Here's where to find out where Hazel works!
|I work a really boring job. I work at Micky Dee's.
Yeah, you may think that it's interesting to work at McDonald's since everyone goes there, but I'll give you this: You'll see nothing exciting going on working in the kitchen.
Yes, I am a cook. I'm the one in WDCity who gives you hot, fresh and delicious hamburgers and fries.
Well, come to think of it, there was something interesting that went on behind the scenes in the kitchen.
So, one normal day I was doing normal things, fixing up hamburgers and fries as fast as my arms and legs could go—which is pretty fast if you've been working there as fast as I have and you need to give someone a hamburger in what feels like a second—when something abnormal happened: I spilled grease all over the floor.
Yeah sure, you're probably like, "I've spilled stuff all the time!" Well to me, this was a huge deal, because I have never been clumsy in my entire life!
So I was trying to work around the spilled grease when I took a misstep and slipped and fell on the floor.
This caused a chain reaction.
I was in the middle of flipping a patty when I slipped, so the patty went flying and hit another worker. Not good.
That worker was walking to the counter, carrying a tray full of Happy Meals, grown-up meals, as I call them, drinks and a couple of McFlurries.
When the patty hit her, she was startled and went crazy.
She dropped all the food on the floor, grabbed a napkin, wiped off the remaining half-cooked beef and looked for the person who threw that patty at her.
She looked at another cook, who was also cooking hamburger patties, and she started yelling at him, saying that he threw the patty on purpose.
Now, this cook I've gotten to know—mainly because he stands right next to me—and I've learned that he has a temper like an active volcano. You tick him off, he explodes.
They got into this long argument, sounding like two siblings with their "I did not!" "Did too!" "Did not!" "Did too!"
I got up and noticed that a bunch of the burger patties were smoking and the fire alarm was ringing like crazy.
"Oh, fudgesicles!" I exclaimed as I quickly flipped the patties and turned on the fan; each patty now had a side that wasn't just crispy, it was burnt black.
I quickly took each patty and threw it into the trash, which was on the other side of the room.
I carried the patties one by one—of course, I could've gotten something like a tray but when I panic, my brain sounds like a fire truck, sent to a four-alarm fire, sirens blazing, and I can't think straight.
I dropped a patty and as I was trying to pick it up, someone bumped into me and we went crashing down.
I had ketchup on my face, "Yuck! When was the last time someone cleaned this pigsty?" I thought to myself as I wiped the gross, expired ketchup off my face.
I moved the rainbow hair out of my face to see who bumped into me and it was the fry guy, as we call him.
I moved him off of me and noticed that there was some red stuff on the floor near his head. I thought it was ketchup, but when I double checked, I knew that it was blood—I worked at a Mickey D's, for crying out loud! I knew what ketchup looked like and that was not ketchup.
I panicked even more and looked around for napkins, and while I did that, I screamed at everyone.
"Guys! Fry Guy's hurt! Someone call nine-one-one! He's bleeding!"
Then everyone stopped what they were doing and started panicking.
I heard the alarm going off and noticed that it was from my workstation.
"The rest of the patties!" I dashed to the smoking patties, but slipped and hit my head on something; two seconds later, I was out.
I woke up with a bright light shining in my eyes, and heard people whispering to each other, "Is she awake?" "I hope she's alright."
I grunted and they swarmed me and were exhausting me with questions and trying to tell me what had happened while I was out cold.
"Hold on. One at a time," I croaked. "First, what happened? Where am I?"
"Oh, sweetie. I… You tell her, Bill," Someone said with her voice cracking with every word. She sniffled. It was clearly my mom.
"Well, sugar plum, I'm afraid you'll have to get better so you can make everyone feel better, including the person that you saved," My dad said in a calm voice. I couldn't see because of the light and my eyes were blurry, but I knew my dad smiled as he said the last sentence.
"Whose life did I save?" I asked softly.
"Clark's, or Fry Guy as you call him." Fry Guy. "Yes… I remember. I told everyone to call nine-one-one because he was hurt," I thought.
"How is he?"
"Oh, he's fine. He's up and chatting with the other kids who work in the kitchen with you. They should be here in a few minutes to check up on you. All he needed was a few stitches, that's all," Dad said with a smile in his voice. "You okay? Do you need a few minutes?"
"No Dad, I'm fine. I just need my eyes to stop being blurry," I said as I decided to try rubbing my eyes.
They cleared up and with a few grunts and groans, I got to a sitting position.
I looked around the room, my dad was standing closest to me, his hand on my bed; my mom in a chair, wiping the tears from her eyes, she gave me a shaky smile; and my brother Darren, who looked a little teary eyed.
"Come here, Mr. Misty-Eyes," I said with a smile.
He dashed over to me and leaped on the bed.
"Careful," I said. "You don't wanna cripple me for the rest of my life, do ya?" I chuckled softly.
We hugged like I was about to leave him forever.
"I thought you'd never wake up," His voice cracked with every word.
"Really, Dare? You'd think that I would decide not to come back to see you crying in my arms?" I said with a smile and a chuckle. He joined in on the chuckle.
He hopped off and said, "Now don't tell my friends I did that, okay?" as he wiped his eyes.
"Oh, of course not! I would never!" I replied in a sarcastic tone. "Dad, hand me my phone." I laughed when he said "Hazel!" in a snarl. My parents joined the laughs.
Really all I got was a small concussion, nothing big, so after a couple of days in the bleach smelling hospital, I left the hospital to go home for a week, then I'd get back to work.
And to think that all of that started with some spilled grease.