Time for a meaningless ficlet! This one is for LegallyRed because she made me several RENT icons for my picking, all of Mark. I love Mark. Anyhoo, this is her payback. It's short and will not be updated again. You hear me? This is a one shot! I'm sorry, but some people keep telling me to update stories that I have told them are one shots and I don't want any more confusion! I'm flattered, but get the hint! Okay. Rant over. Enjoy!

Six.

Damn it. I hate waiting.

This kind of wasn't the place I expected to do this. With the fluorescent lights and the Muzak. But then, I guess I wasn't given this opportunity to choose the location. When something like this comes along, you kind of have to take what you're given.

I check my watch. I still hate waiting.

Five.

Stiiill waiting. I haven't been this impatient since I was four and waiting for my mother to get home on my birthday so I could open my presents. But then she came home with an enormous Barbie playhouse for me, so it was okay.

I hope this turns out as good.

Four.

And by that, I don't mean that I hope I get a Barbie playhouse.

Three.

The fourth passed by quickly. God, unless all of them are like the fourth, this will be slow, slow torment.

I can see him. Shiny brown hair, bangs falling in his dark, intense eyes. Even under his shirt, I can tell his muscles are defined, but not bulging. I wonder how much he works out? His fingers are long and slender, like a piano players.

Don't ask me how I made that connection.

I glance at my watch again. Have I mentioned that I hate waiting?

Two.

If I had a friend with me, they'd be hitting me over the head repeatedly for being so impatient. In fact, I'm about to bash my head against the wall because I'm annoying myself so much. I just can't stop thinking about what a horribly long annoying wait this is.

Okay, think of nice things.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens, brown paper packages tied up with strings, these are a few of my favourite things!

Damn it, those are Julie Andrews' favourite things.

What are my favourite things? All right...baby animals. Musicals. My friends. Boys with good singing voices. Boys with soft hair. Boys with nice hands.

Boys, boys, boys! It all boils down to boys.

One.

Heart beat quickens. Breath catches in throat. My pulse is rushing. My head is reeling. My face is flushing. What is this feeling?

Damn it, this is not the time for Wicked.

Popular! You're gonna be popular!

Damn you, Kristin Chenoweth!

What am I so nervous about? So it's a pretty boy. Big whoop. Okay, a pretty boy with shiny hair...intense eyes...piano hands...soft lips...

How can I determine that he has soft lips if I've never touched them?

They look soft.

Zero.

Oh my God, this is it. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

"Next?"

Trying to appear calm, I approach him and look him square in the eye. He looks back at me with no sign of nerves.

"Welcome to McDonald's. How may I help you?" he asks in a monotone "I've-done-this-fifty-times-today" voice that I heard him use with the six customers in line before me.

"Um...yes," I say unsurely. What am I going to order? I stood in line that whole time and I didn't think about what to order? What the hell was I thinking about?

Intense eyes...piano hands...soft lips.

I can't hold the intense eye contact any longer. My eyes drift down to his polyester shirt and his shiny gold name tag. Underneath the familiar golden arches is his name. Jack. I like it. Simple and strong. He'll become a lumberjack and we'll live in a shack in the forest and -

"Um, excuse me? Are you going to order anything?" My attention shifts back to the real, living, breathing thing before me.

"Um...yes I am! I'll have...large fries and a Coke?" Jack nods and punches a few buttons on the cash register. He spits out my price like a computer and I hand him a five dollar bill. As he hands me back my change, my fingers brush his palm and I feel my stomach turn all twisty. I look away quickly so as not to show the flush on my face.

And then he's gone to get my order. I watch the other cashiers, mostly teenage and pimple-faced, shift behind the counter, the children rip open their Happy Meal toys, the weary parents chugging down watery coffee.

"Here you go," he says, handing me my drink and fries. Same monotone voice, same expressionless face.

What was I hoping for? That he'd look at me, fall in love and whisk me away to a place where the Happy Meals grow and Ronald's palace is made from a plethora of cheeseburgers?

What the hell am I talking about? Does such a place exist? I mean, aside from on acid trips?

"Can I help who's next, please?" Jack says, looking past me to the next customer. I look down into my cold drink and greasy fry container and momentarily think about throwing them away because that would be dramatic. But I'm hungry. So I take a seat and munch on my unhealthy snack and daydream about Jack.

I take a peek in my wallet and count how much money I have. I wonder if that's enough to buy fries and a Coke everyday this week...

Sorry you didn't get the boy in the end, Elphie! My heart weeps for you. Hope you all enjoyed it!

moseph