Grease sizzled and popped on the grill in front of me. I forced my spatula under the rock hard meat patty and flipped it over. It landed with a thud, and some grease splashed out and singed my forearms. I didn't even flinch. I adjusted my itchy, oversized uniform on my shoulders.
I heard the squeaking of his no-slip shoes first. They seemed to be crying under his weight. Then, I felt his beady eyes on the back of my neck. I turned around to face him. The streams of sweat dripping from his temples were absorbed into the collar of his shirt. He was adjusting the earpiece in his ear and clenching a clipboard. His face was a deep shade of red.
"Rachel!" Mr. Sullivan growled, spit flying at me from the corner of his mouth. "What do you think you're doing? There's a HUGE line building up at the drive through. Let Robbie man the grill, get back to the window!" he snapped, and he yanked the spatula from my hand and gave it to Robbie. Robbie looked at me and shrugged. The next thing I knew, Mr. Sullivan grabbed my shoulders with his meaty hands and shoved me over to the drive through window. He waved apologetically at the driver waiting at the window and then shot me a death glare. "You're the biggest idiot I've ever had to deal with," he mumbled before waddling away to micromanage someone else.
I blinked at the computer screen in front of me, the one I had used a countless number of times to punch in orders. Nobody shoves me like that, I thought. My vision blurred as I thought about his comment. "You're the biggest idiot I've ever had to deal with," his words echoed in my head. How was I an idiot? I was only trying to help with the grill. I felt a wave of remorse, but also resentment, just like the feeling I got when Mr. Sullivan called me an imbecile a couple days ago, and when he spat in my face for wanting to go on break a week ago.
I looked at the trash scattered on the kitchen floor that nobody bothered to sweep up. I smelled the scent of artery clogging burgers being fried. I looked down at my uniform, gazing at all the grease stains dotting the fabric.
Then, it was so clear to me. I don't need this job. My mom suggested I work here to earn some extra spending money. But I never spend my money anyway, and minimum wage was not worth suffering in this hell hole. I needed to get out.
I watched as my co-workers hurried around preparing orders. I couldn't leave through the front door, Mr. Sullivan would stop me before I got halfway out. I glanced to my right and saw the drive through window. Before I knew what was happening, I was sliding the glass door of the window open, my foot was on the counter, and I was gripping the window frame, hoisting myself up. I put my other foot on the ledge and took a second to regain my balance. My heart raced. For a second, I couldn't believe I was actually doing this. The woman waiting for her food in her car stared at me, slightly horrified. I held out my hand to her, and she reluctantly grabbed it. I pulled and was free, landing on the pavement below. I nodded thanks to the confused woman and took off running to my car. The sound of Mr. Sullivan screaming after me faded away as I ran.