“I never would have guessed it would fit so well,” said Casper, his hair tall and thick like a blond hedge. With hair height included he was as tall as Jeffrey. “Not just that the couch physically fits in the space, but I mean it fits the whole feel of the basement too, which is just as important. When you first offered it to us, Jeffrey, I’ll be honest, I didn’t want it. I didn’t want it at all. The thought of accepting your old couch upset me quite a bit. It felt like a big hassle for no payoff.”

               “You could have just said that,” said Jeffrey.

               “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” said Casper.

               “You wouldn’t have hurt my feelings,” said Jeffrey. “I would have taken the couch to a thrift store. In fact, it would have been more convenient because Nothing’s Junk Thrift Store is two minutes from our house and instead I ended up driving all the way over here to drop it off. And I helped you carry it down the stairs, which was not easy.” He was irritated to discover that Casper thought he was too sensitive to bear the rejection of a casual offer of an old couch.

               “Well, anyway,” said Casper, “I’m glad I did consider your feelings because it turns out your couch works perfectly down here.” He gestured at the couch for at least the dozenth time.

               Jeffrey and Wanda dutifully looked at the couch yet again.

               “So nice,” said Wanda. She was the most attractive person in the basement even allowing for the physical traits that she hated in herself, which Jeffrey did not allow for because he never noticed them.

               Jeffrey said nothing. He was sick of saying the couch looked good in the new basement. Looking at it again without scowling was the best he could manage.

               “Anyway,” said Wanda, “thanks for letting us see the basement and the couch, we’re so glad it worked out so well. But we had an early lunch so we’re getting kind of hungry and I think we’re going to get dinner as long as we’re here in Multioak.”

               “Oh!” said Liv. “We just tried Worthy last night and it was so good. You have to try it. You have to go to Worthy.” Her glasses and collarbone-length hair were an identical brown. She wore a dress that was technically floral-print because it had one big flower printed on it.

               “Worthy?” said Wanda. “What’s that?”

               “Sounds a little too close to Newsworthy Burger for my taste,” said Jeffrey. “I’m afraid the association would put me on edge no matter how good it is.”

               “The association is on purpose,” said Liv. “Worthy’s owned by Ross Gallup, the same guy who owns Newsworthy Burger!”

               “OK, then we’re definitely not going,” said Jeffrey. “We’re not some of those Dalcette people who’ve tricked themselves into liking Newsworthy Burger. We haven’t been there in years and years. We don’t even tolerate it when we’re in Dalcette, so we’re definitely not going to seek out the Newsworthy Burger experience here in Multioak.”

               “But it’s totally different,” said Casper. “They pride themselves on their service. They pride themselves on never getting an order wrong. And it’s true, they never do. Our order was perfect. We got exactly what we ordered.”

               “So they got your orders right one time and now you’re sure they never get any orders wrong and they never will?” asked Jeffrey.

               “They’re committed to getting orders one hundred percent correct one hundred percent of the time,” said Liv.

               “But is the food any good?” asked Wanda.

               “It doesn’t matter,” said Jeffrey before either McCorey could answer. “I’m sorry, but I’m just not willing to risk it. I don’t trust anything connected to Newsworthy Burger no matter what they claim they’re committed to. If we went there, I wouldn’t be able to relax. I’d spend the whole time waiting for something to go wrong.”

               “The food is so good,” said Liv as if Jeffrey hadn’t spoken at all. “And very reasonably priced, too. And we waited, what, Casper, ten minutes for a table? If that? And that was a Friday night at 6:30, so you’d think that would be the height of the dinner rush.”

               “Of course it’s not busy,” said Jeffrey. “Most people know to stay away.”

               “But it was busy,” said Casper. “They just have a lot of seating, plenty of help, and they’re really efficient. And our food came so fast, we were shocked.”

               Jeffrey couldn’t understand what was wrong with these people. This was what the invitation to come see the couch in the basement had been like. They were incapable of taking “no” for an answer. He had to lie to them. It was the only way out. “Well, thanks for the suggestion,” said Jeffrey as he headed for the basement stairs. “Maybe we’ll try it after all, then.”

               “You know what?” said Casper. “We liked it so much, we’d love to go back tonight. We’ll go with you. In fact, since you’re so skeptical, Jeffrey, it’s our treat. As a thank you for the couch.”

               “Oh, yes,” said Liv, clapping her hands. “That’s such a good idea, Casper. Yes, let’s all go to Worthy together! And if we pay, then you aren’t risking anything, Jeffrey. If they get your order wrong – which they won’t – then you’re not out any money and you’ll never have to go back.”

