(Taken from a journal found in an abandoned mall in Massachusetts)
I woke up at 5 AM this morning. I usually get up at 6, and the mall opens at 7. Unfortunately, my car hasn't worked for at least two weeks. But right now, that's the least of my worries.
I showered, dressed, and put on my Burgerville Uniform, a dull blue shirt that had faded to a nice shade of periwinkle over the years. Sun damage or the wrong detergent? Who can say for sure.
What matters is that I sort of stand out from amongst the others. They could afford to pay for new uniforms. Me? I've got car payments and a younger sister to take care of. Mom got sent away, and dad was never there. So for now, Burgerville, PlayStation, and my little sister Judy are my life.
I unlocked my bike outside of the apartment complex. Thankfully, it snowed the night before, so that was my insurance against it being stolen. Nobody wants to ride a bike through snow, and nobody wants to steal a bike in the snow.
Took me a good hour and a half to bike to the mall. It usually takes only an hour, but snow isn't exactly convenient. I locked my bike in the now empty bike rack and head inside.
None of the stores were open yet. No teenagers talking to each other through text, no annoying children in the play area. Just me, the cleaning staff, and the rest of the openers. This temple of the dollar will be my tomb one day.
The people who arrive when we open are zombies, obviously controlled by whatever crap goes into the burgers and fries. None of them can form a coherent sentence or even properly order. "Burber 'n faes" is the usual order. Which burger? Which fries? In what size and combination? We made this almost as easy as possible to understand, given the giant glowing sign above my head, you dipstick. "Can I get a McMeal?" Can you get a vasectomy so that your idiotic genes don't spill into an equally stupid mate?
Even worse than "breakfast" is lunch. I can't call a burger with chicken fries and a shake "breakfast". It never has been and never will be, not in this dimension or any other. At least three orders are taken every minute from 11AM to 1PM, which is what people in this society have determined as "lunch time". At least with it being a school day, there was no chance of any teenagers being here.
I hate teenagers. I hated being a teenager. When you get called "the poor kid" every day for four years in a row, you don't exactly get a nice view of the world. And if people don't treat you well in high school, you can be sure as shit they won't treat others well as simple-minded adults whose only character traits are "hungry" and "angry". Makes me wonder how easy it would be to convince them to jump off a bridge or tip me.
I hate children even more. Greedy little monsters want their kids meals with toys nowadays. We're Burgerville, we've never done toys with our kids meals. Try explaining that to a fat, stupid housewife with five equally fat and stupid children. I look at the clock; it's 1:05. "Lunchtime" is over, and in five hours, it'll be "Dinner time". I'm tasked to mop up somebody's chocolate vomit off of the floor and wall. This extra-long shift is gonna suck.
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