An Explosive Epilogue

“All’s well that ends well” — a great saying for the people it tends to all end well for. For the people lucky enough not to get burned along the way. Take Don and Replica for instance. It may be hard to believe, but they actually ended up getting together, and staying that way for far longer than I ever expected. Two and a half whole weeks now, in fact. Turns out the flower of their relationship was a rose after all — “Romance” — and not a violet or a daffodil. So far, anyway. Who knows what the future might hold? “Comedy” and “tragedy” may still be in the cards, but for now I guess the two of them can take it easy.

I asked Don why he decided to start going out with Replica long-term one time when he as over visiting, and he told me it was all thanks to the magical evening that was their first date. “If it wasn’t for that night,” he explained, “I don’t think I would’ve even blinked twice at your sister. Err, sorry if that’s offensive.” I told him it wasn’t. “It’s just that it was such a funny and memorable night that I couldn’t get your sister out of my mind. My family was pretty opposed to it at first though…”

“That’s right,” I said. “I bet they want to string you into a marriage that’ll be advantageous for the family business, huh? Make sure that you tying the knot knits them up some green.”

“Yes, a political marriage.” He honked his nose twice in discomfort, clearly not too thrilled with the idea. “Perhaps with Mendy.”

“Mendy? The redhead, right? With the pigtails?” She was in our grade too. I’d never really talked to her, but I had heard that she came with some sort of filthy rich fast-food mafia family. So Don’s parents were trying to set them up, huh? Go figure.

“How’d you convince them otherwise?” I asked. It was really none of my business, but my interest was piqued. Also I was finding that me and Don got on pretty well, all things considered, and I didn’t mind shooting it with him at all.

“The same way I convinced them to let me try my hand” — he flexed and unflexed his cartoonishly large gloves into a series of confident fists — “at being a health inspector even when people in my line of work are well known to be the natural enemies of restaurateurs everywhere.”

“And how was that?”

He chuckled “By telling them to give me one chance. A chance to show them that I can do my best.”

So that was his side of the story, anyway. Gotta say, after finding out he was relinquishing his right to the McRonald’s throne, tossing it all away like so many hamburger wrappers and styrofoam soda cups all to follow his dreams, I really started looking at the guy in a new light. There was also the fact that the very next time I saw him he was doing some crazy poses in a strobe light at some kids’ birthday party, so it may have been that too. He really needs to stop using our place as a venue for his crazy antics. Week-long hide-and-seek matches, birthday parties at every hour of the day and night. What's next?

Anyway, needless to say, Replica was pretty thrilled with the whole arrangement too. She does have to keep their dates on the down low though. Wouldn’t want our parents finding out considering that restraining order they have against Don, and all. Luckily, the guy’s basically a hide-and-seek champion, and he’s teaching Replica the ropes as they go.

But speaking of them dating and the night it all started, all ended well for Al and her restaurant too. Thanks hugely to yours truly, Stench of the Sea was still open for business — and we were doing more of it than we ever had before. According to Al, the place was the most profitable it had ever been. She might, she told me one afternoon when she was particularly chatty, even be able to quit her night job as one of America’s most wanted serial bank robbers and still be able keep the place funded. I told her I was rooting for her. It was the truth. Point I’m trying to get at is though: Don found us funny enough to keep open. I was proud of that. Proud of myself. Still am. And Stench of the Sea has its real health inspection coming up soon. I think that one’s going to be an easy pass too.

If only I could say that’s where the story ended. If only everything could be wrapped up that neatly, bow on top and all. Unfortunately, reality isn’t usually ever so simple and clean, and “all’s well that ends well” only ever counts, as you might expect, for the ones it ends well for.

What I’m talking about is my burns. They were pretty bad. So bad I had to wear a head cast for a while. And I had to squeeze this medication, an ointment, on my head and stuff, which was a pain in the neck, sometimes literally, with the bandages and everything. On top of that, I still had to go to work. No sick leave for me.

“There there, pal.” One day at work, the pain was worse than it usually was, and I was having to sit down for a minute to let a wave of it wash over me. Fence and I were side by side like usual, scrubbing dishes. He was hoping to help, even by just offering some moral support. "Can’t be worse than that time we had to chug three cartons each of Flamin’ Hot™ Clam Juice.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Man, now that I’m thinking about it, why did we ever do something so stupid?”

“Baseball team hazing.”

“Oh yeah.”

I was glad we got kicked off the team.

I looked around the kitchen. Everyone was there. Lou was there. Me and him hadn't said a word to each other since he lit me on fire. His mustache was already halfway back to full. Turned out he was just exaggerating about the whole six months thing.

Rachel was there too, stewing something up in a pot.

Even Al was there, talking to someone about something or other I couldn’t quite hear off to the side.

“You know something, Fence?”

“What’s up, doc?”

“For as much excruciating, nigh-unbearable pain as I’ve been in constantly for the past couple weeks, this place? It’s home.”

“Yeah, dude. I feel the same way.”

“And that’s why I’m quitting.”

“Say what!?”

“What? Why are you so surprised? I just told you this place is like home. And there’s nothing I hate more than being cooped up at home. Being grounded for weeks did nothing if not remind me of that simple fact.” Didn’t forget about that key plot point, did you? Yep, my mom found out about everything, and I got grounded, just like I knew I would.