               Wanda saved Jeffrey the trouble of caving by caving for both of them.

               Worthy made a good initial impression. Parking was simple. Trees and flowers surrounded – but did not obscure – the restaurant’s welcoming exterior. Inside, Wanda commented on how much she liked the décor. “It’s modern without being the same as every other new restaurant.”

               Liv and Casper beamed at her.

               The dining room looked full, but the hostess seated the foursome after a brief wait. The television screens positioned high on the walls displayed compelling video art, some of it even a bit daring, although nothing that would disturb one’s dining experience. On the way to their table, Jeffrey noted a man perched on a little loft in the corner of the spacious restaurant playing classical guitar. “Wow,” he said. “I heard the music when we came in but I never would have guessed it was a live musician.”

               Now Liv and Casper beamed at Jeffrey. They were as proud of Worthy as they were of Jeffrey and Wanda’s old couch.

               Unbelievably, Casper brought the couch up again while waiting for the server to take drink orders. Jeffrey pretended to be too engrossed with the menu to respond. He knew that this offloaded the social burden onto his wife, but she was better at handling it than he was. Besides, his interest in the Worthy menu was sincere. Newsworthy Burger actually looked pretty nice, if dated, on the inside due to the direct involvement of its owner in that one aspect, but the overall atmosphere of not just unprofessionalism but anti-professionalism tended to overwhelm all other aspects of the customer experience. But such was not the case at Worthy. It seemed like a normal restaurant. Even better than normal, in some ways, like the live music that was neither oppressive nor obnoxious.

But the real test was still to come. Could Worthy get Jeffrey’s order right? Newsworthy Burger had never gotten his order right. Granted, he’d only been there a handful of times and not in the last ten years, but he’d never even heard of Newsworthy Burger getting someone’s order right. But if not for Liv’s information about Worthy’s kinship with Newsworthy Burger and its derivative name, Jeffrey would not have worried about the potential for an order screw-up. Nothing else about the restaurant projected the likelihood of Jeffrey receiving an incorrect meal.

The server’s name was Preston, he looked competent, and he got everyone’s drink order correct, which put Jeffrey even more at ease. By the time Preston took food orders, the idea of his meal eventually arriving somehow other than Jeffrey had ordered it felt faint and distant. And the conversation had finally moved on from the couch and Liv was telling an amusing story about an argument she’d had about the new basement with the contractor, everyone was laughing, and Jeffrey realized he was having a good time, he was enjoying his time at Worthy.

But then, fifteen minutes later, the food arrived and Jeffrey received sweet potato fries instead of the regular fries he expected. He noticed immediately. The fries were orange, not brown. “Ah, uh,” said Jeffrey as Preston put the plate of food on the table in front of him. “I actually ordered regular fries? And it looks like these are sweet potato fries.” He glanced around the table. Wanda looked nervous. Liv looked grim. Casper looked irritated.

“Oh,” said Preston. “I can bring you some regular fries if you changed your mind.”

“I didn’t change my mind,” said Jeffrey. “I ordered regular fries and you brought me sweet potato fries.”

“You ordered sweet potato fries,” said Casper in a pointed voice. “We all heard you.”

“No, I asked if the sweet potato fries were good,” said Jeffrey.

“Right,” said Liv. “And then Preston said they were good. So you ordered them.”

“No,” said Jeffrey. “No, no, what happened was that Preston said they were good, but then I said that I’d just stick with the regular fries. I know I wouldn’t have ordered the sweet potato fries because I don’t like sweet potato fries. Why would I order sweet potato fries if I don’t like them?”

“Why would you ask if they’re good if you don’t like them?” asked Casper. “Why ask about them if you have no intention of ordering them?”

“I just…I like to ask about things,” said Jeffrey. He felt a warm flush rising up his neck and across his face.

Liv scoffed and rolled her eyes.

Jeffrey turned to his wife. “Wanda, did I order sweet potato fries or regular fries?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I honestly don’t.”

“But you know I don’t like sweet potato fries,” said Jeffrey. “So, I mean, how hard is it for you to guess which one I would order?”

“I mean, I thought you didn’t like them, but you were asking about them, I remember that…”

“Sir, it’s really no trouble,” said Preston. “We never get orders wrong here at Worthy, but one of the reasons we never get orders wrong is because customer satisfaction is so important to us. So if you aren’t satisfied with what you ordered, then I’m more than happy to bring you a replacement.”

