It was one of those days, or night shifts, actually. Juliana had to remain at her station, making sure fries, hamburgers, and everything else were in order for the 24/7 drive-through service. It wasn't a great job; it paid poorly and more often than not, quite stressing. Let's say that working frying shit all the time did wonders to your skin and hair, It's no suprise why kitchen’ staff always looked so miserable.
The frying machine was malfunctioning that day, it would turn off the gas randomly, and she would need to relight the entire unit manually with a lighter because, god forbid, the manager would waste money on proper maintenance. She knelt below the counter and slid the small opening to the left, a whiff of gas right into her face, the thing must have been off for longer than she noticed. Juliana wasn't stupid, she waited for the gas to dissipate a bit before attempting to light it. With her left hand, she got the lighter close to the ignition valve and… BOOM.
It always did that—a small but inoffensive fireball sparkling for a second inside the container. The first few times it had been nerve-wracking; now it just boring routine.
“Hey, bitch, where's my fucking sauce?!”.
A rude, grave voice yelled through the window, a middle-aged guy, tattooed as hell and looking even more intimidating due to his unsettling tremors. Another addicted to who-knows-what trying to alleviate his munchies. She was sure to have given him his goddamn sauce, but he probably was one of those fuckers that loved being a Karen.
“Sorry sir, have double the sauce if you let that slid-”
The man had a gun pointed at her just when she turned around, holding two sauce cups. Juliana knew little about guns, but that one looked big and lethal enough for her to freeze. The crackhead likely wasn't even trying to rob her, just a nutthead under the influence of whatever he used.
BOOM.
The man pulled the trigger, and a small projectile erupted from the muzzle, striking her chest. She recoiled, sauce splattering all over her, her hand instinctively went to the injury, only to find a red dot expanding on her uniform. But there was no pain. Adrenaline? Perhaps. She panicked; she didn’t even scream, only a muted groan escaping her lips. As she touched her shirt and felt the red stuff smearing on it to be quite… weird. Carefully, she probed the impact zone to assess the damage. There was no injury. She smelled what she believed to be her blood. It wasn't. Paint. A fucking water ball gun prank in her late-night shift.
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When Juliana got up, just about to yell, she felt a strain in her chest; it was like a knife piercing her hearth. For a split second she knew what it meant. Tachycardia: when your hearth starts beating way too fast, specially when under high stress. Her hand clutched her chest, it was difficult to breathe, and the pain on her left side was unbearable.
Heart failure: the cause of death for every elder in her family, has claimed her this time as well.
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When Juliana woke up, she found herself in a stark white room. There was nothing around her except for a ball of pure light floating just in front of her. It took her a long time to regain her composure. Everything felt so confusing; nothing made sense. The only thing she remembered was her midnight shift at one of those all-night fast-foods. Even her work clothes were still there with her—red and yellow with a large, stylized “M” on her chest and on her cap.
“Oh...”, was all she could say.
Her mind went into overdrive as she contemplated what was happening. Many absurd ideas crossed her mind: being abducted by aliens, accidentally tripping after ingesting drugs, and... death. The last option was a little more plausible, but dying at a McDonald's drive-thru was likely one of the most accursed ways to depart the living world.
Juliana laughed, overwhelmed by the absurdity of the situation, for all the struggle she had, to die while working was... more than she could handle. She sat there, in the middle of that white nothingness for a while, her life flashing before her eyes. She wanted to cry, but the tears did not come; only the frustration of it all. Life wasn't fair, she was born into poverty in an even poorer country and had to work since she could talk. She did so many shit jobs just to have something to eat. All her savings spent to bypass immigration using coyotes, surviving a perilous journey to enter the United States, where she would still get shit jobs, but paying a bit better.
Juliana laughed yet again. “I tried so hard, and in the end, it didn't even matter...”. God this fucking music is me right now, how fucking cringe can afterlife be, huh.
But if her new reality was already straining the limits of her reasoning something even more absurd came to be. A mechanical voice, genderless and monotone, reverberated in the white nothingness, accompanied by a large blue panel.
Confused, annoyed, and dazzled by the nonsensical situation, Juliana couldn't help but swear at it.
“Vey, que porra é essa?”.
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