“Look at you!” she said when I came home that night, my head wrapped up like a mummy, tufts of seared hair sticking through the bandages here and there. I was as lucky as Fence had been that we had Rachel to help out backstage, wrap me up and treat my burns and stuff. “See? This is what smoking does to you. Horrible, horrible habit. I hope you’ve learned your lesson, young man, because you’re going to have plenty of time in your room this week to reflect on it. Without electronics.”

And I had. I’d had more time than I ever needed to think, and let things stew, and eventually I made my decision.

“Really, dude? Are you really, seriously serious about this?” Fence seemed like he was against the idea. Like he wanted to try and persuade me to stay. “But, dude, you’re our star employee after everything you did. You even got a raise, remember? And Al loves you now. I’d bet you’d even have a chance with her, if you tried your luck now.”

Crap. I guess my secret crush wasn’t so secret after all. Well, no real surprise, I guessed. I always was pretty bad at hiding things.

Still, I had no intention of trying to take things any further with Al, or of staying at the restaurant. My mind was already made up. “Yeah. I’m serious. I can always find a new job somewhere else.”

And that was the truth. At least I thought it was at the time. For some reason, after everything that had gone down, I had been feeling pretty confident about myself. More self-assured than ever before, actually. Getting a new job would be easier than breathing, just about. I was sure of it. I felt like I could take on anything. Like I could take on the world.

And that’s why I went on immediately to make my stupidest mistake yet. Remember, kids: let your head get too big, and you might soon find yourself without one.

“Before I break it to Al though, I need to get my money’s worth.”

“What do you mean?” Fence pulled his soapy hands out of the water, wiped them on his apron and his pants.

“I’m talking about employee benefits.”

“Dude, have you lost it? What benefits? We’re under the table.” Me and Fence were actually never formally hired. We got all our paychecks in the form of envelopes full of cash.

“I know,” I said, wiping off my hands too. “But I can at least take a popsicle or two from the freezer on the way out the door, can’t I? If I don’t deserve a nice, cool popsicle after all the blood, sweat, tears, and roasted flesh I’ve put into this place, I don’t know who does.”

Unlike our old, broken freezer, the new, working one we had was stocked full of everything you’d expect a restaurant to need to keep cold. But Al had also started keeping some bonus treats in there, free for us employees to grab whenever we wanted. “Within reason, though,” Al had told us when she explained all this to us. She had cracked both sets of knuckles, murder and bloodlust in her eyes. Everyone ended up following the rules and only taking a few snacks every now and then.

Everyone except me. I hadn’t treated myself to a single treat so far. Hadn’t popped even a single popsicle out of its wrapper and into my mouth. Although really, I was just as liable to press one to my face or something, try to ease some of the pain with literal cold comfort.

Anyway, point is I hadn’t helped myself. Until now. I strolled on over to the freezer and plucked a single popsicle out for myself. A second later, it was melting in my mouth, a sweet burst of HFCS shooting straight to my veins and a soothing chill freezing my fried brain. It was damn near the best popsicle I ever remember having.

THE END

… is what I wish I could write, but we’re not quite done yet here. I was just standing there savoring my popsicle when Fence came rushing over.

“Dude! Are you crazy? What do you think you’re doing?”

“Fence, relax. I think you need to chill. Grab yourself a popsicle.” I made to grab one for him.

“A popsicle? Dude, you think that’s a popsicle?”

“Uh.” I froze mid-grab, the bad feeling I sometimes got in my gut when things were about to go horribly wrong bubbling up with full force. “It’s… not?”

Fence shook his head no, gravely.

“Then, uh… what exactly is it?”

“Read the fine print, dude.”

“Fine print? What fine print?”

I whipped the popsicle(?) out of my mouth and read the lettering running up and down the side. “ACMEzon brand Taste-E TNT™… Wait, this is dynamite?!?!?!?!?!?!”

“And check out the even finer print, dude…”

“Finer print? What finer print? Oh, here it is.” Directly under the fine print was a bunch of even smaller text. Keep frozen. Contains artificial colors and flavors. Caution: experimental dynamite with new patented explosive agent. Detonates on contact with human saliva.

“Oh. FU—”

#

And that’s how I lost basically all the money I had saved up: paying for repairs to the back corner of Stench of the Sea after I blew that entire chunk of the building sky high by accidentally setting off a high-powered explosive with my spit. Well, like they say I guess, easy come easy go. Earn a little dough getting set on fire. Lose it getting blown up. You know how it is.

The cash I’d saved wasn’t the only thing I lost though, or even the most important. And no, I’m not talking about my dignity. Can’t lose something you never really had to begin with, after all. What I’m talking about is my head. Cause I also lost that. That’s right. Got blown to smithereens. Wiped clean off in the blast. Disintegrated. Not even Rachel could fix something like that.

On the bright side though, I still had a small amount of money left over after the repairs, and I was able to order a new head online. ACMEzon brand Replacement Head in a Box™. “The best way to get a-head in life!” according to the marketing copy on the store page. The reviews were pretty good, so I figured I might as well try it. Better than going without for the rest of my life, right? It should be arriving any day now. Sorry for any spelling or punctuation errors I might have made. I’m sure you can imagine how tricky it was for me to write all of this out without eyes. Or, for that matter, a brain.

THE END