Alfred (Alfy to anyone that spoke more than two words to the man, Scott Coleman was washing dishes and getting lost a work fugue of his own creation. Alfy had been working at this same Fine.Diming Restaurant for the past 5 years, and was long since able to lose himself in the steady tedium and low responsibility. It didn't pay the best, and his father may have a few things to say about his 30 year old son and the concept of potential, but Alfy was more or less content with his current status quo.
Sure things could be better, but they could be a whole lot worse. Besides, writing was his true passion. But as his aforementioned patriarch was ever so found of reminding his "Little Professional Sanitation Expert" : Passion Doesn't pay bills, unless you're whoring. And you'd better hope your last unbroken bone I never find out!" So here Alfy was, not because he was overly fond of heeding his old man's advice, but mostly because his knowledge of how to start or subtlety market such a venture were outside of his current skillet and desire. So here Alfy was, elbows deep in a three piece sink, scrapping the ever loving shit out of a medium sized pan. The contents of which, He intellectually knew was at one point the lovely "Authentic as you can get outside of Spain" Paella served at the restaurant staff's family meal. But it was currently the only thing between him and sweet sweet nicotine.
Alfy also now, definitely for sure KNEW the proper Tuscan region pronunciation thanks to the executive chef, a culinary for of nature and avid lover of verbal dueling, spending a good five minutes roasting the Ever-Loving-BeJesus-Damned-Fuck out of the newly hired dishwasher trainee for a comically confident mispronunciation of the dish earlier in the shift.
Though by this time, about an hour before the caffeine and niccotine addicted Line cooks would start their scheduled sacrament of "The Hard Close", the Paella Pan was being a BIG Paella Pain.
Through what Alfy could only assume was actual black magic and dark witchery at work, the delicious Spanish Rice had been transmogrified into the second worst type of scrub job to afflict dishwashers since the profession first began. The Thrice Damned "LateShift Large Pan of Dried Out Flavored Rice".
Though not much is left to scrub, the part that do remain are hearty and categorically refuse to go quite into the night. More than a few have the fortitude to catch you unawares and rip open small annoying cuts thanks to its mysterious new diamond-like hardness. Usually easy to avoid by soaking the pan in hot water until you can better deal with it, but there times (like tonight) where for.ome reason or another, it isn't done. And this is a potential consequence.
It was only surpassed but the potentially less physically harmful, but far FAR more annoying "Project Pot". Usual culprits being litterally anything with a high sugar content and also the entire pot/pan may or may not have been exposed to the fullt brunt of Sol's fury at its center for juuuust enough time for it to be incinerated less-than-thoroughly enough for.the whole thing to be soul wrenchingly annoying to clean.
After spending about 10 solid minutes scrubbing a one inch circle in the center of the pan to no avail, he filled the pan upto the bottom of the weld marks for the two handles with hot soapy water & a dash of medium strength degreaser, set it aside and surveyed his surroundings.
With the problem child being attended to by his little chemical helper, his dish pit was immaculate, just the way he liked it. He peaked around the corner, hoping not to see the busboy with a tub full of yet more nicotine obstacles just for him. No busboy spotted, it had been a fairly slow night, he went to check in with his Chef. Finding said culinary master checking her phone in the back prep area, Alfy pulled down the black disposable covid era mask now legally required for handling food and called out, "Yo Chef! Im going for a cig, any incoming disasters I should know about before I go out and uh, 'chase that sip?'"
Chef looked up at Alfy and made a face made out of confusion, slight concern, then eye rolls for days. "What the hell is wrong with you? Who the fuck calls a Smoke Break 'Chasing that Sip'? I'll fuckin tell ya, no body! except for your dumbass." Chef fired off the le jab in the same fake southern tambour the long standing inside joke required,
Alfy laughed and effected a similarly bad New York accent, "Oh you knows me Chef, if it's a common enough question, why bother asking it the same way every time?"
Chef laughed with him, "Yeah man, you're good for a tenner. Once your back, let's get you on your outs and outta here. Newbie is closing solo tonight. Sound good Alf?"
Alfy shuddered and feigned grave offense "Alf eats Cats, I wash dish. There's difference!"
Chef smirked, "Well not from where I'm standing, you're both hairy and can be annoying, and that makes you the same in my book. Enjoy your smoke."
With a flippant sounding but meaningful "Sounds good Chef!", Alfy turned to do just that. Disconnecting his phone from the Bluetooth speaker in the DishPit and checking the time, 8:50PM CST, even though his work ethic and the respect that brought meant his "tenner" was more like a lazy 30, but that was for the rough days, and this was far from a rough shift. Borderline boring if Alfy was honest, but that just meant more brain power to use for his latest writing project: "The Tao of the Dishwasher: a most likely useless self help guide".
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Alfy had one other great love aside from storytelling, and that was philosophy. And the intersection of the two was currently being cultivated in Alfy's ol braincase during 90% of his job.
Not because he was convinced he was right but out of a hope that maybe someone someday would read his words and would find some measure of help in them, and so maybe the itch he felt more and more each day to get these ideas into the eternal ether of authordom would subside if only for a little bit.
