Christina loads a Linkin Park CD in the boombox, twists the volume to max presses play then turns to her friend “Christian! We kinda look like each other, you know? Our brown skin and dark curly hair.” The teenagers stare at themselves in the break room mirror “You’re prettier,” Christian whispers. “Let’s switch nametags,” Christina demands. “Someone will know,” he’s adamant. “Pfft. We’ll get away with it.” She pins her nametag on him. “Now I’m Christian, and you’re Christina.” Laughter ensues Rowdiness dominates the grill Fake Christian runs around singing screaming like Chester Bennington The restaurant crew acts like ninjas in battle handling fast-food orders to watching, confused customers Days later, a mystery shop returns zero score with a stinging memo: “That little Christian girl… is an issue.” But there was no little Christian girl there was a Christina but it made little sense Christian’s a guy three times Christina’s size “That mystery shopper fucked up.” The novice manager concluded, ripping the mystery shop up “Told ya.” Christina tells Christian quickly kissing him “Now you’re my boyfriend.”
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