Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Harry Potter and the Waffle Hut ❯ 1 ( Chapter 1 )
[ P - Pre-Teen ]
By: waltermitty 
Harry can't hack it.
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: Songfic | Uploaded On: 06.12.2012 | Pages: 1 | Words: 687 | Visits: 594 | Status: Completed
Harry can't hack it.
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: Songfic | Uploaded On: 06.12.2012 | Pages: 1 | Words: 687 | Visits: 594 | Status: Completed
Harry Potter and the Waffle Hut
Harry hated his job. The job itself wouldn’t have been so bad, except that he had been trained in the best magical school in England, had an overwhelming amount of natural skills, and was reduced to serving long-haul truckers at a greasy spoon. The worst insult to his small remnant of dignity was when someone would squint at him and say, “Did you know you look an awful lot like Harry Potter?” Unfortunately, his struggle with Voldemort had left him mentally unstable, so he was unable to hold down a job for long.
Today was the worst. There were two customers he despised in a corner booth. He didn’t know their names; the wait staff just called them the grannys, and avoided them as much as possible.
“Hey, Algiers,” Harry said. “I’ll flip you a galleon for who has to serve them.” Harry lost.
He put on his best working smile and walked up. “Good evening ladies, and welcome to the Waffle Hut. How can I help you today?”
The older one grimaced and wiped her finger along the inside of a windowsill. A thin line of dust came along with it. “Well, first you could tell me why no one around here does their job.”
Harry repressed the urge to sigh. “I’m sorry ma’am. Can I get you something to drink?”
The younger, horse-faced one said, “You know, the only reason you people have any business at all is because the Pancake Shack doesn’t do 3rd shift anymore.”
Harry felt insulted. He did the best he could at his job, although he constantly had to deal with drunken wizards and belligerent old women.
“And why is it so cold in here?” the younger one asked. “It’s too cold to eat. Go fix that.”
Harry noticed that a few other tables had come in. He was wasting all his time on these two old women that never tipped. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “I’ll ask the manager to turn down the air.”
“You’ll tell him to turn down the air, now,” the older one said. Harry was getting a headache. Before he could leave to talk with the manager, the older one called him back impatiently.
“Nevermind all that, just take our order. I want two eggs well done, hashbrowns well done, and thestral sausage, medium well.”
“Ok, and for you ma’am?”
The younger one wrinkled her nose, “I just want water, and make sure it’s in a clean glass.”
He gave the order to the grill cook, and he rushed to serve other tables as the old lady’s meal was cooked. When he took her the food, she poked it with a fork. “Take it back.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The eggs are burnt. I specifically asked for eggs over medium.”
“Yes ma’am.” Harry was feeling angrier by the moment. He tried to find his happy place. He tried counting to ten. He even tried imagining himself strangling Snape That last part helped a bit, but not much.
When the new, over medium eggs were cooked, he plastered his smile back onto his face. “Here’s your eggs over medium. Is there anything else I can get you?”
“You can get me your manager’s number. You should be sacked. Honestly, if you can’t do better than that, you shouldn’t even be in the restaurant business. I waited table for 40 years and let me tell you…”
“O, bloody hell,” Harry muttered. “Avada Kedavra.” She fell over dead and there was welcome silence. He walked out of the store, tossing his apron and hat on a table as he left.
“I quit,” he said to the manager, as he flipped the entire store the bird. “I lose more jobs that way,” he grumbled.
Harry hated his job. The job itself wouldn’t have been so bad, except that he had been trained in the best magical school in England, had an overwhelming amount of natural skills, and was reduced to serving long-haul truckers at a greasy spoon. The worst insult to his small remnant of dignity was when someone would squint at him and say, “Did you know you look an awful lot like Harry Potter?” Unfortunately, his struggle with Voldemort had left him mentally unstable, so he was unable to hold down a job for long.
Today was the worst. There were two customers he despised in a corner booth. He didn’t know their names; the wait staff just called them the grannys, and avoided them as much as possible.
“Hey, Algiers,” Harry said. “I’ll flip you a galleon for who has to serve them.” Harry lost.
He put on his best working smile and walked up. “Good evening ladies, and welcome to the Waffle Hut. How can I help you today?”
The older one grimaced and wiped her finger along the inside of a windowsill. A thin line of dust came along with it. “Well, first you could tell me why no one around here does their job.”
Harry repressed the urge to sigh. “I’m sorry ma’am. Can I get you something to drink?”
The younger, horse-faced one said, “You know, the only reason you people have any business at all is because the Pancake Shack doesn’t do 3rd shift anymore.”
Harry felt insulted. He did the best he could at his job, although he constantly had to deal with drunken wizards and belligerent old women.
“And why is it so cold in here?” the younger one asked. “It’s too cold to eat. Go fix that.”
Harry noticed that a few other tables had come in. He was wasting all his time on these two old women that never tipped. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “I’ll ask the manager to turn down the air.”
“You’ll tell him to turn down the air, now,” the older one said. Harry was getting a headache. Before he could leave to talk with the manager, the older one called him back impatiently.
“Nevermind all that, just take our order. I want two eggs well done, hashbrowns well done, and thestral sausage, medium well.”
“Ok, and for you ma’am?”
The younger one wrinkled her nose, “I just want water, and make sure it’s in a clean glass.”
He gave the order to the grill cook, and he rushed to serve other tables as the old lady’s meal was cooked. When he took her the food, she poked it with a fork. “Take it back.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The eggs are burnt. I specifically asked for eggs over medium.”
“Yes ma’am.” Harry was feeling angrier by the moment. He tried to find his happy place. He tried counting to ten. He even tried imagining himself strangling Snape That last part helped a bit, but not much.
When the new, over medium eggs were cooked, he plastered his smile back onto his face. “Here’s your eggs over medium. Is there anything else I can get you?”
“You can get me your manager’s number. You should be sacked. Honestly, if you can’t do better than that, you shouldn’t even be in the restaurant business. I waited table for 40 years and let me tell you…”
“O, bloody hell,” Harry muttered. “Avada Kedavra.” She fell over dead and there was welcome silence. He walked out of the store, tossing his apron and hat on a table as he left.
“I quit,” he said to the manager, as he flipped the entire store the bird. “I lose more jobs that way,” he grumbled.