Critical Failures VII

by Robert Bevan

  “Someone who might not be motivated to clean so thoroughly behind the toilet and under the sink.”

  Paul slammed his fist down on the counter to stop it from shaking.

  “Someone who might not bother to get a ladder so that he could scrub away the mildew between the tiles near the ceiling.”

  “You listen here, Fred,” demanded Paul. “I've been a fast food manager for seven and a half years. If you think I'm going to stand here and be threatened by –”

  “Someone who might simply fling his own feces all over the walls and seek employment elsewhere.”

  Paul's eyes went wide with terror. “You little monster.”

  “You're not supposed to call us monsters, Paul. Remember your sensitivity training? I would hate to have to report you to Jennifer.”

  “Just give me the mop!” Paul seethed as the mop handle moved into his open hand. He pushed it out from behind the counter in a plastic yellow bucket on wheels. His eyes were watering when they made contact with Stacy's. With a shaky voice, he shouted back to the counter. “You've got a customer!”

  As he pushed his mop and bucket out the door, a gremlin-like head with an Arby's hat and a wide toothy grin popped up from behind the counter.

  “Welcome to Arby's. We have meat!”

  Stacy tried her best not to look surprised or frightened. “Hi. You must be Fred.”

  “My name is Urguk Gri'klab, but my manager says Fred is easier to remember and pronounce. You can call me Fred.”

  “Thank you,” said Stacy. “My name is...” It was probably best not to give her real name, in case Goosewaddle was really serious about not wanting any Earth people back here. She might need to use the equipment again, or she might just crave a roast beef sandwich. “... Sally.”

  “Would you like to try one of our combo meals? Curly fries are very popular.”

  “I was actually wondering if I might use some of your cooking equipment. My friend is sick, and I need to make an antidote for him.” She took a step closer and put the belladonna plant on the counter in front of him. “I'd be so grateful.”

  The little gremlin man, Fred, plucked one of the berries and popped it into his mouth before Stacy could stop him, then puckered his lips like he'd just sucked on a slice of lemon.

  “Sounds like fun. Come around to the kitchen.”

  That was much less hassle than Stacy had been prepared to deal with. “Again, thank you very much.” She picked up her plant and followed him.

  The kitchen was crawling with more of the same little monsters, all dressed in Arby's hats and oversized uniform shirts stuffed into their little toddler khakis. When they saw Stacy, they immediately stopped washing dishes, wiping down equipment, and other such fast-food post-lunch-rush chores.

  “Who is she?” demanded one that Stacy guessed to be a female. “You can't bring a customer into the kitchen.”

  “Relax, Velma,” said Fred. “She wants to cook something. Jennifer told us we should experiment with new recipes that might appeal to local tastes.”

  “Ooooooh,” the others said collectively, abandoning their duties and crowding around Stacy, each of them armed with a kitchen utensil that might be easily weaponized.

  “We want to help,” said the one holding a plastic spray bottle half-full of purple liquid.

  Already knowing that Fred's name was given to him by this Jennifer person, the addition of a Velma left little doubt as to what the naming convention had been derived from.

  “Do we have a Shaggy?”

  “That's me!” said the one who had been washing the dishes. He raised the wet, soapy knife he'd pulled out of the sink.

  “Dry off that knife, and you can be in charge of chopping up these leaves.”

  Shaggy swiped each side of the knife across his shirt once, then stepped up on a stool in front of a cutting board.

  Stacy plucked off a few leaves and placed them on the board. “Cut them as finely as you can.” Once she was satisfied with how he was cutting the leaves, she turned back to the others. “Does anyone know if there's a small pot anywhere in here?”

  The one with the spray bottle set its bottle down on the line next to the pre-chopped vegetables, then rummaged through the stainless steel cabinets below. When it re-emerged, it was holding a steel pot. “Will this do?” This one also sounded female.

  Stacy smiled. “That will do nicely, Daphne.” It was a little larger than what Stacy had had in mind, but that only meant they'd have to be a little more careful when most of the water boiled away to keep the residue from scorching on the bottom. “Can you fill that up about a quarter full with water and start it boiling?”