Although Preston sounded calm, he had pitched his voice louder than before. It took Jeffrey a moment to realize he had done so for the benefit of nearby customers, many of whom had stopped their conversations to observe the incident developing at Jeffrey’s table. Preston wasn’t just trying to pacify Jeffrey, he was also trying to ensure that no one else would get the impression that Worthy had gotten Jeffrey’s order wrong. He was trying to prevent this disagreement from harming Worthy’s reputation. Well, two could play at that game. “You did get my order wrong,” said Jeffrey, setting the volume of his voice a notch higher than Preston’s. “I ordered regular fries and you brought me sweet potato fries. And you know what? I knew something like this would happen. This is the exact kind of thing that happens at Newsworthy Burger and now it’s happening here, too. And if you really value customer satisfaction above all, then you’ll admit that you got my order wrong, because I’m a customer and that’s the only thing that will satisfy me.”

Before Preston could respond, Casper said, “Just let it go, Jeffrey. We all heard you order sweet potato fries, even Wanda. But you’ll never admit it because you came here hoping they’d get your order wrong so you could say that all your biases were confirmed and me and Liv were wrong to recommend that you eat here. But Worthy didn’t get your order wrong because they never get an order wrong, so instead of just admitting you were wrong, you decided to lie about what you ordered to make Worthy look bad even though they did nothing wrong. And that’s petty and immature and pathetic.”

Jeffrey stood up and dropped his cloth napkin on top of his untouched food. “We’re leaving. And we’re never coming back. Every restaurant gets things wrong sometimes, but at least they have the grace to admit it. But not here!” He was half-way across the dining room on his way to the door when he realized Wanda was not following. Jeffrey turned back and saw her still seated at the table with Casper and Liv, holding up one finger in Jeffrey’s direction as she used her other hand to sample a little of everything on her plate as fast as she could. She was still the most attractive woman in the room, but not, to Jeffrey, by as wide a margin as usual.

               In the following days, Worthy again and again found its way into Jeffrey’s interactions with all kinds of people. Worthy came up in the break room at work, it came up in a conversation with his elderly neighbor Rob, it came up in a chat between two strangers that Jeffrey overheard while he was standing in line to buy a bag of sunflower seeds at a gas station convenience store. And that’s not a complete list. There were more.

It wasn’t that Jeffrey bore a grudge against Worthy. Certainly nothing as dramatic as a vendetta. Jeffrey was not trying to single-handedly turn public opinion against Worthy. He didn’t have a grand agenda. But, like, say he had just been outside in the rain, or a tornado, even, a big one, and then someone came up to him and told him they were planning a picnic because it was such a nice day, wouldn’t it just make sense for him to share with them that it wasn’t actually a nice day, that there was actually a huge tornado out there, that they should put their picnic plans on hold and instead seek shelter in a basement and pray for mercy? It’s not like he was going around town knocking on doors so he could spread the bad word about Worthy. He wasn’t stapling flyers to telephone poles. He wasn’t hanging around in front of the restaurant with a giant placard reading, “ASKED FOR: REGULAR FRIES. GOT: SWEET POTATO FRIES.” But there was a lot of positive buzz about Worthy going around, which meant, yeah, people were talking about it, they were sharing their experiences, and they were curious about the experiences of others.

               So when Jeffrey kept hearing people say that Worthy never got anyone’s order wrong, that they were dedicated to never getting anyone’s order wrong, well, he had to speak up. He had to interject. He had to share the relevant information he had gathered from personal experience. He had to say something like, “Well, they got my order wrong” or “That’s news to me because they completely botched my order and ruined our evening” or “They’re frauds, they’re liars, and they’re actually worse than Newsworthy Burger because at least at Newsworthy Burger you know what you’re in for but at Worthy they fool you into thinking you’re gonna get what you order and then when you don’t they try to gaslight you into believing it was your mistake because they can never admit to being wrong or else their whole self-image will just crumble and dissolve and scatter to the winds.”

               On Thursday evening, five days since his ill-fated visit to Worthy, Jeffrey received a text message from a number he didn’t recognize. The message read, Hi Jeffrey, this is Cade Merney, I’m the Lead Manager at Worthy. Would it be possible for us to talk? If so, let me know when you’re available and I’ll give you a call.

               Jeffrey sat with this for a few minutes.

               “Why are you smiling?” asked Wanda. They were out on the back patio drinking cocktails and watching a sunset mostly obscured by clouds. They had also taken turns spraying each other with a new bug spray. This was a trial run. So far, it was working about as well as all other bug sprays.

