Work Text:
“Wash an’ Glo, this is Madelaine, how can I help you?” Maddy barely managed to get her customer voice on when she picked up the phone.
It was sunny, hot as hell, and the middle of pollen season, which meant the Wash an’ Glo was hopping with customers; the main vacuum was full again, and she had one customer who’d forgotten to roll up her rear window before driving through the Kwik-E and was threatening to sue.
“Hi Mad Max,” a male voice said. “Excuse me, do you happen to know what your net profits are on a day like today?”
“Excuse me? I just work here,” Maddy said. She jutted her chin at the customer who was crying about her car’s interior, like it wasn’t her own damn fault. Like Maddy was even allowed to talk to anyone after the word lawsuit left their lips. That was for the owner and his legal counsel. That was company policy, and it was written on a big poster on the wall, but since the woman couldn’t read ROLL UP ALL WINDOWS and SECURE YOUR VEHICLE, Maddy was pretty sure she couldn’t read legal policies either.
Not, Maddy thought, there was anything wrong with not being able to read. The few people Maddy’d met through this job who were actually functionally illiterate (or had dyslexia or something) were pretty sweet about asking for assistance, and didn’t usually chew Maddy’s head off.
“Okay, what’s the most expensive service you offer?”
“Hundred and sixty-three dollars plus tax for a hand wash and wax, detailing, and interiors,” Maddy said, by rote. Most people didn’t get that service, unless they had a really nice car. Or they were showing off. The guy on the phone sounded like both.
“All right,” he said. “Do me a favor, ring that up for… how many we got, Friday? Right, okay, ring me up for three hundred and seventy-nine car washes. Oh, and I need you to clean everyone else out right now. I don’t want to see a car in that lot inside… ten minutes? Can you do that for me, Maddy?”
“Is this a joke?”
“Not even a little. You got a tv there?”
“Yeah, it’s on the Home Improvement channel,” Maddy said. That was a great channel; no one usually had a screaming fit about the Home Improvement network. Unlike, say Fox News, which the owner’s mother preferred.
“Not anymore,” the man said. “Take a gander at what’s coming your way, Mads Mikkelson.”
“What are--” the television clicked itself over to what appeared to be a closed caption tv, with a lot of headsup display. The camera was moving really fast, and the scenery zoomed by. “What is that?”
“That, dear, is me,” the man said. A little popup in the corner of the screen showed one of Tony Stark’s press pictures. “And this, is what I need to take through your drive through.” The picture spun dizzyingly and she was looking backward and upside down at… a line of dozens and dozens… three hundred and seventy-nine?... Iron Legionnaires.
“What the hell?”
“It’s pollen season, and apparently someone was dicking around with the natural order of shit,” Tony Stark -- actualfacts Tony Stark, oh my god! -- said. “ and it’s given them allergies. Clear the lot. We’re coming in hot.”
Maddy smashed the general alarm. (Every single facility in New York City had one of those these days. Helpful when aliens attacked, or super villains went on the warpath. No one ignored a general alarm, even the most hard-headed Brooklynite knew to take fucking cover.)
Even Ms. I’m going to Sue You because I’m an Idiot fled the scene as soon as the alarm sounded.
“Even me, sir?” Maddy asked.
“Who’s going to ring me up, if you’re not there, honey?” Tony asked her. “Just stay down. They mostly want to shoot me. Get the drive thru cranked up full blast, I’m going to take them through just like a train.”
“I’ll just… wait for you on the floor, then. Behind the counter.”
“Good girl.”
Maddy wasn’t stupid. She got on the floor, behind the counter. She also set up the cc tv in the Kwik-E and hit record. Because she wasn’t stupid. There was a fortune to be made with videos of the Avengers.
The noise was incredible.
Maddy clapped her hands over her ears. The sounds of her screaming were lost in the general cacophony.
It didn’t last long.
She was proud that she wasn’t even shaking that much when she got to her feet.
“That’ll be,” Maddy said, “sixty seven thousand, two hundred and sixty one dollars and… uh, thirteen cents, Mr. Stark.”
Tony Stark popped up the faceplate of the Iron Man suit and put on a pair of blue sunglasses. Maddy wasn’t sure where he’d been storing them. Then he offered her a black credit card.
Probably the charge would go through. It was Tony Stark, after all.
Maddy rang him up.
“Thank you,” Tony said. “What’s the standard tip for a -- oh, thank you, Friday.” He jotted something down on the receipt and then signed his name with a flourish. “I’ll recommend your services, if anyone should ask.” He winked at her over the lenses of his sunglasses, grabbed a complimentary cup of coffee and a doughnut on the way out, and waved cheerfully as he used his butt to push the door open.
Maddy wondered if it would be rude to steal the door.
She waved and went to the door to watch him fly away, three hundred and seventy-nine sparkingling clean Legionnaires behind him.
She about choked when she picked up the receipt to put it in the cash register.
Tip: $12,107.00