Chapter Text
Daniel sat, perched on the stool he was so thankful to have in front of the cash register in the truck. He was pointedly aware of other workplace’s “no sitting on the job” rule and was quite glad this food truck didn’t give a shit about that or food safety standards - made his job a lot easier anyway. Daniel had been in some form of a job since he was 13. At first he didn’t really have much of a good use for the money, although his 13 year old self would count ice blocks from the canteen as pretty good. Now he was 17 it kind of dawned on him that shit - maybe I should start saving for a car. So here he was. In a food truck. Sweating his absolute cock and balls off in a classic Australian summer, exacerbated by the grill on the other side of the cramped truck.
There weren’t a shit ton of options for part time work in his bum fuck small town, Fisher. More employment opportunities happened to be a 30 minute, $4.15 ferry trip across the water to a much more popular and less isolated town, Silverlake, however Daniel wouldn’t be caught dead paying $8.50 just to get to work every time he had a shift - cheapskate that he was. He had to catch the same ferry to get to and from school every day, but they didn’t charge students. So here he was. In a food truck. Donning a bleach-stained black shirt with the sleeves cut off - the bleach stains being battle scars from his days in his previous job as a dishy, and the lack of sleeves because Daniel hacked them off one day, stoned and annoyed by them and their coverage of his toned biceps and god awful stick and poke. It was a miracle that it hadn’t blown out or gotten infected yet. It had been done one sticky and humid summer night last year at the local skate park. Him and his mates got stoned and watched the stars from the bottom of the bowl. One of them had said “no balls” and, well, Daniel wasn’t one to ignore a call to arms. The school hadn’t said anything about the badger on his left tricep, and neither had his Dad, so all was well in his mind. He also somehow managed to get away with sporting a single silver sleeper in his right ear and its pair in his left nostril. The earrings belonged to his girlfriend/fling/fuck buddy/whatever, Heidi, who quite enjoyed using him as a pincushion. They had broken up more times than Daniel could remember to be honest, but the thing about small towns is that there’s just not that many people to fuck. You gotta make some return trips sometimes.
You really couldn’t count on fresh meat arriving anyway. Most of the people in year 11 in Fisher had lived in Fisher since preschool and had gone all through primary school at Fisher Primary School and had enough sense about them not to get expelled or drop out of Silverlake High School, a solid 60% anyways. The other 40% were more than happy to sink cones in the comfort of their own homes rather than in the bushes at school. Daniel joined them, of course, grabbing his bike from the wharf after getting off the ferry after school and riding up to his mate’s house for a billy and a spot of Call of Duty. He wasn’t stupid though, he wasn’t the best student in the world but he wasn’t anywhere near getting kicked out. He didn’t intend on spending his whole life in this godforsaken food truck, flipping burgers.
Daniel hadn’t realised he’d spaced out staring at the glittering water from the beach just across the road until Toto poked his head above the ordering counter. Customers didn’t filter in immediately after opening, so usually he has a bit of time to stare into space.
“Morning, mate.” Daniel greets, less informally than he usually would, as Toto was a local in Fisher and a regular at the truck.
“Ah, you guys open at 12, it’s not morning anymore.”
“I wake up like half an hour before we open. It’s still morning to me.” He adds a faux yawn for emphasis, but he’s really not lying. Pros of living about a 5 minute walk to work and barely having a dress code: Daniel can wake up at 11:30, pull on whatever’s on his bedroom floor and head down to the truck. He managed to get this job through one of his sister’s friends. Michelle was pretty annoying and not home much, but she did have some hot friends and ones with jobs to give out. His manager, Adriane, pulled her beefy hilux into the parking lot behind the truck. She usually came in to give Daniel a helping hand for a bit, then fucked off and came back when the bar connected to the truck opened later in the day. The truck kind of served as the bar’s kitchen. Adriane used to work in the truck with him full time, and then she started screwing the owner, Ayrton. Now that they were together, it was quite awkward for Daniel to listen to them bicker behind the truck, and the whole town thought the pairing was a bit - fucked, to be honest. Adriane was 19 and Ayrton was like 38? 40? Some shit like that. Adriane started working at the truck after she graduated and Ayrton, like, fucking owned it. It was a weird power dynamic. Daniel didn’t mind keeping his thoughts on the couple to himself as they paid way more than what the minimum wage is for 17 year olds.
Adriane kicked open the back door of the truck, carrying boxes of soda cans.
“Dan-nay!” She exclaimed, before putting the boxes on the counter and seeing his black makeshift tank billowing in what little wind came into the stiflingly hot truck.
“Can’t wear tank tops mate, it’s unhygienic. I don’t want your BO on the food.”
Danny swivelled around on the chair. “Y’know miasma theory isn’t real, right? Plus I remembered to put deodorant on this morning.”
“Fucken what theory? I dunno what that is, but don’t wear that to work tomorrow.”
“Fuck up.”
Adriane eyed him, unimpressed, but didn’t say anything. They could banter pretty loosely with each other, having known each other for years, and being somewhat similar in age. The line between what’s banter and what’s disrespect always changed with Adriane, though. Today, apparently, she was feeling gracious.
“I’d keep that profanity to myself if I were you, Danny boy, I’ve hired the King of Deutschland to come keep you company during the day.”
“The what? You actually found another child slave to exploit?”
Adriane looked up from the fridge she was stocking. “Watch it, Dan. He’s Dutch, and he’s your age, and the poor bastard’s Dad bought that huge place on Neil Street, so he’s trapped in Fisher.”
“Wait, you said he’s from Deutschland, that’s Germany, is he Dutch or German?”
Adriane shrugs with a can of Fanta in her hand. “Fuck knows. Just be nice to him or I’m out to get you.”
“So what’s his name?”
An unfamiliar voice spoke from outside the truck, beneath the service window, scaring the absolute shit out of both Danny and Adriane.
“Uh, I’m Max.”