"Well, I don't like pancakes."
I mentally groaned. Working as a waiter at IHOP's at the "dinner" shift was not my idea of a stable and "fun" job. I'm supposed to be the manager, for Christ's sake. Shouldn't I be...oh, I don't know...managing?
I was tired, I had to go home to cook food for my fiance, and I was on the brink of losing my manager's job. This lady wasn't making things any easier.
"Well, ma'am, this is the International House of Pancakes. So don't come in telling me that you don't like pancakes! I mean, why'd you even come here if you don't like pancakes?!" I yelled, losing my temper very quickly.
She glared at me, setting the menu down. "I'd like to speak to your manager about employee behavior."
I smirked at her. "Sorry, but I am the manager."
"I don't believe you. You're too young."
Psh. 24 is not too young.
"Well, you had better, because I am!"
"We'll see. I would first off, like to order another waiter."
I gritted my teeth. "Very well. You can talk to that waiter about seeing the manager. In fact, talk to all the -"
Damn it. I can't cuss. Then I'd get the sack for sure.
" - waiters here, why don't you?"
She angrily picked the menu back up. "Fine. I think I will."
I stalked off, grabbing Michael's arm. "Hey, idiot lady who doesn't like pancakes at table nine wants to speak to the manager."
He stared at me, confused. "But Emily, you are the manager."
"I know, but she doesn't believe me. Go be her waiter please." I patted him on the back lightly, and he sighed. I know for a fact this isn't his idea of a stable and fun job either.
Hey, who's dream job is to work at IHOP's? Seriously?
"Uh...Emily? I was wondering if you could go back in the kitchen. We need cooking duty -"
"I'm sorry Haley, but I'm a bit wrapped up doing waiting duty -"
"But Tim is on the edge of quitting -"
"Oh no he's not!" I cut her off, racing to the kitchen, where Tim stood, angrily mumbling to himself as he made someone's pancakes.
"Tim, I heard you wanted to -"
"Quit! Yes! I am dying to quit! I'm sick of working here!" he yelled, still in the process of cooking. I sighed.
"Just a couple more hours, please Tim, you're a fabulous cook -"
"If I was a fabulous cook I'd be like Emeril, with my own television show and restaurant, not stuck flipping flapjacks in a shitty pancake house!"
"I know, but you've got to start somewhere, might as well be here, right?"
He sighed. "I guess."
"Thanks so much Tim, you have no idea how much I appreciate you being here -"
"Emily!" Michael yelled, running into the kitchen. I turned on my heel and faced him.
"What Michael?"
"That lady wants to speak to you?"
"Not the manager?"
"Well, she said the manager, so I told her she just did, but she wants to speak to you again -"
"She is driving me up the wall!" I yelled, racing back out.
Just before I reached the table my name was hollered again. "Emily, phone!"
"If it's James tell him to wait -"
"Emily, it's not your fiance," Michael said timidly. "It's the police."
I have to get away. I can't take this anymore.
I know it's wrong. I'm supposed to be there for the band.
But I can't take this anymore.
All I have to do is let go of the wheel.
I have the power to stop hurting.
I looked across the dashboard. All the street and car lights blurred, for some strange apparent reason.
I sighed. I can see the headlines tomorrow.
The Great Pete Wentz Commits Suicide in Car Crash.
Click to Continue
I dried my eyes, now I crust them with sleep
I slowly close my eyes and release my grip on the steering wheel, folding them in my lap.
My hands jerk as the car moves quakily to the left, but I control them.
I had no idea the impact would change someone else's life too.
My only intent was to destroy mine.
X
There we go. The beginning of my new Pete Wentz story.
Surprisingly, I'm pretty satisfied with the way this one turned out.
Emo Pete, huh?
And the pancake thing? Really did happen at the place where I was eating breakfast.
Except I wasn't the manager, and it wasn't the dinner shift, but there was lady who said she didn't like pancakes.
Crazy, huh?
Okay, now VOTE :]