  Daphne grinned enthusiastically, showing off her wide mouth of pointy yellow teeth. Stacy very consciously failed to reach for one of her weapons.

  “What can I do?” asked the last one remaining.

  “Scooby?” Stacy guessed.

  Scooby nodded.

  “When Daphne gets the water going, I'll need you to squeeze as much juice from the berries as you can, then give the husks to Shaggy for chopping.”

  Scooby climbed on the counter next to Shaggy and went to grab one of the berries.

  “Scooby,” said Stacy with a slightly warning tone, causing Scooby to freeze. “Those aren't Scooby snacks. I need all of these leaves and berries in the pot, so don't eat them.”

  “Okay,” said Scooby with a resigned sigh. He sat back against the wall and waited for Daphne to get the water going.

  When they'd all performed their assignments, Stacy allowed them to take turns stirring the slowly thickening mixture as the water boiled away, which they were very excited to do. All except for Fred, who had to stay close to the front of the store in case any customers came in.

  “What a wonderful job you're all doing!” said Stacy when the purple mixture had boiled down to the consistency of glue. “Are you guys sure you've never made this before?”

  The little gremlin people chattered excitedly among themselves.

  “I can't wait to taste it!”

  “Wait until Jennifer sees what we've learned.”

  “I bet we'll all get a performance sticker!”

  “What's going on in here?” cried a voice from behind Stacy. Paul's voice. “Who are you? What are you doing in my kitchen?”

  “We're learning to cook something new,” explained Fred. “Don't worry. I've been keeping an eye on the front.”

  Paul stared angrily at Stacy as if to imply that Fred's answer wasn't satisfactory. His face and uniform shirt were drenched with sweat, and his sneakers were soaked with dirty mop water. Cleaning the bathroom had clearly taken a toll on his mood.

  “My name is Sally,” said Stacy. She only needed a few more minutes before the purple sludge would be thick enough to spread on a bagel. “Professor Goosewaddle sent me here to teach the crew a new recipe.”

  “Uuunnnnnnggggghhhh,” Fred groaned, clutching his belly. “I don't feel so... I'll be right back.” He ran out the restaurant's open front door.

  “I don't believe you,” said Paul. “If there was any training scheduled, I would have been informed.” He glared at his crew. “If Jennifer catches you gobbers back here goofing off on the clock, you'll all be fired!”

  Stacy noticed all the little monsters' eyes narrow at the word “gobbers”. “What's a gobber?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” said Paul. “It's just another word for goblin. The customers use it all the time.”

  “It's a mean, nasty word,” said Velma. She looked at Stacy. “He doesn't dare call us that when Jennifer is around.”

  Stacy folded her arms and stared accusingly at Paul.

  “They're overreacting. It's not that –”

  “Bad news, Paul,” said Fred, staggering back into the kitchen a shade paler than he'd been when he left. “I didn't quite make it to the toilet. The floor is going to need another mopping.”

  Stacy had hoped one little berry wouldn't affect him, but now she had a better understanding of jus
t how potent this belladonna plant was.

  “Are you okay, Fred?”

  Fred nodded. “Much better now, thank you. I don't know what happened. It came on so sudden. I was lucky to make it to the bathroom and get my pants down in time.” He turned to Paul. “I used quite a bit of toilet paper. The toilet overflowed as well.”

  Toilet paper? If Stacy had time, she would definitely try to snag a roll.

  Paul thrust his mop handle at Fred. “You made the mess. You clean it up.”

  “I would, Paul. But it's not my name on the chart.”

  “No!” said Paul. “That's not fair. I already cleaned the bathroom.” He pointed at Fred. “You did this on purpose! I'll tell Jennifer.” He nodded at Stacy. “She heard you threaten to shit all over the bathroom.”

  Velma grinned. “She also heard you call us gobbers.”

  Fred shook his head. “Really, Paul? Again? If Jennifer hears about that, you might need another sensitivity training.”

  Relative to the shade paler Fred looked after taking a dump, Paul now looked like he'd just shat out a herd of elephants. He turned to Stacy with pleading eyes.

