Rating: PG-13 (sexual reference)
Word Count: 600+
Disclaimer: Not mine
An ordinary morning, post-Chosen.
Welcome to McDonald's, May I Take Your Order?
Xander drums his fingers on the steering wheel as the blue minivan in front of him orders an Egg McMuffin with only ham and egg. Yeah, he eavesdrops on other people's orders. It's a habit.
And now it's his job.
He wants to go back and cuff eighteen year old Xander across the back of the head. Oxnard wasn't weird. Oxnard was nothing. This... sitting in drive through lines for a living... this is the kind of job you don't write home about.
The worst part is that he can't even eat. Since the bulk of his job involves sitting on his ass, and the bulk of his ass comes from sitting on the job, he just orders a lot of coffee.
The blue minivan’s not a skilled orderer. Obviously hasn't done this day in and day out for the last six months like Xander has. Ordering, it's a numbers thing. There are three ingredients on an Egg McMuffin, not counting the muffin itself.
That’s the rule of handheld food: the handhold doesn’t count.
The minivan’s explaining the order a third time. Xander just shakes his head. Explain it more than twice, and there’s absolutely no chance of getting what you want. That’s a proven fact.
The minivan pulls forward to pay, but who knows what monstrosity awaits at the second window. It’s too bad; it was an easy order. Egg McMuffin with no cheese. It’s a numbers thing. If you want more than half of the ingredients, you order with no. If you want less than half of the ingredients, you order with only. It keeps the workers from getting confused.
Of course, all Xander ever orders is coffee. That’s an art in and of itself, though. The trick is to never say the words cream or sugar. Cream and sugar are magic words in drive through land. You say them, you get them. In quantity. That's a lesson he's learned the hard way.
“Welcome to McDonald’s, may I take your order?”
“Medium coffee,” Xander tells the box.
“Cream and sugar?”
Xander smiles. He gets his coffee the way he likes it this morning.
“On the side, please.”
He gets his total and his instructions and drives forward.
It’s a drive through mystery. If he’d ordered coffee with cream and sugar on the side, it would have come through as Coffee wi—kchshhh cream a—shhkch sugar—chkshhh, and Xander would have been stuck with a creamy, sugary, undrinkable mess. He’d rather take his chances on black coffee and say on the side, please when given the opportunity.
He pulls up to the first window and watches the blue minivan ahead of him. A hand with a white bag pops out of the drive though window. Egg McMuffin. Probably. Then another hand, and this is what Xander’s looking for.
He picks up his cell phone. The only question is whether this is the kind of deal that gets reported to Deputy Sheriff Watts or Slayer General Buffy.
No shimmering. No red glow. Definitely Watts. He pays and makes the call. His coffee comes with cream and sugar on the side, and he sighs happily.
Halfway home, his cell phone rings.
“It’s Sunday. Come home.”
“And good morning to you too, Spike.”
“I’m not working, I just went out for coffee.”
“I know you, Harris,” Spike grumbles. “You’re working.”
“I’m not!” Xander protests.
“What’d you find?”
“Nothing for you. Just P.I. stuff. Another drug deal.”
Spike sighs dramatically. “Keeping the world safe for drive through customers everywhere. ‘S why I love you, y’know.”
“Liar,” Xander laughs. “You only love me for my tight ass.”
Spike chuckles. “You may be right.” After a moment, he adds quietly, “Come home, love.”
Xander smiles. “On my way.”
“Good,” Spike says. “And bring me an Egg McMuffin with only egg and ham, would you?”
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