               “The Lead Manager at Worthy wants to talk to me,” said Jeffrey.

               “What for?” asked Wanda. She sounded guarded. While seemingly everyone else in Jeffrey’s life couldn’t stop talking about Worthy, Wanda had spent the last five days avoiding the subject.

               “To apologize,” said Jeffrey. “What else could it be? What else could they have to say to me?” He texted Cade Merney back as he spoke. Hi Cade. I’m available now. Call any time.

               “Don’t talk to them,” said Wanda. “Just ignore the text. There’s no reason to talk to them.”

               “Too late,” said Jeffrey, holding up his vibrating phone.

               Wanda groaned, stood, and carried her drink into the house, closing the sliding glass door behind her as Jeffrey answered his phone.

“Hi, Cade. Thanks for calling.”

               “Oh, sure,” said Cade. “Thanks for taking my call, Jeffrey.” His voice was deep, throaty, full of character. A good voice for apologizing. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

               “Not at all,” said Jeffrey. “Just taking it easy. What can I do for you?”

               “I’m glad you asked,” said Cade. “Because I am calling with a request. I understand you had a bad experience at Worthy last Saturday night. And we want to try to make it up to you. We want you to come back for a free meal. Both you and your wife, totally on the house. That’s appetizers, drinks, everything. We want to try to win you back. Customer satisfaction is our highest priority at Worthy, and as far as we know, you’re our only customer who’s been dissatisfied so far. And that bothers us, that makes us sick, you know? It nags at us. It nags at me. And, look, I’m not saying this experience will cancel out your bad experience, but at least you’ll have had a good experience also, you know? That’s where I’m coming from, anyway. So, what do you say?”

               Jeffrey sifted through everything Cade had just said in search of the apology. It was, he ultimately concluded, not there. “So this isn’t an admission that you were wrong.”

               “That I was wrong?” asked Cade. “Wrong about what?”

               “Not you personally,” said Jeffrey. “But my server, Preston, was wrong, and that makes Worthy as a whole wrong because he’s a representative of the whole restaurant, and if you’re the Lead Manager of Worthy, then yeah, you’re wrong too.”

               “Preston was wrong to allow the situation to escalate like it did,” said Cade. “And he’s been talked to about that. And that’s why I’m reaching out now to-”

               “No,” said Jeffrey. “Stop. I don’t care about the situation escalating. I care about the fact that my order was wrong and he wouldn’t acknowledge that. No one would. And now it seems like you’re still not acknowledging that Worthy got my order wrong.”

               “But how would I know if we really got your order wrong or not?” asked Cade. “I wasn’t there. I didn’t hear you order. All I have is what Preston said and what you say. How could I possibly know that we got your order wrong? Even if I were to say, ‘I’m sorry we got your order wrong’ that would just be customer service theater, wouldn’t it? You would have no way of knowing if I actually believed your account over Preston’s or if I was just saying the words you want me to say. And that’s exactly my point. Regardless of how the misunderstanding occurred, it should never have led to you having a bad experience at Worthy, which is why I want you to come back and have a good experience.”

               “Then it’s a stalemate,” said Jeffrey. “My willingness to come back and my ultimate satisfaction as a customer are entirely dependent on Worthy officially acknowledging the mistake.”

               “Whose mistake?” asked Cade.

               “Yours!” cried Jeffrey. “Worthy’s!”

               Cade said nothing but Jeffrey could hear him breathing through the phone. He somehow sensed that Cade’s eyes were closed. Then, without a goodbye of any sort, the call ended. Jeffrey waited for a clarifying text from Cade, but none came. Alone on the patio but for the company of slightly fewer bugs than un-sprayed skin would have drawn, Jeffrey finished his drink.

               The following evening when Jeffrey got home from work, he found a white limousine parked at the curb in front of his house with its engine idling. The driver leaned against the front passenger’s side door with his feet on the curb while he played a game on his phone. When he saw Jeffrey step out of his car in the driveway, the driver slipped his phone into his pants pocket and opened one of the limo’s back doors, motioning for Jeffrey to get inside.

               “What’s this about?” asked Jeffrey, crossing the lawn to the limo with his work backpack dangling from his left hand. “Did Worthy send you? I’m not going to Worthy.”

               “No,” said the driver. His uniform was not rumpled, but he had a rumpled bearing that made the uniform seem rumpled by association. He squinted like someone had told him not to but he couldn’t help it.

               “No?” said Jeffrey. “No what?”

               “No,” said the driver. “I’m not supposed to take you to Worthy.”

               “Then where are you taking me?”

