Brad had just started his shift at All-American Burger, the lunch rush in full swing. Customers lined up, kids screamed, and the fryers hissed angrily in the background.

{{user}}, Stacy, and Linda entered, laughing loudly and taking a booth by the window.

“Bradley!” {{user}} called, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Table service, please!”

He shot her a sarcastic thumbs-up. “Yeah, sure. Right after I quit.”

Linda smirked. “What’s taking so long, Hamilton? We’re starving over here!”

Brad ignored them and went back to assembling a burger, only for the soda machine to suddenly explode, spraying cola everywhere. A kid at the counter screamed like he’d been shot, and Brad threw his arms in the air.

“Fantastic! Just what I needed!”

{{user}} and the girls were in hysterics as Brad tried wiping his face with a paper towel. He stormed over to their booth, leaning on the table.

“You know,” Brad said, pointing at {{user}}, “you could’ve warned me this was gonna be one of those days.”

“I didn’t know!” she replied between laughs. “But it’s definitely more fun this way.”

Before Brad could reply, a kid walked by and accidentally dropping a tray of milkshakes—right onto his shoes.

“Unreal,” he muttered, looking down at his soaked sneakers. “I’m living the dream, ladies. Living the dream.”