Why Does Weird Crap Always Happen on Fridays

“Mr. Manager. Mr. Managerrrrrr.”

There was an art to cleaning unique to any fast-food shop—a balance between quality and speed. Mostly speed, because every other minute you’d end up interrupted by a new customer or an annoying coworker needing help with a customer.

“Wrennnnnn!”

I did not look up. I did not make eye-contact. It was five minutes before closing. We were on time for once, all staff present and accounted for, all pre-closing checks ticked off, ready for us to finish up and clock the hell out on damned time. It was a miracle. One I was not going to jeopardise.

“Wren, there’s this weird old guy at the drive-through, on one of those weird old-style basket bikes, and he wants a burger, and he’s not taking no for an answer. Help me.”

Sadly, ignoring this wasn’t going to make it go away. If working here for three years had taught me anything, it was that just because you couldn’t see the customer, didn’t mean they couldn’t see you. Or demand you get your ass out from hiding in the back of the shop.

I surveyed my clean table, the last to be wiped down, took a deep breath, let it out, and accepted my fate.

Jill flinched back as my rag flew expertly past her face to land in the kitchen sink on my way to the drive-thru window. No fancy mikes and order-processing issues for us. “That’s assistant manager to you.”

“Thank you so much I love you big brother!” She gushed, immediately disappearing and dumping the entire task on me. Typical. At least Lucia would find her and stop her wasting the rest of her shift on her phone, the little brat. Small blessings.

And so I found myself leaning on the windowsill, squinting at a scruffy silver-haired bloke wearing some sort of hooded poncho on what looked suspiciously like a girl’s sparkly pink bike complete with chihuahua basket, sans chihuahua. “This is Flipped Up, sorry mate, we’re just about to close.”

“Flipped up?” The old man laughed. “Ah, a no-swearing policy, I see.”

“No, it’s... the name of the shop. Flipped up.” I gestured vaguely towards the front, where the name would be lit up in all its corporate headache-inducing glory.

He blinked in that direction as if he could see it past the corner, more tufts of his hair escaping from underneath the hood. “Oh.”

“Yeah. That’s the joke.” I pulled back, half-ready to firmly send him on his way. “There are plenty of other places open after nine that aren’t effed up, so if you’d—”

“Wait.”

I stared at the heavily-tattooed hand that had abruptly gripped the edge of the window, the old man’s suddenly-intense blue eyes catching the light hard enough they almost seemed to glow.

“I’ll make it worth your while. A simple cheeseburger and a shake. That’s all I’m asking. Perhaps a side of fries, as well.”

I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. Five minutes had to have passed by now. “Mate, we’re closed—”

“I am in desperate need of this. I’m a homeless man, a vagabond, turned away at every door.” His knuckles whitened. I could smell the desperation on his breath, if desperation was a swamp filled with rotting fish. “And you, Flipped Up, are the only ones who cook with the true oils of the earth—”

“You mean tallow?” I asked in disbelief. “Beef tallow? You’re here, harassing us right before closing, because you wanted tallow?”

What was he, a seed-oil conspiracist? If he wanted health foods, he could go down to the veggie store, grab himself a bucket of lard, and make something that didn’t come from the mouth of a fast-food chain. Not my problem.

“You would turn away a homeless man in search of a tasty meal? What if I left a bad review? What if I starved?”

The hell was this guy? “Look—”

“I’ll give you something extra.” He grinned with raggedy teeth that didn’t help sell me on any of this. “For your time.”

...I resisted the urge to sigh aggressively. I could call the police. Or I could make the man’s damn combo and gain an extra dollar. “You’re bribing me.”

“I’m offering you a gift. And the warmth in your heart of knowing you helped a poor stranger.”

“Yeah alright, sure. As long as you’ve got enough to pay for it, we can all be happy.” I exhaled and woke the ordering tablet with a tap of my finger. I had the time for it, anyway. Lucy and Jill could get the rest done as long as I cleaned up after myself. “You wanted a cheeseburger, shake, and fries combo. Small, medium, or large? Shake flavour?”