  Stacy shrugged. “I did hear you say it.”

  “Fine!” cried Paul, shoving his mop bucket ahead of him as he stomped toward the entrance. “But I won't forget this!”

  In order to keep it from scorching, Stacy had to lower the heat, which made the last stage of the boiling process take a lot longer than she'd anticipated. She hoped Cooper wasn't getting into any trouble outside.

  The novelty of learning a new recipe had worn off for the goblins, which left Stacy doing all of the stirring while they went back to their previous chores.

  “Tell me more about this Jennifer,” she said for something to pass the time as she stirred her purple goop. “Is she a goblin?”

  Shaggy laughed like an angry squirrel. “No, she is a human. But she has the temperament of a goblin chieftain.”

  The others nodded their agreement.

  Stacy pulled out the wooden spoon. The goop dripped down like molasses, which would probably do, but she was going for a cream cheese consistency. “What's the deal with her and Paul?”

  Velma shrugged. “I think they have some kind of history back wherever they came from. Jennifer isn't the sort of person you want to push too hard for personal information, and Paul isn't the sort of person you want to talk to any more than you have to.”

  “I guess I can see your –”

  A flash of blue light and a crackle of magic came from the dining area.

  “Such a pity the show had to end so abruptly,” said Professor Goosewaddle from the other room.

  Shit.

  While Stacy had entered Arby's prepared to face the professor, she was relieved that it hadn't been necessary, up until now.

  “What's that smell?” demanded a suspicious voice that triggered the goblin crew to stand up straight and make sure their uniform shirts were tucked in.

  “I take it that's Jennifer?” Stacy whispered. The goblins nodded.

  “Shaggy!” Jennifer's voice was closer, and Shaggy's eyes and mouth were agape with terror. “You'd better not be smoking any magical herb or whatever in my –”

  A woman appeared in the doorway and scowled at Stacy. She was about five feet tall and a lot less intimidating-looking than she sounded.

  “Hi,” said Stacy.

  “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my kitchen?”

  “My name is Sally, and –”

  “Did you let her in here?” asked Jennifer, turning her attention sharply to Fred.

  Fred stood even taller and straighter. “Yes, ma'am! She said she wanted to teach us a new recipe. We thought it would please you.”

  “Do I look pleased?”

  “No, ma'am.”

  Jennifer turned back to Stacy so fast that she was surprised her gaze didn't make a swooshing sound.

  “A new recipe?”

  Stacy nodded. “Yes.” After a couple seconds of feeling Jennifer's eyes burning daggers in her soul, she added, “Ma'am.”

  “Did Corporate send you?”

  It was a better story than anything Stacy had prepared. “Yes, ma'am. They did.”

  “That was a joke,” said Jennifer. “This is a completely independently owned and operated Arby's restaurant.”

  Stacy smiled and squeaked out a fake laugh.

  Jennifer narrowed her eyes. “You're one of them, aren't you?”

  “One of who?” Stacy did her best to feign innocence, but she could tell Jennifer wasn't buying it any more than she'd bought that laugh.

  “Don't bullshit me. I can spot one of you clowns from a mile –”

  A second flash of blue light and crackle of magic came from the dining area, this one followed by a series of crashes and grunts.

  “Where are we?” said an unfamiliar older man's voice. “Is this an... Arby's?”

  Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Why do we even have a door?” She pointed at Stacy. “You stay here, Sally. I'm not done with you.” She grabbed a broom off the wall, did an about face, then stomped toward the rising sounds of confusion and struggle in the next room. “YOU!”

  Stacy didn't know what was going on, but she knew she had to get out of there as soon as possible. She'd just have to make do with the belladonna mixture as it was. Maybe she'd tell Cooper to use it more like a dipping sauce than a spread.

  “Is there a back door out of here?” she asked, scanning the kitchen for an exit.

  “No,” said Daphne.

  “Shit. That's got to be a fire hazard.”

  Whatever was going on in the other room was even more chaotic now that Jennifer had entered the fray. Tables and chairs were clattering against the floor. Condiment bottles were shattering. If she was lucky, Stacy thought she might be able to just make a run for it without anyone noticing.

