Carrying the Platter

Smalls' Bad Day

There's an actual chapter!

Watch out for kitchen words, because they're coming your way!

Tuesday 8:55

Some days really weren't Smalls'. They could, and should have been, but for one reason or another nothing could go right.

This was one of those days.

Her foster family's house was cold enough for Smalls to label it Antarctica when she woke up. The fridge stored no cherry yogurt, so all she had for breakfast was a measly sandwich. On her way to Dinner is a Doozy, the chain on her bike popped off, causing her to have to lock it to a lamp post and wait for a bus. This stupid bus decided to be late. It had apparently been okay for the chain on her bike to hop out of place, but this chain of unfortunate events showed no sign of slipping off.

Because she was twenty minutes late to their pre-dinner-serving meeting, she got no say about which group she would be in. A four hour sentence to the chef group was placed on her. This would have been fine if her boyfriend was there, but no; she was quick to notice that there was no Sniper in the kitchen. He was a waiter today. The world was against Smalls every time the Dinner Doozy was open at midday instead of in the evening.

Smalls took as long as she could in the changing room, mostly procrastinating putting on the kitchen pants. They were unbelievably uncomfortable. She had gotten the smallest available size, but they still swept the floor and annoyed her ankles, and if she didn't use a belt or alike, they would fall.

One can only come up with so many things to do instead of changing in a changing room, so Smalls was finally forced to put on the contraption of uncomfortableness that the school called pants. She whipped her hair into a ponytail on her way to the kitchen, making sure to prolong her steps as much as possible. What did it matter if Mr. Wiesel would ask what took her time?

"Youse betta' move away from the window if it's full!" was a glorious phrase for Smalls to enter the kitchen with.

Unfortunately it was swallowed right up by the many loud noises of the kitchen.

"Hey Buttons!" Smalls stopped Buttons by grabbing his shirt sleeve, causing him a weird movement of almost dropping his plastic food pan while suddenly being pulled back.

"Who's in window one?"

"Henry, JoJo, Romeo... and Albert," Buttons counted up.

"Have ya placed me?"

"You's in desserts."

Smalls muttered a quick "fuck" betting go of Buttons and making her way through the maze of shelves and to the first window to the waiter's corridor.

"One a' youse betta' switch ta desserts!" she announced again. This time she was actually heard.

"Why do we gotta listen to you?" said Albert, who was in the middle of stacking things that were definitely supposed to be cold into the Salamander Broiler.

"'Cause I's neva' been in desserts, an' I prefer ta keep it that way."

That was totally the whole reason. Nothing else weighed in on that preference. Especially not ther fact that the waiter group usually hung out by window one when they had nothing they needed to do. It totally didn't matter to Smalls that Sniper would very likely hang out around there a lot.

"Fine," JoJo gave in. "Al? Couldja switch?"

It was obvious to everyone, even Albert himself, that JoJo only wanted the boy and his chaos to get away from their preciously organized plating station.