“Make it large, extra seasoning.” He grinned again. “And I love a good vanilla.”

Creepy bastard. I kept a blank face, putting it all in. “That’s eighteen dollars.”

A pair of bills appeared from nowhere, and I didn’t waste questions asking. “Two dollars change. I’ll be back in ten.”

“I’ll be waiting eagerly.”

I slammed the sliding window shut before I had to hear any more of that and turned to make my way to the kitchen. Only to run into my little leech of a sister.

She stared at me. “You took his order? One minute before closing?”

“Some people just know how to ask nicely.” I brushed past her. “Now flip all the closed signs before someone else tries to shove in.”

That was how I found myself flipping the last burger of the day, throwing together a punnet of criminally greasy fries, and packaging it all together for an old homeless man on a sparkly pink bike. Apart from the weird everything-else, it was a routine I’d gone through a thousand times, ground down into a fine point, and timed to a T, automatic enough I didn’t doubt I could do it in my sleep.

All for a couple of extra dollars and the “warmth of helping out a vagabond”.

I smacked the bag down on the outgoing windowsill, the old man snatching it almost out of my fingers. “Ahhh, the aroma of perfection! A blessing to my stomach.”

“We have a no-poetry policy, and I accept thanks in real-world currency.” I twitched my fingers, palm-up. “Pay up.”

He smiled his gappy, craggle-toothed grin, and reached into the neck of his poncho-thing. “Of course, of course. I gave my word. For your kindness, I give you a gift, one that shall make the harsh grind of your reality fade in comparison...”

I faded out of his little speech as soon as his hand drew back up with a glinting... something, a chain dangling from his fingers. A necklace. He was giving me a fricking—

Before I could do more than stare, it had slipped into my palm, some sort of charm and a bundle of chain piled in my hand. “The hell is this?”

“A gift! As promised.” He grinned again and pushed off, the tinkling of his bell drowning me out as I broke our nonexistent no-swearing policy. “Toodle-oo! It’s worth quite a bit!”

“Get—” Ding ding! “—back here!”

I almost launched myself out the window trying to snatch at his ragged cape flapping behind him like he was some frigging wizard making off with a burger and whatever small amount of trust I’d stupidly put in him. “Hey!”

I should’ve known better. Some crazy homeless bugger on a stolen bike? What kind of idiot didn’t think he was about to get scammed? The edges of the charm dug into my clenched fist, practically mocking me. “Dammit!”

“Well, that’ll teach you not to take bribes.” Lucia’s laugh literally mocked me from behind. She’d probably seen the whole thing. “What did he give you, anyway? I didn’t think you were the type to try for a couple extra dollars, Mr. I-wanted-to-finish-on-time.”

“Ugh.” I slammed the window closed, finally opening my hand to look at my ridiculous reward. Some kind of pendant shimmered in the store’s lights, a fancy design curled around a diamond or something that reflected the light like it was made from a thousand tiny mirrors. “Some kind of trinket. Probably a piece of crap.”

“Ooh.” She picked it off my palm, holding it up to the light, fascination in her green eyes. “That looks like it could be a real diamond. You should get it checked to see what it’s worth.”

I snorted, half-tempted just to let her have it since she liked it so much. “He probably stole it. Can you imagine an old bugger like him having the money to throw this kind of crud around?”

“Hey, don’t judge him just for looking like he crawled out of a bush. And if it is, you still might get a reward from the police for handing it in.” She tossed it back to me. “It might even give you enough to help pay for uni.”

“Stop trying to help the parents ship me off for more school. I did my due.” I snatched it out of the air, glancing down at the silvery chain and the possible diamond I’d bet was a fake. There was no way he could afford a real one. And no way he’d just give it away for a meal he’d already paid for.

You’re a fake piece of crap. You’re not worth a cent, I told it, narrowing my eyes. Not to mention what it’d cost me.

It just winked innocently.