If this were Mac and Cheese it would be called A "Rough Kraft."

But it is not Macaroni is it? Anywho, a more completed version of The Late Shift .
Voila!

____________________________________________________________
The Late Shift

I don't even remember wanting this job. It is a strange affliction, realizing all at once that you hate everything you do. It hits you in a sort of crippling, enfeebling manner. When you die, you don't die all at once. Your heart shuts down, and after that all of your necessary functions begin to end. Some Doctors actually theorize that the Brain is one of the last vital functions in your body to go. After all of this, many of your useless functions continue to act, your nails, your hair, you get the idea.
This basic idea can be applied to the late shift. You get here, and have every ounce of you body prepared to be the best associate you can be. You want to be the talk of the store, you want your manager to come hug you and say " Oh, Dear, We had a 2000 dollar night thanks to you!" You want to see your co-workers and partners in death acting like your underlings, coming to you for every answer. You want to be something original, the fresh face of this corporation. You look at the entrance and dare a snarky customer to invade your turf. Yet again, you are the shining Knight of the nighttime food service industry. You gladly fill orders, you smile, you take on extra duties.
Then it happens, you make your first little mistake. You forget to hand them a cup, something simple that crushes your streak. Your heart goes into palpitations. You smile, shrug it off, and attempt to continue. Carefully, meticulously, browsing over everything you do with a simple yet overdone second glance. You get nervous, and fault yet again. Your heart shuts down.
Now you are struggling to do anything correctly, and everyone around you is assuring you that you've done absolutely correct. None of these attempts amounts to anything, as it is much too late to revive your stopped heart. You continue to work frantically, caring only to finish without another accident. You dread yourself and everything you do, every ounce of your body telling you to quit, with only your brain pushing your useless anatomy forward. The brain has its limits, of course, and soon your muscle system falls apart, and you have a hard time even cleaning up your own mess. What’s worse, you can't even begin to clean up the mess of others. Your brain is strained, and you begin to look at every customer as hostile. "Oh, of course you are ordering that..." or "I'm not even taking this customer, she's yours..."
Your brain has a revolution, demanding sleep, demanding the end of this hell. Your body has no defense, and as it comes time to close the shop, you can do little besides drag your body around and crudely wipe, mop, and sweep the filth that has accumulated over the day. Tasks, which seemed so simple to perform only hours ago, have become quotidian and mundane. You finish, you drag yourself to your car, cursing. You strain what little energy your legs have left, and drive home. Climbing in bed, you promise yourself you will quit tomorrow. You hurt so much you can no longer sleep naturally, and take pills to finally shut down your brain. During this time your brain is still having a revolution, screaming at you to never do this again, to become a human again. It has its limits, and it quits, shuts down, and you sleep.
You wake up refreshed, awoken from happy dreams of your childhood. You feel happy to see on your planner that you work today. Because today is the day that you are the best employee you can be, and your brain agrees.