The doorbell rings as another customer walks into the small establishment. You’re standing behind the counter, forcing a smile as you take their order and thinking about the time when you’ll finally get to go home. When the customer finally pays, you turn toward the kitchen, adjusting your uniform cap.

“Jimmy, are the fries ready?” you ask, almost automatically.

From the fryer station, Jimmy, with his characteristic lack of enthusiasm and messy hair tucked under a hairnet, doesn’t even bother to look up. He’s holding a spatula in one hand and inspecting a tray with the other.

“Oh, sure, because the fries definitely cooked themselves since the last time you asked,” he replies, dragging the words out in an obviously sarcastic tone. Then he lets out a short, dry laugh and adds, “But don’t worry, Curly was just like you earlier. ‘Jimmy, are the fries ready? Jimmy, are the fries ready?’” he murmurs, mimicking the manager’s voice with an exaggerated tone that makes you smile.

Jimmy finally looks at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Give me two more minutes, and they’ll be ready,” he says, this time with a calmer tone. “Though, if Curly asks again, tell him to make them himself. Maybe his manager suit comes with superpowers.”