“Ten down the line!” called the aproned puffin.
Ten silver pie tins slammed down on the military-grade wooden counter. Waffles crusts packed down in crinkled corners with precision. Tap tap, turn, tap tap, tap tap. Six pairs of hands filled six tins with peach preserves from a jar. Four more filled four more with figs.
“Present stripes!”
Strips of dough were lain intercrossed atop each tin; with the fruit underneath each tin now resembled a tied tic-tac-toe board.
“McClellagh! What do you call that disgrace!”
The hands froze from their strip laying, and shot down to attention.
The grizzled puffin hopped off of his perch and beelined to one puffin with starch stains somehow visible on his white apron.
“Now just what god damn shape are we looking to fill in here, McClellagh!”
“Interlocking stripes, sir!”
“And what in God’s blue name is that monstrosity you have before you!”
“A disgrace, sir!”
“You’re god damn right it’s a disgrace, son! You’re spitting on the names of that fruit underneath! Buried it in a royal shit stain of a grave!”
“Yes sir!”
“You’re a shame to this unit, McClellagh! Get your ass out of here and report down to the dough rolling station ASAP pronto! Get the hell out of my sight!”
“Yes sir!”
The young puffin scrambled away from his sight, nearly tripping over the next batch of tins on his way down the stairs.
The sergeant puffin bit off a piece of dried fish jerky, sunglasses mirroring the lackluster scene before him. He shouted again, indecipherably, just to keep them guessing.
It was never easy.
yeeeah