The Microwave is Broken

As I walk inside the drab and fluorescent-lit break room, Elizabeth right behind me, I see one of my co-workers in front of the microwave. Confused, I walk up to him and tap his shoulder.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask.

“Dude! I think I broke the Microwave!” He said with a dopey Californian accent like some kind of surfer. He was a new hire, and a not so great one at that.

“Broke the Microwave?! How the hell did you do that?” I ask.

“Well, when I was heating my shit, I think I left my metal chopsticks in my Ramen cup. I left to use the bathroom, and dude! It looked like Fourth of July in there!” He explains, seemingly more impressed by what he saw than concerned that he broke the Microwave.

If I could get any angrier, my head veins would be popping out of my forehead right now. It takes a ton of strength to not slam my hot pocket down onto the ground. My fist curls and squeezes the box of granola and my hot pocket.

“Ahh! My breaks over dude! See ya!” He says before leaving behind me.

This is just amazing…. I’m hungry, angry, and no where near committed enough to eat only granola bars for my lunch. I look at the hot pocket in my hands and chuck it into the trash. 5 bucks, wasted away….

“You okay, Darling?” Elizabeth asks me.

“Yeah… I’m fine… It’s just, how am I going to do this for the rest of my life? I have to deal with shit like this 24/7, and I feel like I’m in a rut!” I vent a little. I’ve been working at this store for 3 years now, and all the time I have to deal with stupid customers or stupid co-workers. I can’t be doing this till I turn 60! I need something to spice up my life.

“You know what will make that rut more enjoyable?” Elizabeth says to me, face to face. I can feel her smoky body tickling against my forehead and nose.

“What?” I ask.

“Remember that I was going to give you and teach you my tome? What if I told you, that you could be just as powerful as I was in my youth?”

“Yeah, but I can’t read a single word in that book. It’s all in some intelligible cursive,” I say dismissively.

“Correct, but…” she flies around me. “There’s a spell that allows you to merge with the tome. That’s how I kept it hidden when I was still alive! But not only that, but you can gain my vision and wisdom, allowing you to read the words on the pages. Doesn’t that sound interesting?” She asks with a sultry whisper at the end.

“Merging with a book? So like, your soul and mine will come together or something?” I ask.

“Exactly! Imagine, I help you with the knowledge of my magic, and you can cast them whenever you want! You will be the vessel of untold power!” Her eyes go wide with excitement.

It seems so perfect. Almost unlimited magic at my fingertips, untold knowledge only known by me? The possibilities of what I can do with such abilities are endless!

But… am I really ready to carry such responsibilities on my own? I can barely keep my cool with a minimum wage job, what would I do if I had the stress of magical abilities!

“I’ll… think about it. But first, I’m gonna go out and find some food at a food truck. There’s one not too far from here,” I say before walking away through Elizabeth. She looks mildly disappointed, but follows me anyways out to the parking lot.

A brisk 5 minute walk later, and I find myself at a Mexican food truck. They claim to be authentic, but the advertising on the side of the trunk screams to me that they are serving white-washed Mexican food. Either way, my stomach is rumbling and food is food at this point.

I walk up to the food truck and ring the bell. I wait a couple seconds before I giant man comes out. He has stains all over his off-white t-shirt and sweat all over his face.

“Whatch’ya want?” He asks me in a heavy New-Yorker accent, seemingly no-nonsense and to the point.

“I’ll take, ahh, beef burrito please,” I ask.

“Got that,” The man says before slinking back inside the food truck.

But as I wait for my lunch to be finished, I see what looks like a nasty mess waiting to happen. I sketchy man dressed in all black, hands in his pockets, and shifty eyes walking behind an old lady, can’t be younger than 70 years old.

And as expected, the man runs up and tries to snatch her purse from her hands.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing??!” The old woman says as he struggles to grab hold of her bag.

I look frantically around me to see if anyone would help her, but everyone is too busy on their phones or they’re talking to one another.

I look up at Elizabeth, who has a knowing expression on her face, like she already knows what I want to do.