               “Not far,” said the driver. “Mr. Gallup wants to talk to you.”

               “Ross Gallup?” asked Jeffrey. “The guy who owns Newsworthy Burger?”

               “Yeah,” said the driver. “He sent me. That’s where I’m taking you.”

               “You’re supposed to take me to Newsworthy Burger? Not Worthy?”

               “Yeah,” said the driver. He motioned again for Jeffrey to get into the limousine. “Come on. All the air conditioning’s getting out.”

               Jeffrey’s curiosity overcame other considerations and he ducked inside the limousine. The driver did not close the door behind him so, after a confused few seconds, Jeffrey closed it himself. The limousine’s interior was stuffy. Jeffrey held his hand next to a vent in the roof and noted that the air conditioning was not turned on. As the driver pulled the limo away from the curb, Jeffrey texted Wanda, who usually didn’t get home from work until forty minutes after Jeffrey. Ross Gallup sent a limo to pick me up at the house. I don’t know why. I’ll probably be back soon. Then he sat back to enjoy the five-minute ride in middling luxury.

               In the Newsworthy Burger lot, the driver parked the limo horizontally across multiple spaces as far from the restaurant entrance as possible and said, “Here we are.” Then he pulled out his phone and resumed his game, hissing swear words at the screen.

               Jeffrey stepped out of the limousine, crossed the mostly-empty parking lot, and walked through Newsworthy Burger’s front doors for the first time in over a decade. It had been even longer since he’d used the drive-through window, an experience that he, like many others before and since, had braved precisely once.

               Inside, Jeffrey was met with the smell of something burning, but it wasn’t food. No employees manned any of the registers at the front counter, but at least three distinct hysterical laughs came from the kitchen. In the dining room, a few people sat in booths laboring through their meals. The rugs on the floor, judging by their light staining, had recently replaced the previous rugs. As he took in the scene and felt no nostalgia despite the restaurant looking exactly how he remembered it, an elderly man in short shorts and a pale green polo shirt seated at the booth farthest from the front door caught Jeffrey’s eye with a delicate wave. This would be Ross Gallup.

               As Jeffrey approached Ross Gallup’s table – the table he was seated at, that is, since all of the tables were his tables, in a way – a horrible screeching sound came from the kitchen, bringing the laughter to an abrupt halt. Jeffrey paused, but Ross showed no reaction. He just said, “Have a seat, Jeffrey. I’d offer you something to eat, but, well…” He held his hands out in a helpless pose and chuckled with affection. Jeffrey noted that the table in front of Ross was empty. Not even a fountain drink.

               Jeffrey set his backpack on the booth seat and slid in beside it across the table from Mr. Gallup. “I told my wife I didn’t think I’d be gone long,” he said. The small TV against the wall on the table showed footage of a rugged red butte shot through a bug-spattered windshield.

               “I don’t think you’ll be here long either,” said Ross. “Did Ev treat you all right?”

               “Who’s Ev?”

               “My driver,” said Ross. “He’s not very good, but he’s been my driver for, oh, years. You may or may not be aware, but I don’t believe in firing people.”

               “I have heard that about you, actually,” said Jeffrey.

               “And what do you think about it?” asked Ross.

               Jeffrey shrugged. “You can do or not do whatever you want with your own restaurant, but my wife and I never come here anymore.”

               Ross laughed. Many of his teeth were silver. “Exactly,” he said. He pointed at Jeffrey, wagging his finger with approval.

               Jeffrey wasn’t sure what point he had made that Ross found so agreeable, but the idea that there was a similarity between his and Ross’s ways of thinking made him uncomfortable. “So,” he said. “You own Worthy too, right?”

               Ross’s facial expression soured, he sighed. “Yes,” he said. “And you’re correct to intuit that it’s the reason I asked you here.”

               “They got my order wrong,” said Jeffrey. “I asked about the sweet potato fries, but I ordered the regular fries. And then they brought me the sweet potato fries.”

               “I don’t doubt it,” said Ross.

               “So this is the official apology, then?” asked Jeffrey. “This is the acknowledgment that you were wrong?”

               “That I was wrong?” said Ross. “No, no, this is me saying that I was right.”

               “But you just said you didn’t doubt that-”

               Ross shook his head. “No, no, not about that. I’m not here to speak on behalf of Worthy, Jeffrey. Cade is responsible for how Worthy runs, not me. He’s the Lead Manager, he’s in charge over there. That’s his thing. If you want an apology for your messed-up order, that will have to come from Cade. Like I said, I’m sure it happened, but I don’t speak for Worthy. In fact, I asked you here so I could do the opposite. I asked you here so I could speak against Worthy. Because I actually hate Worthy, Jeffrey. I despise it and all it stands for.”

