and each ordered a big rack and large fries.

Charlie read the total on the till, “That’ll be thirteen pounds ninety-three, thank you — Cash or card?” He inquired nasally, still observing the Yankee accent while preparing the card machine. The customer liaison operative noted that the customer did not offer to make any payment using either method.

Charlie Farley repeated the total in the good old-fashioned English way. Slightly louder in case the customer was a little hard of hearing, or god forbid — Foreign.

Superintendent Plummer looked again towards the rear of the car, and Charlie advised her that he had already taken the order. The transexual officer looked up and inquired. “Sorry, do you want prepayment then?” She pulled out a gold credit card and handed it over to Charlie. Who grasped it in his right hand — Now unsure what to do with it. 

“Prepayment?” The hired help queried, “Did you want something else then?”

Doreen looked at the lad as if he were a moron. His focused stare became eclipsed. As a pair of smartly dressed middle-aged women shuffled from the left of the window, they waited expectantly.

Charlie scratched his head and adjusted his microphone away from his mouth. Allowing him more freedom to poke his head through the serving hatch, to peruse the feeder road to the left. Casually, he drew it back inside — Paused for a second, and then thrust his head frantically outside again. 

He gazed wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the longest line of pedestrianised customers he had ever seen. All, standing side by side in an orderly queue.

“I’m sorry, but this hatch is for vehicles only.” He shouted politely. “There is ample seating inside the restaurant, and you can easily place your order with our fast pay order screens. Just collect your receipt and wait for the number on the ticket to be called…

Thank you”. He inhaled raw oxygen.

“But they are with me,” Plummer insisted. “They just won’t fit in the car!” 

Now unsure of the correct course of action. Charlie paused for a moment, then replied with a concerned look, overshadowing his demeanour. “I’m sorry, I’ll have to have a word with my supervisor”. The tinted window slid across, and the face disappeared into a now darkened zone. 

Minutes passed when nothing seemed to stir. Three Pock-marked faces suddenly appeared within the booth, staring at the contents of the occupied window. The more junior and adolescent-looking one, opened a channel of communication with an introductory line to establish his unobvious seniority.

“Okay sir, my member of staff told me you have some pedestrianised friends with you, and he is correct in informing you that this is a drive-through order window…” 

He stretched his scrawny neck through the open portal window to verify his member of staff’s explanation. Satisfied, he puffed out his pigeon chest and pulled back his round shoulders. He pulled from the till the current total of perishables sold so far from the current order. The boy raised his eyebrows slightly in recognition of the sizeable transaction. Finally, tightening his cheap quality company tie, to complete preening himself with his self-importance.

The acne-encrusted supervisor sensed that this would be an ideal time to continue with a demonstration of company policy bootlicking. He looked around to check that his staff were still watching and proceeded to educate his underlings.

“But — As you are an officer of the law, combined with the issue it would be technically difficult to change the fact — That the people following you ‘will not’ fit in your vehicle.” 

He waved his middle finger with emphasis. “Plus — you also offered to pay with your GOLD credit card, and being a supporter of our local police force lick, lick, slurp, totally false smile, I will allow this, just this once!”

The squeaky voice of management appeared to have abated, and his decision was confirmed as he marched off in the direction of the front-of-house counters.

Momentarily blinking he realised he was back in control of the booth. Charlie found himself yet again beginning to take orders, as one by one, members of the female throng filed past the window.

Meanwhile, — At the front of the store, pandemonium ensued. An increasing number of females had begun to force their way through the revolving door. Once inside, each of them purposefully made their way to stand at the side of the restaurant, instead of the order counter. Customer’s heads swung left and right, watching with interest, intrigued at what was going on.

The area Manageress forcibly extracted herself from the tight-fitting swivel chair that she had returned to briefly moments before. Stomping out of her tiny office to see what all the commotion was about.

Even if there were going to be any obvious signs of trouble, she would soon sort it out. She hadn’t won that ‘Manager most likely to sort problems award’, and the subsequent prize of three days at boot camp in the foothills of the Mendip's, where she managed to cripple three instructors on the self-defence course — For nothing. No way.

