My Drive Thru Bride

It’s ten minutes until my shift is over and I need to get this hat off. Beats me what these doofy hats are made of but it constantly feels like there are ants frantically crawling all over my head. As you can imagine, that sensation for a consecutive six hours is enough to drive any man insane.
The hat is my least favorite part of the job, but working the drive thru is a close second place. Everything about the drive thru sucks: the yelling in your ear, every driver’s inability to pull up close enough to the drive thru window, the impatience of snooty customer who is too lazy to get out of the car, listening to the one sided cell phone conversations, the irate customers stomping back after a mistake in the order.
The awkward distance between the window and the incompetent drivers was becoming a serious problem for me. I took it upon myself to rig up a device to give the fools their precious change back. That was back when I was a server. When the manager of this McDonald’s caught wind of my “brilliant invention” (wiffleball bat + ash tray) he promoted me to assistant server co-manager. For some reason my flashy new title wasn’t enough to impress my girlfriend so I’ll be flying solo for a bit. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll meet my new wife as she weasels her way out of cooking dinner. It is this thought that makes drive thru duty barely a notch above the hat-wear discomfort. Then again, you don’t find many Buffy the Vampire Slayer types with an appreciation for art shuffling through a McDonald’s drive thru.
Eight minutes left until my shift is over. I am currently staring at one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen. 90 seconds ago (I know this because the registers keep track of how rapidly we feed you your greasy McCardiac arrest burgers and French Dies) a man walked in sobbing loudly. His shirt has a picture of Yoda on it and he’s wearing an American Idol hat. Bizzare. Anyway, without even trying to compose himself, he ordered five McFish Killets. Oh yeah, and a Diet Coke. He is currently sitting in a booth, sobbing, cramming “food” into his mouth, while listening to Goo-Goo Dolls on a tiny set of speakers. I don’t know why, but I feel compelled to talk to this strange customer.
When I neared his table, he instinctively protected his remaining 3.5 McFish Killets before asking me: “Can I help you?”
“Hello, sir. I noticed you seem sad. Has your food been prepared to your liking?”
“Oh…yes, the food is fine.”
“Then what’s bothering you?”
“I just watched the LOST season finale. It was terrible. I practically worship JJ Abrams, I bought every season on DVD, and I consider Hurley to be my personal hero. And after the finale, I wish I never started watching it.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
“I just wanted some answers!” he yelled as a piece of fishy “goodness” escaped mouth. “Don’t I deserve some answers?? Something…anything!”
“Sometimes you don’t get what you want. Not everything is as simple as asking questions and getting answers. You have to appreciate the journey.”
I don’t know where that came from but I think it made sense. It was enough to make my new hefty friend pause his sob session. Wait, he just started again.
“I’ve wasted six years of my life!” he cried as he buried his face in his greasy hands.
“That’s not true. Considering how many episodes there have been, you only wasted five DAYS of your life.”
“I’ve seen every episode three times, plus commentary.”
“Ok, so it’s more like twenty days. But if you decide not to eat those last two sandwiches I guarantee you’ll get them right back! Besides, at least you still have American Idol.”
“But Paula’s gone and it won’t be the same without Simon!”
As he collapses and resumes wailing, my boss calls me over.
“You know I hate to ask, but Stella just had to bail from her shift due to a family emergency. Can you stay here for an extra three hours? I’ll pay you double.”
Although I was anxiously counting down the final minutes of my shift, I could use the money. Also, this has already shaped up to be an interesting evening. The night shift is usually pretty tame, and maybe this will be the night my future wife stops by for one of our new Frappes. Realizing I’ve been thinking this over for a good twenty seconds now, I give my answer.
“Ok. But only if I can take off the hat.”

The Floating Ones

Once I was taken out of the box at Party City, the elders imparted their knowledge, divulging our purpose. We are known as “the floating ones.” Humans call us “balloons.” To these creatures bound forever to the earth, we easily catch their attention as we hover. Being so unique, our purpose is to send important messages to those who receive us.
My best friend "Get Well Soon!" told me a chilling tale of a "Happy Birthday!" bursting at the hands of carelessness. One of the air makers left "Happy Birthday!" to take in too much helium from the tank as he flirted with a large chested woman at the counter. Being denied the typical ceremonial rights, "Happy Birthday!" was thoughtlessly tossed away like an ordinary piece of ribbon. The elders confirmed this story when I asked them about it but they swore me to secrecy at the risk of scaring others.
You can be sure I was frightened when I was finally chosen to carry out my destiny. Luckily, there was no large chested woman to distract my air maker, but my luck was short lived. The air maker tied a string at my bottom to keep the air in, and I was afloat at last. The feeling was exhilarating. Floating felt even better than the legends hade made it seem to be.
My new owner muttered something about a graduation party, and we exited the Party City. It was my first time seeing the outside world. The excitement of my surroundings paired with with the heavenly sensation of being airborne distracted me from the thought that I never had a chance to say goodbye. I hardly considered the fact that I’d never see "Get Well Soon!" again. The wind at my back blew all my worries away shortly thereafter.
However, my ecstasy distracted me from realizing I was no longer in a parking lot. A few seconds earlier I heard my owner grunt an expression I had only heard once before when a hefty fellow was outraged to discover Party City didn’t carry a balloon with the message “Nice Rack.” I still don’t get it.
If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it has been a minute now since my owner dropped her keys and inadvertently released me. Since then I’ve ascended rapidly and seen amazing things. I’ve seen animals that appear to live in the sky. Even the elders are unaware of any beings capable of soaring above the earth.
While these were truly a miraculous sight, I’m currently staring at a larger, much louder flying object. In fact, I can see several of them. I can’t tell if they are alive or not. They’re fast, and they’re definitely floating. Then again…both of these flying objects are different than I. They aren’t quite floating, they possess movement along every plain. While we floating ones can only soar upward, they can make direct paths for themselves. I must admit that I’m quite envious of such liberty. If the elders and other floating ones could see what I’m witnessing now.
I’m rising more quickly now. I don’t feel quite right. As if they very air inside me is increasing. I fear that my end is near and I never even got to fulfill my destiny. Someone out there is waiting for me to say Congratulations! That isn’t so important now. Seeing everything I’ve seen, I have to share my experiences with the elders. I have to get out there and tell them—POP.