“I want to speak to a manager,” the middle-aged woman said in her stern I-used-to-be-a-soccer-mom-ten-years-ago voice, looking down at me over the top of her Gucci reading glasses.
A wicked grin split across my face and the gates of Hell opened up behind me, releasing a gust of hot wind that whipped my apron around my body and forced the woman to shield her face. Demons came forth, dancing around in flames with songs of, “She wants to speak to a manager. Did you hear that? She wants to speak to a manager!” before erupting into earsplitting shrieks of laughter, none louder than my own cackling.
I took in the woman’s look of utter horror before my eyes rolled back into my head and I growled,
oh my god… What happened. Is that a pressure cooker? It sure looks like it from that lid in the ceiling.
I’ve never been more confused
If thats a pressure ooker that was left unattended the it would explain everything. Pressure cookers can explode with enough pressure. That’s what the bomb at the boston marathon was a few years back. A pressure cooker filled with nails.
that show you have every intention of watching and you are 100% confident that you’ll love but you refuse to watch right now because its not the right time.
