//------------------------------// // Cursed Cashier // Story: A Perversion of Parole // by Some Leech //------------------------------// “Welcome to the Hayburger, home of the hayburger, can I take your order?” Tirek monotonous intoned, having evoked the boilerplate greeting for the umpteenth dozenth time that afternoon. Trying not to openly glower down at the portly stallion, as he browsed the obscenely displayed menu of junk food, he forced a grin. "I'll have two number nines, a number nine large, a number six with extra dip, a number seven, two number forty-fives..." the corpulent stallion droned, prattling off an order which easily explained his rotund and possibly diabetic state. Scribbling furiously on the slip of paper, doing his level best not to miss any items, the centaur clenched his jaw. It was only his second week on the job and, though he’d grown accustomed to dealing with the insufferable atmosphere of the eatery, his vitriol had grown by the day. It wasn’t like he chose to endure a minimum wage career, surrounded by screaming foals, obstinate patrons, and ponies who didn’t know how to properly use the restroom - no, he’d been forced to. Upon release from his stony prison, he’d been elated - that was, until he found out that his liberation had several strings attached. For starters, he had to stay within the city limits of Ponyville, surrounded by the Elements of Harmony, the Princess of Friendship, and a whole host of creatures who knew exactly who he was and what he was capable of doing - secondly, and more troublingly, he’d been conscripted to take a job at the Hayburger, since the rent for his shoe box-like apartment required that he pay rent. A clearing throat caught his ear, snapping him from his lamentable ruminations and causing him to blink over at the customer. “Anything else?” Thoughtfully rubbing one of his innumerable chins, possibly mulling over the option of ordering something else to expedite his inevitable coronary, the stallion eventually nodded. “And a large soda.” “That’ll be…” Tirek trailed off, tabulating the final cost of the gargantuan order. Though he prayed the purchase was for a family, the patron’s tubby aesthetic left him to assume it was a meal for one. “Forty three bits.” The stallion rummaged about in his saddle bag, heedlessly dropping a colorful detritus of napkins, candy wrappers, and what looked like a sullied sock to the floor, before eventually producing the payment. As the centaur extended a hand, allowing the customer to drop the coins in his palm, he winced; the currency was partially coated in some unholy amalgamation of what he could only assume was nougat and chocolate - at least, he prayed it was nougat and chocolate. The dubious hygiene of the gluttonous consumers and his painfully inept coworkers was galling, because not a single one of them was making use of their potential. Each and every one of the colorful equines was a waste, being wholly content to squander their lives in ignorance and/or hedonism; it was disgusting, quite frankly, and it made him resent them all the more. If ponies actually attempted to better themselves, dedicating some portion of their time to study or the improvement of their health, he felt certain that they’d be much, much happier. He’d initially tried to convince several of his workmates to join him for some exercise, on their off days or after shifts, but not a single one had taken him up on the offer. He’d heard all manner of excuses from the lazy creatures, ranging from being tired to wanting to socialize, heightening his disdain for the overly friendly equines. If he could find the time to take care of himself, despite living the bachelor life and toiling at a den of greasy indulgence, anypony could. His days all started the same; well before dawn, prior to the sun rising, he would jog across town and to the gym. Once at his destination, he would lift for nearly an hour, run home, shower, and prepare for his shift. The lifestyle he’d adopted was a trial, especially since his healthy diet and his membership at the fitness center took a considerable amount of his pitiable paychecks, but it was worth it. Terrible job notwithstanding, he figured things could be worse - after all, at least he wasn’t suffering through a nightmarish eternity as a pitstop and restroom for pigeons. He had a roof over his head, a semi-stocked larder, and he was able to meet with his former companions to bemoan their pitiable conditions - still, things were less than ideal. As badly as he would have liked to rampage about town, siphoning energy from his tormentors and laying waste to Ponyville, it simply wasn’t an option. Shortly after he’d been freed, he’d been lectured by Twilight Sparkle on the conditions of his release. Any signs of subterfuge or clandestine dealings would result in a thorough investigation, while rebellious or treasonous acts against the Equestrian empire would see him imprisoned immediately. In spite of the Princess’ charitable decision to set him and his cohorts loose, it was by no means a full pardon. He honestly couldn’t say if he’d ever be able to wreak vengeance upon the detestable equines, since he was being watched nearly constantly. Shaking his head, attempting to clear his thoughts, he deposited the sullied bits into the cash registered, blindly handed the order back to the cook, and pinched the bridge of his snout. “Welcome to the Hayburger, home of the hayburger, can I take your-” “I'll take a double triple bossy deluxe, on a raft, four by four animal style, extra shingles with a shimmy and a squeeze, light axle grease, make it cry, burn it…” the next customer rudely interrupted, nonsensically ordering some abomination or an off-menu item or possible summoning an eldritch deity. Tirek sighed, numbly smiling and nodding, as he frantically jotted everything down. Be darned if he knew what the tubby patron was trying to buy, but he didn’t care; he’d stopped caring ages ago. As much as he hated his job, he’d much rather be dealing with difficult diners than putting up with what Chrysalis had to face...