Chapter Text
Christmas break. I absolutely HATED IT. Every second. Because school’s out… which means I’m stuck working full-time at Spuds, the saddest potato-themed restaurant in the tri-county area. Just my luck.
I readjusted my headphones, sighed dramatically (for the 12th time that hour), and stared out our restaurant window across the food court at our sworn enemies: Potato Palace.
Frite was outside their booth, talking to some little kid who kept asking if they could hold her giant “PALACE SPECIALS!” sign. Frite said no. Then said no again. Then screamed “NO!” so loudly the kid screamed back and sprinted to his mom like he’d seen a demon.
Peter Parker stepped out from behind the counter, rubbing his temples like he’d aged 40 years in 4 minutes.
“Frite, please be kinder to kids,” he said, voice cracking like he was one meltdown away from swinging out of the mall entirely.
Frite rolled her eyes so hard they almost fell out.
Inside Spuds, Jerry was adjusting his visor like it was a crown.
“Tater, come here,” he said.
“Yeah…?” I replied, with the emotional range of a damp napkin.
“Check it out. S’mores Spud. Ehhh? EHHH?”
“That’s disgusting.”
“No, it’s beautiful. Right, Augustus?”
“I am Augustus,” he said, gently smashing a potato like it owed him money.
“See? He said it’s genius and—”
The door slammed open.
“What’s up, losers,” Frite announced, strutting in like she owned the food court. “Peter wants to know if you’re making anything ‘new.’ Also, we now have a JUMBO SPUD, so suck it.”
“I—we were making a s’mores spud,” Jerry said, voice cracking. “I kinda like it and—”
“S’MORES?!” Frite cackled, bending over like she needed medical assistance. “S’mores? Spud? You kill me, Jerry Spruce. You kill me.”
“Hey, it’s actually not that bad, Frite…” I muttered.
“Sure. Let’s see one customer buy that crap,” she said, flipping her hair and walking out.
“Good morning to you too!” I huffed.
-
Jerry, to Tater: “So you really like my spud.”
Tater: “No. I was just making it sound a little better.”
Jerry, to camera: “Do you want to try it?”
Producer: “No, I do not. Thank you though.”
Jerry: visibly hurt potato noises
-
Suddenly—
“YO YO YO WHAT’S UP YAM YURT SQUAD!” Mikey’s voice blasted through the food court like a fire alarm.
He was vlogging again. Of course he was.
He held up his phone and a tiny, lopsided cardboard sign that said “YAM YURT” in handwriting that looked like it lost a fight with a crayon.
“Today we’re introducing our NEW FRIED YAMS STUFFED WITH OREOS!” he yelled, echoing through every restaurant like a curse.
He spun toward Spuds.
“Let’s go into Spuds and see how bizz is doin’!”
“No,” I said, blocking the entrance like a bouncer.
“Okay, no Spuds… let’s go to Potato Palac—”
“No,” Frite said from across the court without even looking up.
“Okay, well shoot,” Mikey shrugged. “Let’s go to… ahh! Auntie Annie’s. YO! ANY NEW PRETZELS?!”
Tom, the pretzel guy, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“What do you want, Mikey…”
“I’m just spreading the love of my deep-fried yams stuffed with Oreos.”
“No one’s gonna buy that.”
“Oh hush, Tom, you’re just… just… A SACK OF POTATOES!!!”
Tom blinked. “Wow. A sack of potatoes. So kind.”
“Yeah yeah,” Mikey huffed, stomping away like a toddler denied candy. He then stormed back toward the center of the food court, still recording.
“YAM YURT SQUAD, WE DO NOT LET HATERS STOP US!” he yelled, pointing dramatically at the ceiling like he was calling out the gods.
The camera cut to a shaky close-up of his face.
Mikey, whispering: “Tom hurt my feelings.”
He sniffled. Then immediately perked up.
“ANYWAY! Let’s interview some RANDOM FOOD COURT CITIZENS!”
He spun the camera toward Augustus, who was still smashing potatoes like a medieval blacksmith.
“Sir! Sir! What do you think of my new yam creation?”
Augustus didn’t look up.
“I am Augustus.”
“Right, right,” Mikey nodded. “But what do you think of—”
Augustus slowly raised the potato smasher.
Mikey backed away.
“Okay! He loves it! Moving on!”
-
Frite, staring dead into the camera: “If Mikey points that phone at me one more time, I’m turning him into mashed yams.”
Producer: “You mean mashed potatoes?”
Frite: “No.”
-
Meanwhile, Peter Parker was trying to tape the Potato Palace sign back together after the kid earlier had ripped half of it off.
“Frite, can you please—PLEASE—stop threatening customers,” he begged.
Frite shrugged. “I didn’t threaten him. I just said if he touched my sign again, I’d ‘remove his privileges.’”
Peter blinked. “What privileges?”
Frite: “Exactly.”
Back at Spuds, Jerry was still trying to pitch the s’mores spud.
“Imagine it,” he said, holding up a potato covered in melted chocolate and marshmallow. “A warm, gooey, campfire experience—”
“It looks like it fell in a dumpster,” I said.
Jerry gasped like I’d stabbed him.
“Take it back.”
“No.”
“TAKE IT BACK.”
“No.”
-
Jerry turned to the camera.
Jerry: “This is bullying.”
Producer: “It’s honesty.”
Jerry: "What can you do.." sigh
-
Suddenly, Mikey burst back in.
“GUYS! I HAVE A BUSINESS PROPOSITION!”
“No,” I said.
“No,” Augustus said.
“No,” Jerry said.
“No,” Frite yelled from across the food court.
Peter, exhausted: “What is it, Mikey…”
Mikey grinned.
“YAM YURT X SPUDS X POTATO PALACE COLLAB. HOLIDAY SPECIAL. WE CALL IT… THE TRI-TUBER TREAT.”
Everyone stared at him like he’d spoken in tongues.
“What is that even supposed to be?” I asked.
“A yam… inside a potato… inside a jumbo spud… stuffed with Oreos.”
Frite gagged.
Peter whispered, “Please stop.”
Jerry whispered, “I kinda like it.”
Augustus whispered, “I am Augustus.”
Mikey held up his phone.
“YAM YURT SQUAD, THEY LOVE IT!”
We did not.