Four assistants and one spotty supervisor stood watching her approach, and began  visibly quaking — Gobzilla was a force to be reckoned with. They saw her drawing in a deep breath, and took one step back nearer to the beverage dispensers, in anticipation of what would happen next.

Gobzilla — real name Toni Maloni, was of Italian descent, and to put it bluntly was — ‘Built like a brick shit-house.’

Her parents met each other while working on a gigantic construction project in New York. Each of them specialised in lifting huge steel girders. Just a couple of inches so supporting bolts could be inserted into the framework.

Finding out that they were both living on high-carb diets and visiting the same gym daily. It was the spark fuelling their burgeoning shared interests, which eventually led to them rapidly sealing the knot.

They finally immigrated to the UK, totally misguided and looking for the promised yellow brick road. Quickly settling down within London's largest Italian community. They did what their parents did, and shortly had a muscular baby girl to add to their happy household.

Finding it difficult to find employment in a similar specialised trade, Toni’s parents found themselves fitting right into the world of boxing. With their impressive physiques recognised, the pair were quickly given jobs as sparring partners for heavyweight boxers. Working as a living punch-bag quickly took its toll — With hearing damage at the top of the list. 

Being such a close family, they compensated by bellowing at the top of their voices, to ensure they could still communicate. Toni had therefore been included in the high-decibel conversation and the habit was still closely ingrained.

A noise similar to multiple approaching diesel locomotives appeared to build up in her throat — Then she let it rip.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON — WHY AREN’T THESE CUSTOMERS BUYING OUR BURGERS AND FRIES?”

Charlie Farley shuddered when he heard the blast in his booth at the rear of the store, without the aid of his earphones.

A deadly silence remained at the store counter as customers and staff alike froze in horrified shock.

With no immediate answer from anyone, she looked around the store. Gobzilla saw women on the stairs, women on the seats. Women on the tables, and women crammed into every corner. Continuing to come in, flowing through the rotating door. 

Surrounded by the encroaching mass of the female throng was what appeared to be a female police officer with a huge moustache — Chivalrously protected, by two young constables holding back the pressing crowd from their superior colleague.

The officer took a step forward towards Gobzilla and uttered, “We are just waiting for the leader of our quest to arrive.”

The crowd responded with a loud and spontaneous, “HAIL THE MIGHTY ALAN.”

Gobzilla raised one hand to her ear and pointed the other at Superintendent Plummer. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU,” she rumbled.

You could hear a pin drop as Plummer repeated her announcement, which again was followed by a tumultuous, “HAIL THE MIGHTY ALAN.”

“I STILL CAN’T HEAR YOU,” Gobzilla was beginning to enjoy the pantomime revelry, and acknowledged to herself that she was getting a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

Everyone watched as Plummer began to draw in a breath — An artificial chest slowly expanding, as air compressed inside her lungs. The Superintendant once again attempted to repeat the expected statement, but instead of the intended lion roar — It came out three octaves higher in pitch. 

“We are just waiting for the leader of our quest to arrive.”

The police officer fell to one side coughing and spluttering, her throat felt as if it had been torn apart. Damned hormone therapies…

“I STILL CAN’T HEAR YOU,” bellowed Gobzilla with unrelenting passion.

Alan's followers have now changed their chant — “OH YES YOU CAN.”

“OH NO, I CAN’T”

“OH YES YOU CAN,” The alien's followers forcibly replied.

Gobzilla was still holding her own against the mighty throng, again inhaling deeply, ready to repeat the familiar chant.

The revelry was interrupted by a loud creaking sound emanating from the restaurant entrance, and all eyes focused rapidly on the source. The rotating door and its bearings were already red-hot, from the almost continuous spin duty that the followers had induced. In someone's haste to enter McRonald’s restaurant, the structure finally succumbed to its inevitable fate — Just as a giant four-armed alien forced his way inside.

***