"Goddammit, people!" shouted Manager Fred, bursting through the front doors of the restaurant. "Can I go out for a cup of coffee for five minutes without you people screwing things up?"
"With all due respect, sir," said Hank, trying to make himself heard over the roar of the crowd, "we do have a coffee machine in the corner that…"
"I want coffee that doesn't stand a chance of turning me into a girl, Hank. Not after that time you screwed up the filtration device." Fred slapped a bucket out from the other man's grasp. "Now stop stuffing your fat face with chicken and tell me what the problem is!"
"Well, sir, for one thing, the union's banging on our door again."
"What about this time?" groaned Fred, cramming himself into the office hidden in the back room.
"They say that it's unethical of us to hire walking sacks of meat that hate people and would rather envelop and absorb them messily than serve hamburgers to them."
"Tell 'em that they work for free, and that we've only lost ten people in the last three weeks," deflected Fred, brushing a retirement notice from Rights off of his desk. "What else?"
"The woman from Kansas is trying to sue us for selling 'SCP-173's Crunchy Mexican Tacos" that broke her husband's throat…"
"He was clearly eating too fast!"
"Mrs. Lambwith is suing us for serving her a Brightburger that still had the sexual lubricant when she plainly asked for none…"
"That's the employee's problem, not mine."
"And the FDA is trying to shut us down for selling products that contain meat derived from SCP-835," Hank concluded, pushing the reports onto his boss's desk.
Fred blinked. "Look, just write up another report filled with [DATA EXPUNGED]s and let 'em spend another few months trying to figure it out." He slammed his fist on the desk. "Are there any problems that don't pertain to lawsuits? Problems we can actually fix right now?"
"Well," coughed Hank, looking around nervously. "We've got the issue of the tomatoes trying to kill Conan O'…"
"That don't deal with lawsuits."
"Cassy wants a pay raise!" blurted Hank.
Fred shook his head wearily. "That'll be the sixth time in the last year. She's just on the bloody coffee cups. It's not like she's a cashier or anything. Pass on that one."
"Speaking of cashiers, Bright managed to transfer himself to one of the customers. Again."
"Fire the old body and have Gears take care of the payroll for the new guy. Next."
"The county is complaining about the giant 682 statue outside frightening traffic away, Cain is demanding access to the building again, and the…"
"Hank!" shouted Fred, jumping up and grabbing the other man by the collar. "Do we have any good news today! My blood pressure's high enough as it is, and…"
"The Very Fine special has been a big hit with the test crowds without killing anyone, sir!" screamed Hank, tears in his eyes. Fred set him down, patting him on the head.
"Good boy!" he exclaimed. "See, once you get to know your boss, you just need to tell him what he wants to hear. Keep that up!"
"We also released the Ableburger today. It was a resounding success."
"Hank, you're sweating. What's the problem?"
Hank took a deep breath, and blurted all at once, "SCP-231 is claiming her time as a fryer is cruel and unusual, Kondraki's butterflies have been infecting the food, and the Stairwell Burger is causing people to hear screaming in the women's bathroom!"
Fred let out a deep sigh, contemplated his navel for a few moments, and said at length, "So a little bit of good news surrounded by complete chaos that we can barely contain?" Hank nodded. "Just another day at Foundation Burger."
The Agent who went by the code name Sauce Jockey beamed at the Head of the SCP Foundation as the logo for Foundation Burger ran across the end of his video. The Head was grasping at his temples, trying desperately to not let the red in his face show. At length, he spoke in a low voice.
"So… that is your proposal for a new cover agency?"
"Yes sir!" said Sauce Jockey, crossing his arms across his chest and standing up straighter.
"Remind me to ban McDonald's food from the break room. You're fired."
Agent Sauce Jockey's eyes widened for a moment. He shuffled out of the room, sure it was all just a joke, that the Head of the Foundation had loved the video.
When he was sure he was alone, the Head pressed the intercom button on his desk. "Miss Jones, send a small shipment of SCP-504 to Conan O'Brien."