Mashed

Long, winding roads cut deep through trees like veins, veins merge into arteries and a number of these cholesterol-laden arteries ultimately lead to the heart of Dixie. Dozens of towns and cities are scattered across the states in the blessed Southlands of North America. There is a locally owned restaurant and bar that sits in the middle of just one of these towns. The restaurant serves as the main eatery for most of the community. This thriving business is having a special offer tonight, the same as every other Halloween night that preceded this one. Any customer ordering food while wearing a full Halloween costume will receive their meals half-off from the menu price. Patrons wearing only a partial costume or just simply wearing a mask with an otherwise normal outfit will be granted access to the illustrious salad bar. The understated white sign on top of the establishment reads, “Mom and John’s” in Blue and Red lettering.

Mom, also known as Leanne “Sour” Gurdy, has been a staple of this lovely hamlet since after her honeymoon with Kent “Big Daddy” Gurdy. She received her Certification of Marriage and Highschool Graduation within 31 hours of one another. “Big Daddy” dragged her around like a prized pony for several years and her ordinarily sweet disposition soured into what the town’s people know and revere today. All the money and status in the south could not bring it back. She had been stripped of her personal agency. A decade after being handed her diploma, she handed divorce arrangements to a nonplussed Kent Gurdy. Two weeks later to the day “Big Daddy” drank a big bottle of single-malt scotch and drove his big truck into Gorman’s Gulch right outside of town. He didn’t perish that day, at least not where it counts. His truck had an after-market reinforced steel cage around the cab. He rang his bell and had to call a wrecker to flip his truck over so he could drive it home. Embarrassed and defeated he moved to Bowling Green, Ohio with the other losers. He still sends Mom alimony checks to this day. Leanne kept the house and became more adventurous. She started living for herself and took kick-boxing classes. It is there where she met her next husband John Voight, a second-generation Italian immigrant and absolutely no relation to the famous actor. After an intense sparring session where Mom roundhouse kicked Nancy Filmore into oblivion, John professed his undying love to Leanne. Shortly after every student left for the day the two engaged in sexual congress on top of the used wrestling mats. The pair have been inseparable ever since.

Cars and trucks alike circle the packed parking lot like sharks looking for an empty spot to dive in. A Frankenstein and Ripley from the Alien movies are driving a Chevrolet Colorado. They give a short and deliberate *honk* to a Dodge Caravan. The passenger van being driven by Agents Mulder and Scully from the X-files were getting too close to their bumper when they were backing up to leave the lot. A family of Hobbits enters through the front door of the diner being held open by an eerily grinning Freddy Kruger. There is a huge turnout. This is one of the most anticipated days of the year. Most people work year-round on their outfits. "It's not about the discounted food, it's about the experience," says a father to his wife and two sons. The four of them are sitting down dressed as Magic Mystery Tour era Beatles, the Mother is George Harrison.

Behind the restaurant is the Employee’s parking lot. A wide gravel strip with an old county dumpster in the back corner where the waitresses congregate to deliberate on race relations and foreign policy while sharing a single Marlboro Ultra-light cigarette. A rusted black Ford Ranger comes to a stop. The brakes screech like a framing hammer sliding down a tin roof from obvious neglect and misuse. Inside the cab of the truck, the driver rips a piece of black electrician’s tape and presses it to his upper lip, and observes himself in the rear-view mirror. Now donning a make-shift mustache, he grabs the rest of his work attire and runs into the back door of the building that leads into the kitchen. He knows the back door will be at least cracked open because Hector, one of the other cooks, likes to have a smoke in between flips of the steak. He is late for his shift and does not want to be confronted by his manager, John of “Mom and John’s”. He has a history of tardiness and this could be the last plastic nail in the decorative coffin for Dylan and his job as one of the line cooks. Mom herself said, "one more time I have to see you and you're out of here." She then drew a thumb in a line across her neck.

He surreptitiously walks behind the dishwashers, hides behind a fry cook, and ducks a tray of Oysters Rockefeller before lunging to his station as a potato cook. He barks his shin on the shelf below and rubs it while looking at all the other kitchen personnel wearing detailed costumes of different varieties. Michael Myers is standing behind the grill flipping a steak, that would be Hector. Pennywise the clown is using a blender to make milkshakes, and Smokey and the Bandit are both preparing Cajun chicken pasta for an order. Dylan sighs with relief then puts on his ordinary chef’s hat that he would be wearing regardless of the holiday. Finally, he pulls out an old red bandana and ties it around his neck. He looks across the metal table and sees Dina dressed as Lucille Ball, chopping carrots. Their eyes meet, he gives her a meager smile and she reciprocates by shaking her head in disbelief of his effort in punctuality and choice of tonight’s attire before continuing her task.

Dylan gives a sigh of relief then rolls his sleeves up and slides an enormous pot in front of himself. He picks up a sharp paring knife to begin peeling the mountain of potatoes that are to his side. As he slices into the first spud a heavy hand claps him on the shoulder. Being startled, he almost cuts the potato completely in half and well through his fingers. Luckily, it stopped just halfway through. Dylan solemnly turns around and finds himself chest to chest with Count Dracula, the Bella Lugosi iteration.

With his cape laid over his shoulders, he towers over the child.

“Just get here whenever you can Dylan, take your time we’ll all just wait for you. It's ok, I have all the time in the world.”

“John, listen I really am sorry I…”

“That’s right your sorry! Who are you supposed to be anyways?” He says while looking him over. The black piece of tape is now starting to slide off his sweaty lip.

