Kitchen Nightmare

[Yugikun]

Man, how the fuck did this happen?

Chris Kanegai stood near the counter, the sounds of a shitty pop song filling his ears. This wasn't really where he was supposed to be. Or where he expected to be. When he checked in at the front desk today, hopin' that he could make some cakes or somethin' in the back room, it was sorta a massive surprise that apparently he was supposed to be up front today. Best chef in the Mojave desert, relegated to kiddy hell. Seriously, how did this happen? He was the head chef. He was the one dude here who should be immune to all this replacement switching around bullshit. He'd expect, like, Jackie to be put where he was. Richards, once he got back from whatever his leave was. They were good, yeah, but the place could afford movin' them around. Not him. Not the head chef. He should be the one in the back room. He should be the one cookin' today.

But he wasn't. He was servin' kiddy hell today, and he just had to accept that. He supposed it wasn't too bad. Well, not too bad for him. The fact that he had barely served fuckin' anybody today probably wasn't as good for the place, though. Yet another question to add in the "what the fuck happened" pile. Why was nobody here? He hadn't served as waiter before, but when he was in the place where he was supposed to be he had to keep workin' and keep cookin', so he supposed that was for all the customers just rarin' to eat from Vacanti's Cafe. Other option of course was that all the staff was eatin' the stuff he made, but eh, that made him happy. People liked what he made and he got paid. That's all he needed in his life.

Other than maybe a woman, of course.

Maybe this'd be the day where he finally asked out Rachel.

But seriously, what the fuck happened? Why was the place he worked at like this all of a sudden? What happened so that Vacanti's suddenly put their head goddamm chef on waiter duty? Yeah, Alvaro was gone but-

He shook his head.

Well, shit.

Now he felt like an ass.

He sighed. Yeah. That was why. Alvaro went on his excursion and then suddenly the whole country was lookin' for him. Probably somethin' that'd affect his parents. There was the greivin', yeah. He had a little bit on his side, too. He was a cool kid. Little shaky, but both managed together. Sucked that he was gone. Days the place was closed were used for the purpose they were meant for. Being sad, sending flowers to the head. Sittin' 'round waitin' doin' nothin' 'cause there ain't that much else to do 'round these parts when you've got no job you're supposed to do. He had those days. He appreciated those days. But he thought those days were over when his job came back again. He thought they'd gotten their way through the worst. But nope. Front desk. Kiddie hell. Empty kiddie hell.

Supposed a new thing musta happened.

He didn't know what, though. He didn't really watch the TV. Nights were usually spent at home tryin' to get some sleep or out somewhere with his group. Those were good nights. Better nights than he possibly coulda spent findin' out what the Kardashians were doin' or watchin' some guys get their dreams crushed on national. Na. Rachel and Rob and Richie and Courtney were worth far more. Fun was worth far more.

And cookin' was worth far more. This place was worth far more. So he felt it when Alvaro vanished. He would be happy when things were okay again.

And really, he just hoped that they would be, at this point. Not just for his dignity - because again, the head chef shouldn't be the one waitin' the place - but for everything else, as well. The words. What truly mattered, or somethin'.

Song stopped. Dude on the radio said some stuff. Time was 12:30.

Thank fuck. Maybe now he could take a break. Wait, no what the fuck was he saying. Now he could definitely take a break. This was his break time. This was likely goin' to be the one enjoyable part of bein' the waiter here.

So the nametag went off. Tucked behind the counter. Dude there didn't seem to mind. He was just starin' into the screen doin' whatever he was doin', he guessed.

Steps took their way through the place. Back door. Back road. Dumpster with this week's garbage standin' right next to him.

Best place to have a smoke in the whole street. Maybe neighbourhood, even. And god, it'd probably feel just that little bit better given what he already hadn't had to do today. Just had to reach for his lighter, his pack, and...

Wait, hang on.

That was not the sound an alleyway made.

