Lance stared at his manager, utterly flabbergasted. "I have to work at McDonald's?!" he exclaimed, his voice high-pitched with disbelief. It almost sounded like he might throw up. His manager, unfazed, nodded calmly. "It's a part of your public image campaign, Lance. You’ve got a new album to promote. 'Never the Same.' This will help you connect with a different crowd."

Lance shook his head vigorously. "No way. I’ve never even been inside one of those places, let alone worked there," he lied through gritted teeth. Truth be told, McChicken sandwiches and Oreo McFlurries had been his guilty pleasures since his breakup. It was embarrassing, but he wasn’t about to admit it now.

"Trust me, it’ll help you," the manager persisted. "Think of it as an opportunity to show a more grounded side of you. It’ll boost your image. You’ll be fine."

But Lance could already feel the knot tightening in his stomach. "No," he repeated stubbornly, turning away.

Hours later, Lance felt like the universe had conspired against him. The uniform felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of everything that had gone wrong. He looked more like a clown than Ronald McDonald himself. Still, there was no escape. He was here, in the middle of the chaos that was McDonald's, with no idea how to navigate it. The buzzing fryers and the constant hum of the registers were overwhelming.