Mcy D’s Nightmare

(I changed the names in my story)

 I guess it’s somewhat important to know that I’m female. I used to work at a McDonald’s, and I worked the second shift. There was a regular that came to McDonald’s every single week and usually every other day. Needless to say, the guy wasn’t in good shape. He actually kind of grossed me out. He had a dirty beard, and I think facial hair is gross without the added bonus of being grubby. He had a beer gut, and often wore the same vile stained wife beater, which I think used to be white. And in case you don’t know, a wife beater is a tank top. The guy didn’t have an attractive bone in his body, and his attitude wasn’t a prize either.

The guy was a sleazeball. He would hit on all the young female workers, but would actually grimace when we’d make one of the guys ring him up. He’d ask things like “Have you ever gone down on anyone?” Management didn’t really care, this guy brought in practically 50% of our profit with how much food he’d buy, and he wasn’t the only one who’d hit on us. One night when my shift was almost over the guy had come in. I convinced Daniel, a guy who worked the same shifts as me, and was the only other one there at the time, to ring the guy up.  His task was usually to work the drive-through, so he gave me the headset and started to ring the him up.

The entire time the man was telling Daniel his order, he was staring at me. I was standing off to the side near the window so it was quite obvious he was looking right at me. He kept his left hand down by his side, but from where I was I couldn’t see what he was doing. I looked over at Daniel to see if he had saw, but I don’t think he had noticed. I started working on his order to get him out of here as quickly as possible, but he said he wanted to eat in store. When he went to sit down, Daniel had finally noticed what the man was doing with his hand. He hurried over to me, his face was beet red. “Amy that guy was,” he paused for a second, probably thinking about how he was going to word this, and then said slowly, “stroking his member.” My jaw dropped. I was shocked. The only thing I could think of to say was “Really?”

I looked over at the guy to see him staring back. Sure enough, he had his hand in his pants. “Oh my god Daniel.” It was unbelievable. This guy was jacking off, right in front of me and my coworker, while downing a cheeseburger. I told him that we needed to call the police and pulled out my cellphone. As soon as I did, the guy shoved the rest of his burger in his mouth, ripped his hand out of his pants, and pulled the rest of his food into his arms. He bolted out the door, dropping half of his fries along the way. I asked Daniel to call the police, because I was going to call our manager Steven. Our manager and the police both showed up pretty quickly. Steven gave the police the security tapes to find out who he was. Before leaving the officer reminded us to call again if he came back.

  A little while later my shift was finally over, so I head out into the parking lot. I walked over to my car, and what I saw made me freeze in my tracks instantly. My tires were slashed. I went back into the store, angry that someone vandalized my car, right after the police had just left. I was beyond tired, so I decided to just have a milkshake while I waited for an uber. It got here quite quickly, and when I walked by the car I noticed someone in the back of the car. I decided to sit in the passenger seat to avoid awkward conversation. I told the man my address, and I deeply regret that. As soon as the car pulled out of the McDonald’s, I heard the cocking of a gun. I instinctively looked back and my heart sank. It was the guy, whose name I later found out was Travis. He was pointing a gun at me.

I stiffened, I couldn’t talk even if I wanted to, and I felt like throwing up. Travis handed me a piece of duct tape. “Put it over your mouth.” I accepted it from him, not wanting my life to end then and there, and put it on my mouth. I looked at the driver, I felt betrayed, but he was probably this guy’s friend. “Put your hands behind your back.” He said this in a monotone voice, like it was normal. I complied and he wrapped my wrists in tape. I began to sob. I tried to think about how I was going to get out of this, but I was coming up short. I was small, 5’4 and around only 100 pounds. This guy had a gun, looked around 6’, and probably weighed over 200 pounds.

The drive ended abruptly and I was ordered to get out of the car. The man handed the driver 20 bucks and said thanks. He drove off. I remember feeling hurt that who knows what was going to happen to me, all for 20 dollars. The guy pushed me towards an abandoned house by my shoulder all the while shoving the gun into my back. When we got into the house he started to tell me what he planned on doing to me. He stopped and put the gun in his pants. He grabbed my phone and threw it onto the ground, smashing it. He whipped out a flip knife, and severed the tape binding my wrists. He put the blade back in his  pocket and ordered me to take off my clothes. I started to sob again, but I did as he said. He unbuttoned his pants and again began to masturbate. He wasn’t pleased with the how fast I was undressing, so he tore my shirt off and ripped the tape from my lips to kiss me. My lips started to bleed because of the skin he had just ripped off. He slid his hand down my pants and began to rub on me.

 Amidst the feeling of repulsion I realized I had an opening. I acted quickly and ripped the knife out of his pocket, flipped it open and slashed at him. He started to scream, he had a big gash on his arm. I pushed past him and hauled ass. I ran still clenching the knife in my hand. I sprinted to the closest open business. I barely got out “Call 911!” between my pants and cries. The guy working at the convenience store was standoffish but listened and called the police. He gave me his jacket because I wasn’t wearing a shirt, but at that point, I didn’t even care. He looked at me like I was nuts because of the knife I was still clutching, blood still dripping from my mouth. I took the jacket from him and watched the door like a hawk. Waiting to see if he had ran after me.

I closed the knife, and put it on the table. I didn’t stop crying until shortly before the police got there. Once again I told the police what had occurred, only frantically this time. When they went to check out the house they didn’t find the man, but they found my ripped shirt and my phone, and a pool of his blood on the ground. I told them he knew where I lived, so an officer reassured me he would keep an eye on my house. I didn’t sleep anymore than an hour that night. Every time I closed my eyes I would feel his hands on me. I quit my job at McDonald’s, and moved back to my parents house. They found the man and soon I will have to testify in his trial. Usually people say something like “I hope we never meet again,” but I want to make sure this guy is put behind bars for the rest of his life.

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