Management Is Too Cheap To Pay For Heating

Pirate’s Cove was cold this time of year. Mike Schmidt burrowed down into his blanket, formerly the curtain of the Cove, and rubbed his arms. The friction helped heat him up slightly, but it was too much effort for too little help so Mike quickly abandoned it.

“Oi, Mick.”

Mike sighed. His breath rose into the air in white wisps. “How many times have I told you I don’t like that nickname, Foxy?”

Foxy ignored him, as usual. “What’s a pi-pi-pirate’s favorite letter?”

The animatronic fox was seated on a treasure chest prop next to the Cove’s painted backdrop. The paint was peeling here and there, exposing the wooden surface beneath the waves and the beach. Foxy himself was softly humming a sea shanty to himself, eye patch flapping irregularly and jaw hanging wide open.

Mike blew on his hands and rubbed them together. “Gee, I don’t know,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Is it ‘R’?”

“Nay, lad, the answer’s not ‘R’.”

A rhythmic tapping started up then. When Mike looked over, he saw one of the fox’s legs bouncing. He’d been around Foxy long enough to know that it was from excitement. “Alright. If it’s not ‘R’ then it’s gotta be ‘C’.”

“Alas lad, but ye be wrong again. Ye think it’s ‘C’ but it’s actually-ly ‘P’, for without it, we’d be irate!”

Foxy bent over in laughter and slapped his leg. Mike smiled in spite of himself, in spite of the harsh screech that pounded on his eardrums. He pulled the curtain around himself tighter and looked out over the space in front of the Cove. Even now, smothered in darkness and dust, he could imagine what the place would have looked like at the restaurant’s heyday. Children captivated by stories. Smiles worth more than any doubloon, plastic or otherwise. A warm feeling bloomed in his chest, hazy memories played across his eyes.

Mike checked his wristwatch. 11:29 PM.

A foam sword smacked the back of Mike’s head. He turned his head and glared playfully at Foxy. “What was that for?”

“Jest a reminder ta keep vigilant at all times. Ye never know when trouble might sneak up on ye.”

“Thanks for the reminder, I guess,” Mike said, standing up to stretch. “How come I never hear you walking around when I visit the Cove but you’re so loud later?”

“A swashbuckler such as meself knows how to step quietly when they want to,” Foxy replied sagely, arms crossed and nodding his head.

“Sure, whatever. I’m gonna grab a bite before my shift starts.”

As Mike left the Cove and walked away, Foxy imparted one last piece of wisdom. “The cold’s doing funny things to me circuits, lad. I’m feeling a bit antsy tonight.”

Mike thanked him and waved. His legs carried him across the pizzeria’s dining hall. Unlike the Cove, Mike couldn’t see his breath here, but it was still bitterly cold. Seeing the heads of the three animatronics on the show stage tracking him across the room, Mike threw a hand up in greeting. Bonnie and Chica nodded back.

The kitchen was the only warm room in the restaurant. Mike melted, standing in the center of the room and just basking in the heat. It took minutes longer than it should have to get moving again, but Mike figured he couldn’t be blamed for it. After all, this was the warmest he had been in days.  While stepping over to the oven that was supplying the warmth for the room, Mike thought about buying a heater for his apartment. It was only going to get colder, after all.

There was an uncooked pizza waiting for him next to the oven. A note was taped to the oven itself. In large, messy letters it told ‘Mikey’ that all the work had already been done and all he had to do was leave the pizza in the oven and let it cook. Mike nodded. So easy even a child could do it.

Of course, just because a child could do it didn’t mean that an adult wouldn’t have any problems. Embarrassingly, Mike was so preoccupied with no longer being cold that he lost track of time. He scratched at his temple as he looked at the pizza. Sure, one side was a bit black, but it was still good. Right?

Mike checked his wristwatch. 11:51 PM.

The dining hall was just as cold as it had been before, but the contrast with the kitchen made it seem even colder. Mike settled into a chair near the stage and dug into a slice of pizza. The cheese burned the roof of his mouth, but it was the first meal Mike’d had all day so he didn’t mind.

A choked squawk from the stage had Mike looking up. Chica had a yellow hand covering her beak, trying and failing to stifle her amusement. “Looks like you burned the pizza, ya big lummox. Is that even still edible?”

Mike plastered a look of mock offense across his face. “How dare you, Chica! I thought you of all people would have realized that there’s no such thing as a bad pizza!”

“Except pineapple,” Bonnie chimed in.

“Of course I do, Mikey! Even overcooked, our pizzas are still the best!”

While Mike made faces at Chica, Bonnie spoke up again. “Actually, I’m pretty sure they taste bad. We’ve had kids cry after biting into them, remember?”

Mike and Chica both whirled to face Bonnie. “What are you saying, Bonnie? This pizza is great,” Mike said. “The crust doesn’t taste like cardboard and the cheese definitely isn’t stale!”

“I dunno if you’re complimenting the pizza or insulting it, Mikey!” Chica cried, pulling at her head feathers. She turned to look at Freddy. “Back me up here, boss man!”

Freddy was still as a statue for a long time. It was only after the silence had grown uncomfortable that he began to move. First his head tilted down to stare at Mike, and then it turned to face Chica.

“You know how I feel about fraternizing, Chica,” Freddy said, voice low and cold.

Chica grimaced. “Yeah, uh, sorry boss man.”

Mike checked his wristwatch. 11:57 PM.

“Well,” he began awkwardly, “I’d better get going. Shift’s about to start.”

“See ya in a bit, Mike,” Bonnie said. “Chica and I are gonna be busy cleaning up tonight. We’ve got a party tomorrow. We’ll probably check up on you a few times during the night, but not as much as usual.”

“Thanks, Bonnie, I appreciate it. I might even be able to take it easy for once,” Mike joked.

Chica frowned at that. “Sorry, Mikey, but we can’t help it. If we could…”

“Don’t worry, Chica. I might not like it, but I understand.”

Pizza boxed up and jacket pulled tight, Mike idly scratched at a large bruise on his wrist as he made his way back to the security office. He’d brought a thermos with him full of lukewarm soup and stashed it in his desk on the way in, so between that and the pizza he should be fine on food tonight.

Freddy’s voice rang out across the restaurant as Mike reached the hallway. “I’ll be stretching my legs tonight, Michael,” he said, voice not quite as cold as it had been earlier.

Mike threw a hand up to show his appreciation and walked faster. Looks like he wouldn’t be able to take it easy tonight after all.