               Jeffrey leaned back in the booth and frowned. “But you-”

               “Yes, yes, I own it,” said Ross. “I’ll tell you the short version. Cade is my sister’s son, so he’s my nephew. Twenty years ago when he was a teenager, he was having some trouble at home so I told my sister that if she sent him to live with me for the summer, I’d give him a job here at Newsworthy Burger. He lasted less than one shift. Which is fine. It’s not for everyone. We’ve had many, many hires who lasted less than one shift. And I’m not even counting the ones who never showed up.

“But anyway, he hated it, he quit, that’s all fine. I even told my sister there was a good chance that would happen but that we’d give it a try anyway. Most people, though, they quit Newsworthy Burger and either that’s the end of it or else we hire them back at some point. I’ve got one employee – well, I don’t even know her current status – but we’ve hired her thirty-six times. And whether she’s currently onboard or not, I have no doubt there’ll be a thirty-seventh. But my point is that it’s easy-come-easy-go around here. It’s easy to get hired and that makes it easy to quit. So even the people who hate it, we usually just don’t see them again. They go on about their business and we’re not a part of their lives anymore. Similar to customers like yourself.” Ross indicated Jeffrey with a deferential gesture.

“But,” Ross continued, “Cade wouldn’t let it go. He didn’t just hate working at Newsworthy Burger, he hated everything about it. He was outraged by it. And he wouldn’t let it go. For twenty years, he wouldn’t let it go. Every family gathering he’d just be in my ear telling me how I need to fire people, fire people, fire people, fire people, fire, fire, fire, fire, terminate, fire, fire. I threw ‘terminate’ in there because one visit he decided it was just the term ‘fire’ that I objected to, which was not the case. So we had this ongoing argument – although it was pretty one-sided since I had no interest in arguing about it – but it eventually led to Cade, just last year, fixating on the fact that, out of everything that makes this place so, uh, divisive, Newsworthy Burger regularly gets people’s orders wrong. He got all worked up over that one thing. He was shouting about it. And he says Newsworthy Burger gets orders wrong because we don’t fire people. And he’s probably right that my employees would get fewer orders wrong if they were worried about getting fired for doing so. But then he says that if he ran a restaurant, he could use strategic firing as a tool to ensure that the restaurant never got an order wrong. And at a certain point, I’d had it, I was sick of hearing about it, so I told him that I’d finance a restaurant for him, he could run it however he wanted to, but that if they ever got an order wrong, I’d shut down the restaurant and never have to hear another lecture about the great benefits of firing employees again. And he agreed, although I could immediately tell he was nervous. He knew he’d overstepped. He’d claimed too much. No amount of firing can overcome basic miscommunication, forgetfulness, human error.

“So that’s where we are. Cade’s running Worthy, but he’s stuck. Because the deal is that Worthy can never get even one order wrong. But if he fires someone for getting an order wrong, then he’s already failed and the firing will only be a confirmation of that failure. So all he can really do is threaten to fire employees for getting orders wrong, but then when the wrong orders actually happen, as in your case, Jeffrey, he has to cover them up or he loses the restaurant and I get to gloat. And when the employees realize that, then they’ll know the threats are empty, they’ll drop their guard, and the wrong orders will multiply. Of course, he might try to fire employees who get orders wrong for other stated reasons, but they’ll talk, they’ll retaliate, it’ll all come out. It’ll fall apart. But there’s still a problem.” Ross paused, waiting for Jeffrey to say something, it seemed.

“What’s the problem?” asked Jeffrey. There had been no further noise from the kitchen for a while, which was more troubling for Jeffrey than it appeared to be for Ross.

“Well, Cade will deny it forever,” said Ross. “He’ll never stop denying it. No matter how many people claim Worthy got their orders wrong, he’ll never admit it. He’ll do what he’s doing to you. There would have to be undeniable proof. And where’s that going to come from? It’ll always be his word against the customers’. So let’s say I just decide to believe the customers and I shut the restaurant down. Cade won’t accept that as a real loss. He’ll say I just believed you, for example, because I wanted to win. Which means he’ll go right back to harassing me about Newsworthy Burger’s no-firing policy. And shutting him up is the only part of the deal I really care about.”

“Why am I here?” asked Jeffrey. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you can help me,” said Ross. “You can help us both. You can get proof of Worthy getting your order wrong, you can expose Cade’s lies, you’ll be vindicated, and I’ll be rid of his nagging.”

