7 Days of Incest/Prologue

Jake Rodgers is your name, for good or for ill. Unfortunately however, you bear no relation to the kind man who once starred in Mr. Rodger's Neighborhood. Though you can't help but secretly wished that you were. Maybe you'd have been just a wee bit better off if you lived in that hypothetical universe where some of his good nature and luck were indeed running through your veins. But then again, maybe it wouldn't; your current life isn't really what you could reasonably call awful anyway. After all, you’ve always had two strict -- but loving -- parents who always provided you with food, a place to sleep, and clothes to wear. They spent time with you, made sure you received a good education, and kept you safe while you were younger. You've had plenty of happy times throughout your years. And yet, sometimes… your life just seems to suck.

Normally, you are used to dealing with the occasional bullshit that life throws at you; but for some reason, this week had hit you particularly hard. The load of schoolwork on your plate had suddenly exploded during the weeks leading up to Spring Break, giving you little time to relax. Then to make matters worse, the short-staffed restaurant you worked at became unusually busy, forcing you to regularly work overtime. Combined with your recent sleeping problems and other issues in your life, it was little wonder that you had grown increasingly tired and irritable.

So, it was only natural that when your boss called you into his office late Friday afternoon after a particularly long and brutal shift, you couldn’t help but expect the worst.

“Jake, please take a seat!” Your manager says as you enter the cramped little office. Behind him stood a middle-aged woman dressed in a business suit.

What is she doing here? You think to yourself as you slowly sit down.

“Do you know who this woman is?”

“Uh... she was one of my many customers?”

“That's right. But, Mrs. Fields also happens to be in charge of customer relations for all of Steak-Out.”

Oh... shit. That’s not good.

“You probably remember that Mrs. Fields asked you for the bill,” Your manager continues. “Do you remember how often she did that?”

“Um… twice?” You wince.

“I waved for you at least five times!”

A cold pit forms in your stomach as you cast your mind back to lunchtime when you were scurrying back and forth between tables. You recall barely being able to hear a thing over the chatter of the guests and the constant ringing of the order bell, and yet this very same bitch of a woman spent 10 minutes trying to exasperatingly wave you down.

"I... I am so sorry," You stammer. "It's just... you have to serve steaks while they are hot, and there were so many people… I was alone and—"

"We know that it was a busy day for you,” Your manager emphasizes, but before he could finish, Mrs. Fields jumped in.

“But no matter what, you have to smile and be polite.”

“So what happened when she called you the fifth time?” Your manager prods.

“Um... I guess I wasn’t polite enough?”

"Right; 'I’m here, already,' is never the right response!”

“I’m sorry, ma'am! I’ll have to remember that next time.”

"I’m afraid there’s not going to be a next time, young man," Mrs. Fields replies with a shake of her head.

Wait, what? Did she just smile?

“Jake,” Your manager sighs, “we have to dismiss you. At Steak-Out we can't tolerate this kind of behavior, even if it just happens once."

“But… I… I was here on time and working hard every day this week. I’ve even put in extra hours, just to make sure this restaurant wasn't overwhelmed. I’ve never made a mistake like this in the past, and —“

“I’m sorry, Jake, rules are rules.” Your manager snaps, ending your pathetic whining. “The customers are the ones who pay us; we can’t afford to show them the slightest hint of disrespect.”

You open your mouth again, but one glance at Mrs. Field’s smug-filled eyes and the slumped posture of your (now former) manager revealed that you had no hope of turning the situation around. So, silently you stand up and turn to leave, a sense of loss beginning to fill your mind as you contemplate what to do next.

“Jake, wait a moment!”

You turn around, feeling a brief moment of hope… only for it to crumble to dust when you see him holding out a pink envelope.

"Here’s the official notification of your dismissal,” He says.

“Oh…” You take the letter and shake his hand.

“If it's any consolation, I hid a good reference letter inside. Hopefully, you'll find a new job quickly."

“I heard that Greasy Fries is always looking to hire people like you,” Mrs. Fields taunts as you round the corner, never to return again.

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