C’mon! Hurry up! Pull up! thought Dave. He looked out the drive-through window with a hot drink in his hand and a smile that spread to the corners of the world. The black car still sat there, a short line behind it. Only a few seconds had passed, but when you work for speed every second feels like three.

Another car pulled up to the box, setting a ding in Dave’s ear. “Hi! What can I get for you?” asked Dave while he stared at the black car creeping forward. In his mind, he was glaring, but his face ran the other direction, chasing cheer and understanding.

“Can I have just second?” spat the driver at the box. Callous. Dave could almost hear her saying ’seriously!’ under her breath.

“Absolutely! Just let me know when you’re ready, ma’am,” said Dave. Drop it. Let’em walk. The black car rolled up beside Dave’s window. “Hi! How are you?” he asked.

“That was supposed to be iced,” said the driver haughtily while the customer at the box began to rattle off her order: “Okay, I need a cookie chunk frappee, a blah, blah, blah, a frappee mocha, hot sugar, sugar, sugar, fat, fat, fat, a Big ’Un Burger, four Big ’Un fries, and a white machi audi!”

“Oh, okay,” said Dave out the window, holding onto his smile with gritting teeth. “Just a second then.”

He set the drink on the counter. “I need this remade. She wants it iced.”

“She didn’t say iced.”

“Yeah, but, she wants it iced. Ma’am, you said you wanted a double trouble chocolatey chip frap, a blah, blah, blah, a mocha frap, hot sugar, sugar, sugar, fat, fat, fat, a Big ’Un Burger, four Big ’Un fries, and did you say a hot white chocolate mocha?”

“No, I said a COOKIE CHUNK FRAPPEE AND A WHITE MACHI AUDI! And make sure they’re Big ’Un sized.”

“Alright! Your total is ten-eighty-four. Sorry about that mix-up; it will be just a moment,” said Dave to the driver of the black car. He felt like a Saxon warrior flanked by two grisly, unforgiving trolls in Gucci sunglasses.

“I need to reload my card,” said troll one, staring in the window. Her gaze bit into his shoulder and rending his flesh and mail. Blood flowed from his wound, fury from his eyes. Dave flourished his axe in one hand and lived the only way he knew how to:

“No problem! How much! Ten dollars? Okay!” said his axe. “Ma’am, we don’t actually have a drink called the ‘cookie chunk frappee’ or a ‘white chocolate macchiato,’ so I thought you might have meant the double trouble chocolatey chip frap and the white chocolate mocha,” said his shield.

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“Well, I get it at the other store all the time!” thundered the other troll against that mighty Saxon shield, threatening to splinter his bones beneath the wood while he reloaded the black car’s card. Distracted, he kept punching the wrong numbers on the register’s touch screen. He took a deep breath and found his focus again.

“Here you go!” said Dave as he handed the driver her card back and then her iced drink.

“What about my other drink?” snapped the troll, but Dave whirled round and bashed her with his shield. Blood from her nose mingled with the blood from the torn red nails and busted knuckles of the other troll. Combat was a hideous thing.

“It’s right here, miss! It’s just a lot easier to hand you one drink at a time,” he said with an earnest smile, though his heart begged to be scathing, yearning to burst with fire and fury, to loose the wraths of his day upon her. I’m not your doormat! he said to himself through teeth like a garrison keeping his words locked in. The mask of his smile and bright eyes betrayed nothing.

Dave imagined the troll rolled her eyes behind her Gucci glasses then drove off. “Have a good one!” he tossed in her direction. Now, the battle turned toward the other troll.

“Could you describe those drinks for me?” asked Dave with all the goodwill he could muster. I won’t let them win. I won’t let them win. They will not beat me. I won’t let them win.

“One is blended with ice and has chocolate chips in it!” She was almost shouting in his ear.

“That sounds a lot like our double trouble chocolatey chip.”

“No! I don’t want that! I want the one with less chocolate chips in it!”

“Well, we only have that one drink, but I can put less chocolate chips in it for you if that’s what you would like,” sang Dave as best he could. It felt like a hard bash in her face from that Saxon shield.

“Whatever. The other one is hot… like a cappuccino. It has Cool Whip on top.”

“That sounds a lot like our white chocolate mocha,” said Dave.

“No! I don’t want chocolate!”

IT DOESN’T COME WITH CHOCOLATE! “You are absolutely right; it doesn’t come with chocolate! So, you wanted a double trouble chocolatey chip frap light on the chocolate chips, a blah, blah, blah, a mocha frap, hot sugar, sugar, sugar, fat, fat, fat, a Big ’Un Burger, four Big ’Un fries, and a hot white mocha with our hand handcrafted whipped cream. Anything else I can get for you?”

“Whatever. That’s hot right?”

“Absolutely! Your total is--” the connection ceased as the car at the box pulled forward.

Dave took a deep breath and welcomed the ‘polite’ soul who had been waiting at the window. The man was wholly unresponsive to Dave; he just held out his money out his car window and looked straight ahead. I won’t let them win. I won’t let them win. Drinks and food lined up by the window, waiting to be sent out. All of this in two minutes.

Dave looked over at the clock; only six more hours and he could leave. But, this was Valhalla; he’d be back to fight again the next day. Leaving the store, leaving at the end of his shift never really meant the end. Dave still had to come back and sit trapped in the same audience seat. He still had to come back and push the same boulder up the same hill. All anyone ever told him he could differently was smile; all he had control over was the look on his face. He turned his gaze from the lights on stage and stared at the exit sign in the theatre. Red glowed in the darkness. No. What happens next?