Peeled

Mika looked up from his keyboard when he heard the tap on the window. His first insane thought was that someone was knocking, but then he came to his senses, remembering he was on the 7th floor. However, the tap had been loud and startled him. He rubbed his eyes, and stretched. He stood and walked across the small, dingy room towards the only source of light. It was a murky sort of day, with heavy clouds stretched out to the horizon. The sun had yet to show itself, and the day was almost at an end.

Looking out of the window, all he could see were the corn fields, stretching out for miles. He didn't know what had caused the tap, and didn't much care. He really needed to finish his work, before it was too late. He glanced around the room for his coffee cup, which he spotted lying on top of a pile of books. The room wasn't untidy, or so thought Mika. He would say, lived in. Books were stacked in every corner, but neatly, thought Mika. The glow from his computer screen lit up the remnants of his lunch – a small piece of stale bread and half an apple. Next to his desk was the bed - perhaps a bit untidy – and on the floor next to it, a potato peeler.

Mika picked it up, wondering how that had got there, and threw it into the small sink in the corner. Then, he grabbed his coffee and returned to his desk. His paper on sub-atomical dysonian plasma waves was far from completed. He still needed to find three reference papers and write his main idea. Professor Gentil was a real hard-ass, and had refused his request for an extension, saying that his reason wasn't valid. Mika worked most nights in the local café. But he'd quit two days previously. He simply couldn't keep up with the course work. He believed he could manage precariously for a few weeks until spring break, then he could find another job.

He had just found one of the reference papers he had been searching for when he heard another tap on the window. This time, he raced to the window, or at least he wanted to. Getting up, he sent his still half-full coffee cup flying over some of his books.

"Damn," he muttered, grabbing a load of paper towels and attempting to mop up the now coffee stained books. He was interrupted yet again by another tap on the window. This time, he thought he heard a shout.

He opened the window and looked down. Standing in the middle of the small square at the bottom of his building was Mr Volkov, his old boss. Mr Volkov was a squat man in his fifties. He constantly had an unlit pipe stuck between his teeth.

"Mika," he yelled, his voice echoing around the square. "I've been trying to call you!" he added, his slight Russian accent noticeable.

"Mr Volkov?" Mika said, astonished. "What are you doing here?"

"I need you to come back to work!" Mr Volkov shouted back.

Mika shook his head. This was crazy. Mr Volkov had never shown much interest in Mika, who had only worked a couple of months in the small café before. In fact, Mika was sure they had barely spoken since the first interview. Mr Volkov was very much the strong silent type. Mika had just prepared the food for Mr Volkov to cook and served some tables. Nothing any other twenty year old couldn't do. So why was Mr Volkov standing at the foot of Mika's building, five miles from his café on a random Thursday afternoon?

"I can't Mr Volkov," Mika yelled back, his voice catching from the shouting. "I've got exams!"

To Mika's great astonishment, Mr Volkov got down on his knees and raised clasped hands together as if praying.

"Please Mika, I need you!"

"Sorry Mr Volkov!" Mika shut the window and went back to his desk, staring at his monitor, but not thinking about what was written on it, but about Mr Volkov's strange reaction. He didn't have much time to dwell on it however, because after only a few seconds, the intercom for his apartment buzzed. Still bemused, he pressed the button to accept the call.

"Mika, please, I'll pay you double what you were making!"

"Mr Volkov, I'm sure you can find someone else to-"

"There is no one else!" Mr Volkov cut him off, a shade of anger in his voice now. "It is you I need Mika! Come with me now, I will pay you well!"

For the life of him, Mika couldn't understand why he wanted him so much. The promise of double pay was enticing for sure, but Professor Gentil's wrath was a much more ominous consequence of messing up this paper.

"I'm sorry Mr Volkov, but my answer is no." He cancelled the call.

Mr Volkov stayed for almost an hour outside Mika's building. He buzzed constantly, but Mika ignored him. Occasionally, he glanced out the window and saw his former boss walking around the courtyard, waving his arms and muttering to himself. Eventually, he got in his car and drove away at speed.

Mika waited an hour to make sure he was really gone, and decided to go get some food. There was a small burger joint not far from his building he was rather fond of. Well, he was fond of the cheap prices at any rate. The burgers were greasy, but quite nice really.

The place was almost empty, which surprised Mika, who knew that they did steady business. Up at the counter, he ordered a cheeseburger and fries.

"Sorry, I can't do fries," the girl behind the counter said. "We haven't got any."

