Chương 4
I photographed the condition of the hardwood floors.
I photographed every wall.
At work, documentation prevented arguments.
People remembered cracked tiles differently after a contractor invoice arrived.
People remembered freezer temperatures differently when an inspector asked questions.
Families, apparently, were no different.
I created a folder on my phone labeled BELLEVUE.
That name made the whole thing feel disturbingly professional.
Then I called a local storage company.
The woman who answered sounded young and exhausted.
“Northwest Secure Storage, this is Tasha.”
“I need a climate-controlled unit for about two weeks.”
“What size?”
“I’m storing a sectional sofa, two chairs, a coffee table, a console, lamps, and some boxes.”
“Probably ten by fifteen.”
“Do you have one available today?”
Keyboard tapping.
“Yeah.”
“Can I start immediately?”
“Sure.”
She gave me the rate.
It was less than one night of the cabin I was no longer occupying.
I paid.
That was phone call number one.
The second went to a moving company I had used once when we relocated office furniture between two restaurants.
A man named Luis answered.
He remembered me.
“McDonald’s guy.”
“That’s me.”
“You moving another office?”
“Living room.”
“Your house?”
“No.”
He waited.
I appreciated that he did not ask more.
“I need everything wrapped carefully and moved into storage.”
“When?”
“Today, if possible.”
“You get divorced?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He sounded disappointed by the lack of story.
“I got two guys finishing a job in Kirkland around noon.”
“That works.”
“Nothing crazy heavy?”
“Sectional, two chairs, coffee table, console.”
“Stairs?”
“No.”
“Easy.”
I gave him the address and the storage location.
That was phone call number two.
For phone call number three, I hesitated.
Not because I doubted what I wanted.
Because this one made it real.
I scrolled through my contacts until I found MARCUS—FACILITIES.
Marcus Bell handled regional equipment disposal, surplus storage, and the bureaucratic afterlife of restaurant furniture.
He answered with a suspicious, “What broke?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s worse.”
“I need to borrow some retired fixtures from Redmond.”
“For what?”
“Training.”
The lie came out too quickly.
I closed my eyes.
Marcus did not respond.
He had worked with me for six years.
He could detect nonsense through concrete.
“What kind of training?”
“Temporary mock layout.”
“Where?”
I stared at Mom’s living room.
“Private property.”
“Daniel.”
“I’ll sign equipment responsibility.”
“You’re already responsible for half the junk in that unit.”
“Then we’re saving paperwork.”
He groaned.
“What do you want?”
I listed the items.
“Why do you need the counter panels?”
“Visual realism.”
“What realism?”
“A customer-environment exercise.”
That was worse than the first lie.
Marcus laughed.
“Are you building a fake restaurant?”
“Sort of.”
“Where?”
“Bellevue.”
“Your apartment?”
“No.”
“You live in Seattle.”
“I know where I live, Marcus.”
“Whose place?”
I rubbed my forehead.
“My parents’ house.”
Silence.
Then one quiet word.
“Why?”
I could have lied again.
Instead I said, “They went on the cruise I organized without me and left me their dog.”
Marcus made no sound for a moment.
“They did what?”
“They transferred my cabin to my sister’s friend.”
“That the sister who called you Burger King at the Christmas dinner?”
“Burger Boy.”
“Worse.”
“I’m not damaging anything.”
“I did not ask that.”
“I’m telling you.”
“What exactly are you planning to do?”
“Turn their living room into something resembling a McDonald’s dining area.”
There was another silence.
Then Marcus started laughing so hard he had to move the phone away from his mouth.
I waited.
He came back still catching his breath.
“You cannot use current branding.”
“I know.”
“You cannot represent it as an operating restaurant.”
“I know.”
“You cannot plug commercial equipment into residential circuits.”
“I don’t want equipment.”
“You can borrow retired tables and fixtures if they’re tagged surplus.”
“That’s all I need.”
“The digital displays?”
“Menu visuals.”
“No current pricing.”
“Fine.”
“No active company promotions.”
“Fine.”
“And I want photographs when it’s done.”
“No.”
“That’s my fee.”
“You work for the same company I do.”
“Photographs.”
“One.”
“Three.”
“Two.”
“Deal.”
He told me he would email the temporary equipment transfer form.
I filled it out at Dad’s kitchen table.
Under PURPOSE, I wrote PRIVATE TRAINING DISPLAY.
It was technically vague enough to survive.
At nine fifty-five, Owen pulled into the driveway in a dented blue pickup he had borrowed from his brother.
He climbed out wearing jeans, an old Mariners shirt, and the expression of a man arriving at an intervention.
Buddy launched himself at him.
“At least somebody here is happy to see me.”
“Don’t encourage him.”
Owen scratched Buddy behind both ears.
Then he looked through the open front door toward the living room.
“You’re actually doing it.”
“I told you I was.”
“I assumed you’d drink coffee and regain judgment.”
“I did drink coffee.”
“Halfway there.”
We drove separately to the storage unit.
Marcus had already texted the access code.
Inside, retired furniture sat wrapped and stacked beneath fluorescent lights.
The old Redmond location had been remodeled six months earlier, and the previous design suddenly looked much stranger when separated from an actual restaurant.
Wood-look panels leaned against a wall.
Gray chairs were stacked four high.
Small laminate tables stood upside down on one another.
Owen walked slowly between them.
“This is going to look insane.”
“That’s the point.”
“What’s the actual point?”
I stopped beside a counter panel.
The question annoyed me because I did not have an answer that sounded good.
Humiliate them.
Teach them a lesson.
Make them feel what I felt.
All three sounded childish when spoken aloud.
“I want them to see what they’ve been laughing at.”
Owen leaned against a wrapped table.
“They know what McDonald’s looks like.”
“Not what I do.”
“And putting chairs in their living room explains it?”
“No.”
“Then what does?”
I looked around the storage unit.
May you like
For years, my family had treated my work like one long shift at a fryer.
They had no idea I negotiated labor targets, handled vendor disputes, coached general managers, reviewed profit-and-loss reports, approved equipment repairs, managed emergencies, or spent Sunday nights checking performance dashboards while they called Kyle entrepreneurial because he sold three vintage jackets online.