“Chef Boyardee...” Dylan says under his breath. John leers at this mustachioed caricature of his heritage.

“Dylan, this is one of the busiest nights of the year and we have three goddamn ghostbusters out there, right now, that have no mashed potatoes with their meals!”

“I know, I’m about to start right now. I’ll get them out as…”

“You get them out in five minutes, and I won’t tell Mom that she has a potato cook that can’t even show up on time! Poor Zachary had to work over thirty minutes to cover for your lazy ass!” Ass came out like azz through his fangs. Dylan’s fingers that are gripping the knife begin to squeeze the handle until his knuckles turn white. “I’ll get right to it John.” The Count sucked at his costume teeth to align them and went back out through the swinging double doors. Turning back to his station, his eyes meet again with Dina’s. This time he looks for anything in her expression that shows that she might have the slightest sympathetic thought on her mind. No dice, she just curls her lips while looking ashamed and unintentionally nails her Lucy character.

Dylan Piedmont Schafer was fired from his first job the same day he was hired. Mrs. Nayers at the end of his street offered him Twenty dollars a week if he would cut her grass and pull the weeds from her garden bed. Dylan agreed to the obligations and went to work. After thirty minutes and no sound of the lawnmower, Mrs. Nayers decided to go outside and check on the boy. What she saw horrified her for the rest of her life. He had taken her gardening shears and pruned the purple heads off of every one of her beloved Negrita Triumph tulips. When she screamed it startled him. To which he answered, "What's wrong? You said get the weeds up." A year later his uncle got him a job as a valet at his country club. Besides the few dings and dents on certain member's vehicles, he did fine. Until one day a man walked up to him from the street and said, “hand me the Porsche keys.” Dylan, too busy trying to see the female club members exiting the pool, simply handed them over. The man said, "Thanks kid" and handed him a fiver. He lasted one week this time. Going for broke, he walked into "Mom and John's" and asked for an application. Mom looked at him up and down and said, "No." John looked at the obvious screw-up of a kid and felt bad for him. Dylan reminded John of kids he grew up with that just needed a shot, some kind of solid guidance in their life. Dylan was hired on Independence Day weekend and John has regretted it ever since.

With his ass-chewing out of the way and job still somewhat intact Dylan adjusts his chef hat, presses his fingers down on his mustache again in the manner of Gomez Addams, and gets right to task. He picks up right where he left off and begins peeling each potato and slicing them to add them to the pot. After several minutes of repeating this mind-numbing process and some careful knife work on Dylan’s part, he now has enough peeled potatoes to boil and mash. Mom and John pride themselves on their real mashed potatoes, none of those "skin-flakes" in a box. Dina looks up and sees him hard at work and gives him the faintest of smirks. He looks up just in time to catch her looking away. Her carrots and onions look like perfect little circles to him. After mashing the soft white potatoes, he begins to add cream, milk, and butter to whisk them together. He adds a little too much and he quickly begins whisking the mix. His breathing is starting to feel a little labored, but he persists. Dylan is starting to like the consistency he’s getting and glances up again to see Dina’s eyes looking different now. They are really relaxed and looking straight down at his hands. He is perplexed. Then she leans forward and seems to rub her groin on the side of the table. Dylan can’t believe what he’s seeing. He raises one eyebrow and looks down at the phallic handle of the whisk and it dawns on him. She’s getting off on him pulling the handle up and down and spinning around. She must be a nymphomaniac he thought. The thought aroused him greatly. He couldn’t believe that what he was doing is somehow turning on this obvious babe. He then starts whisking faster and faster and overextending with every stroke, really hamming it up. Her eyes begin to cross and she bends over the table even more and places her hands on the table for support. Her eyes begin to wince and tear up in apparent ecstasy. Dylan cannot believe that the act of simulated masturbation is turning Dina on so much. The thought encourages him to give it all he’s got now. His whisking of thick mashed potatoes has turned into him hand-mixing mortar. She puts her knife down now and grabs with both hands two carrots and looks up with small tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Nirvana is written all over her face. Dylan can sense that the climax is near, and he needs just a little extra force to finish the job that he has inadvertently started. He props one foot on the metal bottom shelf underneath the table for extra leverage and begins to spin the entire taffy of mashed potatoes in his pot. Dina begins to breathe deep and hard. He knows this is it, this is his time. He is the reason for this woman's orgasm. He cannot stop now.

The handle on the large metal whisk snaps in two, his hand flies out of the pot and into the air. His foot slips down the metal shelf. He drops the pot on the table, it lands on its side. He turns to catch himself on the ground. With whisk handle still in his fist, he lands face-down on the dirty, greasy floor. The created sharp-end of the whisk has gone through his sternum plate and nicked a lung. The shiv is now an inch from his beating heart. He tries getting back to his feet, but the blood pouring out of his chest wouldn’t allow him to get a grip on the tile floor. Dina takes one long breath and sneezes loud. *HA-CHOO!* She walks around the table while rubbing her nose and asks Dylan, “what the hell are you doing? Are you ok?” The dense pot of mashed potatoes now rolling on its side has finally reached the end of the table. It falls squarely on Chef Boyardee’s back with a dull thud.

The kitchen full of characters stands still and looks at the scene. Blood now seeps in all directions from the potato cook lying still on the floor. John throws the double doors open again and sees his entire staff looking at the floor. He paces around the table and beholds the carnage. "What the hell happened here?" He is met with faces just as confused as his own. In the restaurant “Monster Mash” by Bobby Pickett is playing over the speakers.