8:52 PM
Ah, momentary bliss. That first long drag before the final push to end the shift, and a sweet reminding taste of what's to come once the professional necessities are dropped like hot rocks after you clock out. Alfy exhaled a cloud of cancer smoke and savored the spicy air as it left his lungs and mouth.
He was extremely aware the PallMall reds were slowly killing him, but that was more or less part of the appeal. Not to mention the undeniable cool factor it gave no matter what busy bodies correctly or incorrectly said. The solid addiction he'd formed since living on his own was mostly to blame of course. Stress was stress, and cigarettes helped. So the addiction stayed.
8:55 PM
Checking Twitter for the latest news and low hanging fruit drama for a momentary distraction yields a few goodies that are saved and shared with friends on social media. A notification for a news livecast dings, and intrupts on distraction with another. Another drag and tab, and the live stream starts.
8:56 PM
"For those joining, We're watching updates coming in from Blue Origin about a recent alarm triggered by the new Long Range Celestial Threat Observatory, just weeks after all final testing was successfully committed, I've got money on a big fuck off civilization ender LETS GOOOOOOO!!!"
Alfy chuckled at the dark joke, and quietly agreed with the exuberant streamer. These last few years had taken their toll on everyone, amd dark humor was one of Alfy's many coping mechanisms. One thing he knew for sure, if he was gonna go back into that DishPit after hearing news that the world now has a sold non zero chance of ending in the coming weeks and months, he was for damn sure gonna elevate his heads pace. Weed legalization had finally passed in late 2021, and had fully gone into effect a few months previously in May. During the Early 2020 Lockdown, Alfy had used his forced time off with government money to delve deep into various "introspection assistants" during that time, and since it was now as legal as tobacco, he would partake towards the end of a shift.
A short stoner ritual later, (withdraw, inspect, clean if needed, check stash, pack, light, hold, hoooooold, exhale, smile)
and he was ready to face both the shift, and the potential end of the world.
8:57 PM
The Streamer continued, "So we're waiting for more updates from Blue Origin, but for context, they put out a tweet saying their system gave an alert and they are confirming. Don't get me wrong people, it's likely a glitch, this is new tech after all, amd even if it isn't; worst case scenario, it's a Rouge blackhole traveling near light speed that'll eject our planet out of the solar system and we'll all freeze to death. So ah, stay positive!"
'Oh Taush, you silly silly doofus' was the second to last coherent inner monolog thought that passed through Alfred Scott Coleman's mind before everything changed.
Getting to his feet, and flicking the spent remaims of the delicious cancer stick into a nearby butt-bucket, he turned toward the rear door, and made to take a step when the oddest thought passed through his head 'who the fuck brought the sun back out at 9pm?'
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-
And that was the very last thought, as an Advent of Change had reached the Sol System.
It was only minute. Damn him for how he knew it was only a minute, but he knew. And what a fucking minute it was. The memory slipped with each pico second, but the absolute feeling of having all parts of him down to the smallest moat fundamental bits beening looked at, studied, cataloged, and just observed all while forced to be absolutely still would leave you mad as similtanous absolute cold and heat greater than the end of a 100 realities played across the surface of every atom and electron. Were it not for a nearly as mind shattering calm that settled over him the instant the horrible minute was over, the largest peice of sanity would be only measured in quarks. To his infinite and brief relief, a moment later, the minute was forgotten, and Alfy's newly remeber first step towards the restaurant back door was resumed..
Then the last ever second of blissful ignorance and normalcy was instantly shattered by the most unlikely of occurrences.
A semi transparent glowing sheet of what looked to be slightly curved hard light appeared infront of Alfy's vision. A text in bold letters screamed READ ME! And a sound of joyous yet foreboding music sounded all around him so loud he covered his ears and crouched down in reflex. After the sound abated, he quickly read the text in front of him, which had followed his perspective exactly like a reticle hint in a firt person shooter game.
<[HARK! O YE LIVING FIRST BORN OF SOL! REJOICE AND WEEP FOR THE FINAL DAY OF DARKNESS HAS DAWNED! IN ONE EARTH DAY'S TIME, THREE FLAMES WILL LIGHT THE WAY UNTIL THE END OF TIME
A FLAME OF KNOWLEDGE
A FLAME OF PROGRESS
AND A FLAME OF HELP
THIS IS THE BOON GRANTED TO THE FIRST CIVLIZATION DISCOVERED BY THE BOON GIVER, BUT SINCE THIS IA THE FIRST TIME THEY HAVE RUN A CROSS A NATURALLY OCCURRING CIVILIZATION, THOUGH BOTH FLAWED FRACTURED AND HORRIBLY BEAUTIFUL, A BOON OF THREE HAS BEEN GIFTED.
REALITY WILL CHANGE IN WAYS EVEN THE GIFTER CANNOT FULLY PREDICT.
TAKE THIS DAY TO PREPARE, 5 QUESTIONS WILL BE ANSWERED FOR NOW.
TOMORROW IS THE DAY KNOWLEDGE IS GIVEN, ALL WHO ASK SHALL KNOW]>