I'm not dead!

This story is inspired by my experiences at the fast-food place where I currently work at (I'm in high school, so I can't do much better) including, but not limited to: the awesome supervisor, cranky old people, the awkward "holy sh*t, he is really cute" moments, THE FUCKING GREASE, and much more!

The Clerk-Girl and the Jock

Jane Shepard places the last of the overly-processed food onto a tray, calls out the order and, with a forced smile says,

"Have a nice day!" as the cranky, old Volus shuffles away. With a sigh and a brush of the back of her hand against her face, she grabs a spray bottle and starts to wipe down tables. When she straightens, she scratches her nose and groans internally as she feels the unmistakable bump of another zit popping up. She blames her face always being covered in fast food grease to the disgusting amount of blemishes blooming across her once clear skin.

Shepard has a strong hate-love relationship with her job.

On the one hand, she loves her co-workers (especially her funny, and more than a little quirky, Salarian supervisor) and her paycheck that goes straight into savings.

On the other hand, her aggravatingly stupid, Batarian manager has been riding her ass, the customers always seem to have something crawling in their panties and the grease. Jane can't help but shudder as she feels her short hair stick to the top of her head, weighted down by all the oil and fat in the air.

There's a musical tingle in the air as a customer opens the door to the shop. Shepard puts down her bottle and walks towards her till. She glances towards the door to see the new customers.

A group of young Turians, around her age – maybe a year or two older. There are three of them in total, all tall and lanky. They're chatting rapidly and laughing easily. One of them has a ball, about the size of a basketball, tucked under his arm. With slightly closer inspection, Jane realizes that they're dressed in Turian-style workout clothes with shorter sleeves and thinner material, but still thicker and tougher than anything a human would wear.

"Must be the plates," she thinks absentmindedly, realizing then that she's never gotten to know a Turian well.

The group stands a little away from the till, all looking up at the fluorescent but fading menu above her head. The left side, the larger menu, is clearly labeled 'DEXTRO' in obnoxious red writing. The right side, significantly smaller and with much less variety, is labeled 'LEVO'. Their eyes immediately pull to that side.

Shepard stands patiently at her till and waits but eyes the Turians with open curiosity. She had been born after the first contact war and was the first generation not to hold any real grievances against Turians for deeds past and so her open fascination was tolerated.

She finds that they're similar to humans and yet vastly different. She once heard her mother say that they're the '"over-exaggerated 'perfect' male." Jane is inclined to agree as her eyes trace the broad shoulders narrowing down into a small waist. She also allows her eyes to flicker to their faces. The markings stand starkly against their grey hued carapaces.

One of them finally approaches her till to place his order. As he talks, the other two come up behind him, ready to order as well, apparently. She begins listening to them as she runs through the familiar conversation with her current customer. One of them chuckles quietly to his friend.

"Tell her then!" The one talking has dark plates and bright orange face paint. His tone is teasing as he laughs at his friend.

"Nah, I think I'll pass," this one has a light grey carapace and striking cobalt face paint. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and switches the basketball from one arm to another.

Jane finishes up the order and prepares to help the orange-painted Turian. As she does, she can't help her eyes from flicking over to the third Turian. When he finally approaches her till, she finds her smile isn't forced at all.

"Hi, how can I help you?" there's a genuine warm note in her voice when she talks to him and, with horror and embarrassment, Shepard realizes that, somehow, words like 'cute' and 'handsome' have crawled into her mind.

"Hello," the cobalt-painted Turian flicks his mandible in a smile and Jane feels colour rising in her cheeks.

"Oh god, oh god, don't trip over your words, oh god," he finally lowers his eyes from the menu to meet hers. Her breath catches for a moment and she covers it with a light cough. All Turians have piercing, avian eyes, but his are as much wells as they are probes, the startlingly blue colour matching his face paint.

He finishes ordering and hands over a few credit chits. When Jane hastily grabs the money, her fingers brush his for a moment and she feels her face flame.

"I'll call it out when it's done, if you want to sit," she smiles at him. When he finally leaves she breathes a sigh of relief. The throaty, duel-toned sound of Turian laughter floats over to her as he rejoins his friends.

Their orders are quickly sliding down the chute towards her and she bags them all appropriately. When she gets to the last bag of food, his bag, she hesitates for a moment. Before she can lose her nerve, she pulls a pen from her breast-pocket and hastily scribbles down a note on one of the napkins, shoves it in the bag and calls their orders out.

She watches his back as he leaves and realizes she's shaking.

Guess what she wrote?

I'm assuming if you've ever worked in fast-food, you can relate to some of these things.

No, I've never done this, as I'm a chickenshit.

Yes this will be continued.

Review if you liked, alert if you want to see more and favourite it if you think it was beastly!

Thanks guys,

ANS