Mika stared. What a strange day. Who had ever heard of a burger joint running out of fries? As he thought this, he spotted behind her a shelf which held a large carton of potatoes. He pointed to them.

"Can't you make some with those?" he asked, but the girl just shrugged.

"I just work here."

He left, feeling slightly disappointed. He had a craving for some good old French fries. He decided to go to McDonald's instead. For this though, he had to use his car.

It was a short drive and he reached McDonald's just as the light started to fade. He looked up as he got out of the car, but the clouds still dominated the sky. He could guess where the sun was supposed to be, as its light just made it through the dense canopy.

He reached the counter, noticing that this place was also fairly empty. He ordered a Big Mac.

"You can have the burger but I'm afraid we've run out of fries," the guy behind the counter said.

Something was definitely wrong now. Who had heard of McDonald's running out of fries?

"You don't have any potatoes left?" Mika asked, feeling desperate now.

"Potatoes?" the guy said, looking confused. "Of course we do."

"So, erm, why don't you make some more fries?"

The guy now looked even more confused.

"With potatoes? How?"

Mika stared at him. This had to be some kind of joke.

"You peel them," Mika said slowly.

The guy just stared at him. He was about to say something when the door burst open behind them. To Mika's enormous surprise, Mr Volkov entered the restaurant, red faced and panting.

"There… You… Are," he managed. "Mika, please come back, you are the only person who can make fries!"

"You can make fries?" the guy behind the counter said, his eyes wide. "Hey," he called to the people in the kitchen behind him. "This guy can make fries!" He turned back to Mika. "Do you want a job?"

"I, erm…"

"No!" Mr Volkov said vehemently. "He works for me!" And he grabbed Mika by the arm. "Come on Mika! You will live in my apartment, and I shall give you everything you want. I will pay you in gold if you'd like!"

"Wait, wait, WAIT!" Mika yelled, as Mr Volkov attempted to drag him along. Everybody had come out to see what was going on now. "Are you all telling me that you don't know how to make fries?" he asked, his voice high with disbelief. "Mr Volkov, I've seen you make fries countless times, what are you talking about?"

"Show us!" one person said. "Show us how to do it!"

Mika, still sure this was some bad prank, went into the kitchen. They all followed as one. He picked up a potato peeler, a potato and peeled it quickly. Then he chopped the potato into chips and threw them in the hot oil. Nobody spoke, they all stared at him in amazement. When he pulled them out a few minutes later, he set them down on the counter.

"Help yourselves," he said, gesturing.

Everybody tried a fry. None of them took their eyes off him.

"How did you do that?" the guy asked.

"It is much too hard," Mr Volkov said.

"This guy is going to be rich," a girl said.

Mika couldn't believe this. Not one of these people could understand how he had done it. How he had made the fries. And yet, still nobody jumped out at him and yelled "You've been pranked."

Everyone was still staring at him. Mika decided it was time to leave. He no longer felt hungry. He managed to slip away but the others started following him. As he made for the door, Mr Volkov grabbed his arm, but Mika shrugged him off. He ran towards the door, wrenched it open and sighed with relief as he reached his car. As he started the engine, he saw all the employees of McDonald's and his old boss calling after him. He stepped on the gas and drove away.

He drove a few miles down the road, deciding against going back to his place, he turned instead towards his friend Caroline's place. When Mika rang the doorbell, Caroline's husband Kevin opened the door. He smiled when he saw Mika, and after a few pleasantries they headed inside.

"Mika," said Caroline warmly. She was sitting in a chair feeding their small son Evan. "How nice to see you. Will you join us for dinner?"

Mika felt better now, and he sighed as he plopped down in a chair. He started to tell the whole story and laughed at the absurdity of it as he spoke, expecting the others to laugh with him. He stopped sharply though when Caroline and Kevin threw each other a look. Both had a look of bemusement on their faces, neither of them was smiling.

"Wait," Caroline said, pausing in the act of spooning mushed vegetables into Evan's mouth. "Are you telling us that you know how to make fries?"

Mika started to speak then stopped. Caroline couldn't be in on the joke, this was too much.

"I'm sorry," he said, trying to keep his voice casual. "I've just remembered I've got a paper to finish."

He got back in his car but didn't go home. Instead he called every restaurant in a thirty mile radius. He wanted to be absolutely sure. They all said the same thing. He called the factories which fabricated the ready-made fries. They all said the same thing. After hours of calling all these different places, he made his decision, and headed to the nearest store, ready to buy as many potatoes as he could get his hands on.