“But how can I get proof now?” asked Jeffrey. “Worthy got my order wrong a week ago. There’s no way I can prove it now.”

“They’ll have to get your order wrong again,” said Ross. “Which, if you go enough times, they eventually will. You need to become a regular. Eat there a few times a week. Keep the receipts and I’ll reimburse you. And every time you order, you secretly record the interaction on your phone. Then, when your food comes, you document what they bring you. When the mistake finally happens again, which it will, you’ll have it all documented. Bring the proof to me and it’ll all be over. And until then, free food for you and your wife. I’ve never eaten at Worthy myself, nor will I, but I do hear the food is good.”

“But this plan could take months,” said Jeffrey. “And they’ll be extra cautious with me. With our history, they’ll be doing their best to make sure they don’t get my order wrong again.”

Ross shrugged. “Well, the more times you eat there, the greater your odds of getting a wrong order. And that’s a lot of free food. If you and your wife ate there twice a day every day they’re open, think of how much money you’d save? Unless, of course, they get your order wrong again right away, in which case this is all over and we win and everything’s back to normal, which is an even better outcome. And there are ways to increase the odds of a wrong order, too. You could order the same thing four or five times in a row, but then the sixth time, you order it with a slight change, right? That’s just one idea. I’m sure you can think of more. But don’t mumble your order. Don’t slur it. Nothing like that. We need the recording to be indisputable.”

“Why not have someone else do it?” asked Jeffrey. “I’m sure you could find someone who’d do it just for the free food.”

“Sure, maybe for a while,” said Ross. “But will they have the drive to keep at it when the novelty wears off? You’re the one who’s actually been wronged. You’re the one who wants to bring them down. You’re the one who’s been talking them down every chance he gets. And it’s spreading. Cade is nervous.”

“Won’t he be suspicious of me when I come back?” asked Jeffrey.

“Sure, at first,” said Ross. “But he’s arrogant. Get in touch with him again. Grudgingly agree to his offer to let them try to win you back. And then, assuming they don’t immediately mess up your order again, have such a great experience that you want to keep coming back. He’ll want to believe it so he will believe it.”

Jeffrey pondered Ross’s offer. Even with his promise to pay for the meals at Worthy, there would be the gas money back and forth, the time in the car, the fatigue of eating at the same place over and over again, the nuisance of trying to document the accuracy of his orders without being noticed doing so, plus Wanda’s guaranteed distaste for the whole scheme. But on the other hand, there was justice. There was triumph. There was vengeance.

The old vacation footage playing on the TV in Ross and Jeffrey’s booth came to an end. The screen went black. A customer at the front counter, who Jeffrey could not see from where he sat, called into the kitchen. “Hello? Is someone there? Can someone take my order?” The only response was a deep industrial hiss, a sound Jeffrey couldn’t imagine any appliance in a commercial kitchen producing. Another customer, one of those who had been eating when Jeffrey arrived, ate still. Jeffrey watched as he felt up and down the length of each soggy french fry as if frisking them for concealed weapons before placing them in his mouth and chewing with cautious deliberation. The unanswered customer at the counter left.

 “You can take some time to think about it,” said Ross.

Jeffrey nodded, stood, and slung his backpack over his shoulder. He walked to the front counter and approached a register. He waited. Ten minutes later, after Ross had said goodbye and departed in the limousine Jeffrey had assumed would be his ride home, a young woman wearing the uniform of a restaurant called “Tummer’s” that Jeffrey had never heard of emerged from the kitchen as if stumbling into a village after days lost in the jungle and took his order. After another fifteen minutes had passed, Jeffrey received, instead of the simple basket of chicken strips he had ordered, a melted milkshake that half-filled a cup substantially larger than the largest cup pictured on the menu board. And the largest cup pictured on the menu board was very large.

               One week after Jeffrey’s first visit to Worthy, he returned under quite different circumstances. Much had changed. For one thing, he was alone. Wanda had refused to accompany him. For another thing, his entire attitude toward Worthy had undergone several major shifts during the intervening week. He had moved from skeptical to aggrieved to vindictive to what he was now: contrite. He was here to make peace with Cade, to make peace with Worthy. And beyond a mere suspension of hostilities, he was here to offer his support for Worthy in its struggle against Ross Gallup and the entire Newsworthy Burger approach to business. Because, yes, Jeffrey had not appreciated how Worthy had treated him. But, philosophically speaking, with whom would he rather align himself? An establishment perhaps too committed to getting customers’ orders right? Or an establishment utterly indifferent to getting customers’ orders right? Yes, Cade’s zeal had landed him in an untenable, contradictory position, but he needed help, not condemnation.