The half fished lighter went back into his pocket. The feeling shifted, for a second. It was there. It was annoyin'. He wouldn't have had to feel the weirdness of his pant leg if he didn't do it but whatever, it'd adjust. He moved. Walked. Sound was comin' from the alley next to him, so it'd be easy to go do a little check before he had his-

"Hey, what the fuck are you doin'?"

Sprinting. Running towards the guy with the can in his hands. Chasing, as the guy began to ran away. Slowing down, as the lungs of a regular smoker began to take their toll from the rest of his body. Hey. Not his fault. His dad fucking smoked all the time and he seemed fine whenever he ran. It wasn't on him that he needed better lungs. He kept going, trying to reach the guy but fuck he needed to breathe. He stopped. Breathed. Panted. Hyperventilated. Fuck, that couldn't be good for him. He needed to check that out. Also needed to check what just happened out. That dude was sprayin' somethin' on the walls of Vacanti's over here. He just had to see how much work whoever was on cleanin' duty had to do today.

...

Huh?

The window said somethin' funny. "IMMIGRANT PIECE OF HUMAN SHIT."

Well, he didn't mean funny as in somethin' he'd laugh at. No. He meant weird. Yeah, the bosses were from Mexico. Yeah, people here could kinda suck. But this hadn't happened before. Nobody had put their paint on the place. Least, not before now. Besides, they were good people, he had no idea how they could be what the paint said. Yeah, they had acted really fucking weirdly the last month or so and they were the ones who put him into the waiter zone, but really. They were nice. They gave him a job. He was sorta indebebeted to them for that. So the fact that someone had did this to them? The fact that they'd gone back on makin' it through the waters?

The fact that the head chef was actin' as the waiter today?

...

There was somethin' up.

And actin' detective Chris Kanegai supposed he was on the case. Too much weird stuff happinin' recently. They were probably connected somehow. There was a newsagent across the street from where Vacanti's was, he could check there. If some random asshole on the street knew about it then he supposed it was some public affair or somethin'. Easy to check. Easy to get to. Easy to do without goddamn killin' your lungs out. Shit, the crossing was nearly right in front of him, whichever higher power was the real one or some shit like that seemed to just really like him today. Maybe that was good karma. Maybe that was them sayin' sorry for puttin' him in kiddie hell for the last few days. That didn't matter, though. There was a newsagent in front of him. A crossing, as well. You put the dots together. You find out what y'actually need to do.

Thing was, he already had a long time ago. He took his steps. Across the road. Into the newsagent. Lookin' around briefly at what was inside before getting a newspaper, pickin' it up, and-

"Sorry, but we, uh... don't allow people doing that anymore. You're going to have to buy it if you want to read it."

Nerdy guy said that. Brown hair. Glasses. Standing at the cashier.

Fuck, really?

"Uh, hang on."

The newspaper went down. Chris' hands went in his pockets. Lighter, pack...

He pointed at the cashier, for a bit. Dropped his hands.

"I'll be right back."

Out of the newsagents. Back across the road. Into Vacanti's. Through the door at the back. Into the employee area. Back room. Coat.

5 bucks. That was probably enough for the guy in the newsagent. Sweet.

Away from his coat. Front room. Out the employee area. Door at the back. Out of Vacanti's. Back across the street, into the newsagent.

"Here you go."

"That's five dollars, so uh... here's your change."

"Oh, uh, thanks." Chris put the change in his pocket as he picked the newspaper up. Front page. Let's go, and...

"AND THEN THERE WERE 97. THE KILLERS AND THE DEAD OF SOTF V6'S FIRST DAY."

Wait, shit. SotF was back? Fuck, man. He thought they were dead. Guess that grew to show that the world as he knew it wasn't all sunshine and happiness and mediocrity. Anyway, he needed the news, so he supposed he'd flick through these first couple pages and-

Oh.

Well.

Shit.

He supposed he solved the mystery, then.

Man.

How the fuck did this happen?