Lunch at Hayburgers
It’s almost lunchtime, something you’ve been looking forward to for a while. Work has been paced completely wrong, giving you plenty of time to watch the clock and count down the minutes rather than be focused on a task.
It’s strange how you don’t feel as hungry on a busy day until it’s suddenly break time, but when it’s slow you get hungry earlier. You’re not giving your brain enough stimulus, so it’s finding other things to focus on.
You look out the window, and that’s at least a brief diversion, then your stomach grumbles again.
If you packed in lunch, you could sneak a few bites, maybe cut down on the hunger. Some ponies keep snack food tucked away and you could too, but it just feels wrong to turn your workspace into an impromptu meal space.
Another look out the window, hoping for something to alleviate your boredom, to speed along the clock. There’s not much; a pair of ponies in harness are arguing with each other, quickly resolved with a nuzzle and the wagons move on.
What would it be like to tow a wagon for a living? Being outside would be nice, at least most days. Maybe not when it’s rainy; you’ve watched ponies towing wagons with their heads down to keep as much rain out of their faces as possible, you’ve seen the mud splattered on their legs. It’s uncomfortable to wear saddlebags when it’s raining, you can’t imagine how all the straps of a harness would feel.
The bell above the door jingles, and your counterpart returns from her lunch break.
“Hey, did I miss anything?”
You shake your head. A half hour of holding down the fort, of considering alleviating the boredom by counting staples or squaring up paper and deciding to do neither.
Running out the door is gauche, so you hold yourself back. Only just—it’s tempting.
Hayburgers is just down the street, and a greasy sack of food eaten on a park bench is just the thing to fortify you for the second half of work. Taking the second lunch break is kind of a blessing in disguise; by the time you come back more than half the workday will be gone.
It also lets you avoid the bulk of the lunch crowd. Usually it’s a quick in and out, order the usual, make some smalltalk with the cashier while waiting for your food.
Usually.
There’s a wrench in your plan, in the form of a blue mare with frazzled gray hair. Screwy. She’s been in and out of the hospital and a group home for various mental issues, and is the subject of much gossip around town.
She’s often in the company of a Nurse Snowheart, but today she’s on her own. She’s got her hooves up on the counter and is studying the menu intently.
The cashier isn’t the usual; it’s a sullen-looking teenage stallion.
You get in line behind her and watch as she points to the menu board then barks once. The cashier rolls his eyes and then gives you a long-suffering glance, before turning back to her. “Are you gonna order food or not? ‘Cause there’s other customers in line behind you.”
Her ears drop and she turns to look at you, before pointing back at the menu and tapping her hoof on the counter.
CHOICE:
>Help her (hero)
>Just push her aside and order your food, this isn’t your problem. (villain)
[CHOICE A: Hero]
You give the cashier a withering glance, then tap Screwy on the shoulder. “Are you trying to buy lunch?”
She nods, and then barks happily.
“What do you want, a hayburger?”
Screwy shakes her head. You’re about to namethe next menu item when you realize it will take you forever to list off everything on the menu. Instead, you ask: “Do you want something to eat?”
She shakes her head.
“Drink?”
She nods and then barks once.
“Juice? Soda? A milkshake?”
She nods at the last, and then barks at you again. You’re starting to get the hang of this.
“Okay, so there’s a lot of options—I’ll read them off and you can bark when you know which one you want, okay?”
She nods and barks at you.
“Okay, so there’s—”
“Look, you’re just encouraging her,” the cashier says. “If she can’t order like a normal pony, she shouldn’t be in here.”
You narrow your eyes. “Why don’t you just shut your muzzle before I give you something to complain about.” You turn back to Screwy and start listing off smoothies, until she gives a happy bark and starts wagging her tail.
“That’s one bit and two tenths,” you tell her.
Screwy taps her bit purse with a hoof and then grabs it in her mouth and taps coins out onto the counter. She studies them and starts pushing bits towards the cashier, who looks on in disgust.
A hoof to the muzzle would fix his attitude. ‘You heard the lady, punch in her order.” You turn back to her. “Do you need help counting out your bits?”
She shakes her head and pushes the correct number of coins towards the cashier.
“I’ll have the same,” you say, reaching for your own coin purse, then you turn back to Screwy. “You want company for lunch?”
Screwy looks around the restaurant, at some of the customers who are staring at her and then back at you, and she nods her head.
You were going to eat lunch in the park, but you could eat it with her—she doesn’t have a lot of friends in town, which is a shame.
[CHOICE B: Villain]
Hayburger etiquette is to order your food fast and get it fast. You’re on the clock, the minutes are ticking by. You push her aside and take her place. “Double hayburger combo,” you tell the cashier, and slide your bits across the counter. Screwy looks at you and growls, but who cares. She’s crazy anyway.
She’s usually got her nurse with her—maybe she got out of her padded cell. She points at you and then back at the menu, then she points in the direction of a customer who’s dining in, sipping on a milkshake.
You ignore her and step down the counter to wait for your food.
If you’ve got time when you’re done with lunch, you might report her to the authorities. She shouldn’t be allowed out in public if she can’t behave like a normal pony.