               And Jeffrey could offer that help. As far as Ross knew, Jeffrey was still deciding whether or not he would assist in bringing Worthy down. But while Ross waited for an answer, Jeffrey would tell Cade all about his uncle’s scheming, warning him about the possibility of paid-off customers surreptitiously recording their complicated orders, waiting to pounce, to ruin him. Jeffrey could tell Cade about Ross’s theories about how Worthy might collapse on its own, too, and they could discuss ways to prevent this from coming to pass. Non-disclosure agreements for servers so they couldn’t blab if they were officially fired for “attitude problems” but actually fired for getting an order wrong? Arranging some sort of legal document narrowly defining what it meant to get an order “wrong” in a way most favorable to Worthy? Reducing the menu to only a few simple items and instituting a strict “no-substitutions” policy? Jeffrey wasn’t sure about the feasibility of his ideas – he was no expert – but he had these and several more written down in the notes app on his phone and he was eager to share them with Cade.

               But as Jeffrey stepped through Worthy’s front door, he found that he had not been the only one experiencing change over the last seven days. Although the dining room was only half-full, a small crowd of people stood around in the foyer waiting to be seated while the hostess sat on a stool with her back to them. She was watching a man in the live-music loft plinking away on a wobbly keyboard that seemed in danger of falling onto someone’s table if the man was not cautious, and he was not being cautious, and he was not playing well, and the volume was significantly louder than the classical guitar had been during Jeffrey’s previous visit.

               Jeffrey approached the hostess stand and resisted the urge to tap the hostess on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said.

               “How many?” the hostess asked without turning around.

               “I’d like to speak to Cade,” said Jeffrey. “Cade Merney. The Lead Manager?”

               “OK,” said the hostess. She rose from her stool and disappeared into the women’s restroom.

               A dark hole opened in Jeffrey’s stomach. A sticky sweat formed on his forehead and the back of his neck.

The door leading from the kitchen to the dining room swung open and out came Preston carrying a visibly broken high chair. It took Jeffrey a moment to recognize the server because he looked different now, although not physically different. “Will this work?” Preston shouted across the dining room to a mother standing near a corner table while holding a struggling toddler. He hoisted the high chair above his head where the whirling blades of a ceiling fan knocked it out of his hands and onto the unprotected head of a bald man seated nearby, splitting it open. The injured man cried out, clutching his wound as the high chair tumbled across his table, spilling everything.

               Then the ceiling fan came loose and fell on a different table, spilling everything.

               Then the keyboard player in the live-music loft, gawking at the spreading chaos, lost track of his keyboard and it fell on the table below, spilling everything.

The keyboardist lunged after the keyboard too late to prevent its fall but with plenty of time to precipitate his own fall, plunging squarely into the mess his keyboard had already caused, breaking the table in half. The keyboard, wirelessly connected to the amp in the loft, continued to bleat and squawk from the food-and-drink-spattered floor as the keyboardist writhed around on top of it, screaming about his collarbone in a way that sounded a bit like lyrics.

As more Worthy employees came strolling out of the kitchen to see what all the noise was about, Jeffrey noticed a man standing at his elbow in a dress shirt and tie. The man’s eyes were closed and he breathed heavily through his nose in a familiar rhythm. He wore a nametag that read, “Cade Merney. Lead Manager.” But Jeffrey didn’t need the nametag to know who Cade was.

He looked that much like his uncle. Their shared genes were strong. Too strong.

Cade Felt Jeffrey’s eyes on him and opened his own. He did not appear to recognize Jeffrey, but why would he? Their only interaction had been over the phone. He seemed content to wait for Jeffrey to speak.

“I’m sorry,” said Jeffrey.

“For what?” asked Cade.

“Maybe I did order sweet potato fries,” said Jeffrey.

Cade gave his head a weary shake, stepped past Jeffrey, and waded into the aftermath of the dining room catastrophe. But as he did, a smell of something other than food burning tickled Jeffrey’s nostrils, an un-kitchen-like hiss came from the kitchen, and for a moment – almost subliminally quick – the television screens flashed an image that appeared to come from decades-old vacation footage.

Jeffrey turned and left. As the door to Worthy swung closed behind him, he heard the sound of Cade firing his employees. First Preston, then the hostess, and then anyone else who crossed his path.

But it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t help. Nothing would.