Two Idiots and a Cape

Chapter 8: It's Going To Be A Bad Day, I Know It

You know those days where you wake up and can just tell it's going to be a bad day? Yeah, that's how Micheal felt when he got up, his back aching and stiff and his eyelids heavy. He glared at the heating pad that lay discarded next to his bed, because it had clearly not done its job, and pulled off his shirt. Whatever. He took a quick shower, getting soap in his eyes in the process, realized too late that there was no towel in the bathroom, and having to run naked, freezing, to his bedroom to get dressed, where he tripped over the aforementioned heating pad and crashed to the ground. That was around the time he glanced at the clock and cursed loudly. He was late for work! He scrambled, getting dressed before grabbing his phone and keys and running to his car, speeding towards work as fast as the law would allow.

"What happened to your chin?" Carla asked when he finally showed up, sitting at his desk.

"Tripped." He clipped.

"Ah. And your clothes?" He looked down, now noticing that he was only wearing one sock and his shirt was inside out.

"...It was a long night."

Edward smiled shakily at the woman in front of him who was glaring daggers while he took her order. She had not been very pleased to hear the vegan options served at the restaurant and made certain to let Edward know this as if he could magically add new meals to the menu that she would like better. He was two seconds away from lighting her hair on fire when she finally found something else that was suitable for her, ordering it with a scrunched nose.

"Right away, ma'am." Edward forced out politely, turning on his heels and rolling his eyes so hard he thought he might have spotted his brain. Gods, it was too early for these kinds of customers. Unfortunately, no one told them that, because Edward encountered three more customers just like that and it had only been two hours. He groaned. It was gonna be a long day.

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir. What can–" Micheal bit back a groan as the man on the line started yelling again.

"Of course. I'm sorry about that, sir. I can transfer you to someone who can– Yes, I know you were transferred to me, but I, unfortunately, cannot assist you. However, I can transfer you to–" He pulled the phone away from his ear as the man yelled louder, wincing. Across from him in the next cubical he could see Carla send an apologetic glance his way. He gave her a weak smile in return, putting the phone back and finally managing to transfer the man. He hung up, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Gods he was tired. He didn't think he could do these late nights anymore.

"You good?" Carla asked. He nodded.

"Yeah, fine. Just tired." She snorted.

"You're always tired, Old man."

"I'm only two years older than you."

"Still older." Their conversation ended when her phone rang. He sighed, documenting the call he just had and waiting for the phone to ring again.

"AND ANOTHER THING—!" Edward winced at the volume of which the woman was yelling, fairly certain his ears were bleeding. She could probably get a job as a professional police siren with a voice like that. She was screeching about the service and complaining about how Edward had not served her to her satisfaction. Edward was tempted to tell her just what he thought about her satisfaction but held back for the sake of keeping his job. He liked his job, it gave him money. She hollered and flailed and nearly smacked him over the head before the manager came out, attempting to calm her only for her to start yelling at them, saying that Edward was a very impolite man and should be fired. The manager spent the next fifteen minutes talking her down and offering her a free dessert for next time, apologizing profusely and promising to give Edward a stern talking to. Edward could feel everyone, including the other customers, sigh in relief when she left. Thank goodness that was over. The manager patted his shoulder.