  Then someone screamed, chilling Stacy to the bone and making her reconsider stepping foot outside the kitchen. It was a terrible scream, certainly not one that would be warranted from getting smacked with a broom. She hoped that Jennifer hadn't run someone through with the handle.

  “Mercy of the gods!” cried Professor Goosewaddle. “What are you –”

  A long continuous hiss cut him off, then thick white smoke began to pour into the kitchen. It smelled like a campfire and stung Stacy's eyes. This was the best opportunity she was going to get to escape unseen.

  “Take care, guys,” she said to her new goblin friends. “And keep up the good work.”

  Closing her eyes, Stacy consulted her mental map of the dining area layout. She was pretty confident she could make a beeline straight for the door. Head down and eyes closed, she grabbed the pot handle and ran into the dense white smoke.

  The going was good until she got to what she estimated to be about the center of the room, where she tripped over something large, like a piece of furniture she hadn't accounted for. She landed hard on her knees and left elbow, but managed to keep her right arm up so the pot didn't spill.

  The piece of furniture she'd tripped over grunted and groaned.

  “That son of a bitch,” it said in a slightly familiar voice. “He bit my fucking –” Whatever he meant to follow that up with came out in a vomity splatter.

  “Dave?” said Stacy.

  “Hey!” cried Paul's voice from just outside the door as something crashed and splashed. It sounded like his mop bucket. The door slammed shut, silencing Paul and the rest of the world outside of the restaurant.

  Stacy followed the direction Paul's voice had come from, walking more carefully now and waving her left arm in front of her to avoid any other obstacles.

  “That's far enough,” said Jennifer. Her voice was coming from between Stacy and where she estimated the door to be, and Stacy felt hard plastic pressing against her sternum. A broom handle. “You're not going anywhere.”

  With a loud electric whir, the smoke began to thin out. Jennifer was blocking the doorway, squinting fiercely at Stacy.
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  Stacy had every confidence that she could easily shove her way through, but she didn't want to get on Professor Goosewaddle's bad side, and she appreciated this girl's moxy, and the respect she had obviously earned from her goblin crew.

  Beyond her, Paul sobbed as he sat up next to his spilled mop bucket. Its smelly greyish-brown former contents stewed in a puddle on the sidewalk.

  “Listen, Jennifer,” she whispered just loud enough to be heard over the whir of whatever was running behind her. “I don't want to have to kick your ass, but my friend is having a medical emergency right now, and I need to get to him.”

  Jennifer's steely glare softened as her gaze shifted to something behind Stacy. “Oh my god!”

  Hoping Jennifer wasn't the sort to try to trick someone into turning around before whacking them in the back of the head with a broom, Stacy turned around.

  Dave was passed out on the floor in a puddle vomit, next to another puddle of blood from his dripping four-fingered hand. A middle-aged police officer, his uniform soaked in even more blood than Dave had spilled on the floor, squeezed Dave's wrist with both hands just below the weird band of leopard fur.

  “Somebody get a bandage or something,” said the officer. “We have to stop the bleeding.”

  The loud whirring noise stopped as Professor Goosewaddle turned off the leaf blower he'd been using to suck up the smoke which had been billowing out of a cigar-sized stick on the floor.

  “What is going on here?” he demanded.

  The police officer scowled at Professor Goosewaddle. “This man needs medical attention at once, or else he's going to –”

  “Wake up!” snapped Goosewaddle as he flung his wrist toward Dave. A spark of golden magic flew out and struck Dave in the crotch.

  “FUCK!” cried Dave as he bolted upright.

  Stacy gasped. “Professor Goosewaddle!”

  Professor Goosewaddle shot her a curious glance. “I had to wake him up. He is the only one of us here with the power to stop the bleeding.” He turned to Dave. “Heal yourself, fool.”

  Dave grimaced and rubbed his crotch with his good hand. “I heal me.” He nodded at the police officer, who then let go of his wrist.

  Unfortunately, Dave's spell didn't grow him a new middle finger, but at least there was a fresh patch of healthy skin over the stump when he wiped the blood away.