There is a phrase my friends and I use a lot. We use it when we’re texting, when we’re talking, and when we’re sleep-mumbling. We’re comfortable with the phrase, if you know what I mean. It’s a pattern among chaos, solid ground in thin air.
However, it always seems to create some sort of riot. As soon as the phrase leaves our mouth, mothers scream “shut up!” and children cry. Teachers yell “correct yourself!” and grandmothers turn away.
Who cares, though? Who has time to listen to everyone’s opinion?
So yes, we use this phrase. We use this phrase every second of every day and every day of the year. We say it, whisper it, and holler it. On a good day, you can hear these words echo across the entire world.
“Wash two fries!” the phrase goes, reveberating ominously in the air.
Wait, what?
WTF does that mean?

“Wash two fries,” my boss told me. “Do it fast because there’s a huge line of people waiting. Those dishes better be ready soon! Our customers really want those fries, but they’ve got places to go and people to meet.”
“Sure,” I said, but I didn’t do what he told me to. Instead, I put the two crispy, salty fries in the dishwahser.
“WTF!” my boss hollered twenty minutes later. “I told you to wash THREE fries! Why the heck did you only wash two?”
I was speechless with horror. “I’m so sorry,” I cried, panic welling up in me. “I can’t believe I put those fries in the dishwasher!”

The first time I went to McDonalds’s, I meandered into the bathroom.
“WTF!” The manager screamed when he came in and saw me standing there. “Why did you just put those fries in the toilet? Don’t you know what WTF means?”
“Sir,” I said, “it means ‘wash two fries.’”
“NO!” he roared. “It means ‘What the fu-’”
“There’s little children around,” I pointed out, gesturing towards the cactus that was decorated next to the sink. “Be careful, or Mr. Baby Cactus may just sting you.”
Apologizing profusely to Mr. Baby Cactus, the manager backed out of the bathroom. Alone, I tried to have a conversation with my reflection, but that got tiring after a while.

“I can’t believe you put those fries in the dishwasher!” My boss roared at me.
“In the toilet,” I corrected. Then I realized how terribly worse that was. “I can’t believe I put them in the toilet!”
“Then believe that you didn’t!” my boss screamed.
I tried believing, but the image of Mr. Baby Cactus kept on popping up in my mind like an incessant toddler.
I paced around with my head low, muttering to myself, “Why can’t you concenrate?”
“Because,” my boss replied, looking over his shoulder as he carried a plate of unwashed fries past me, “the fries are soggy.”

When I got home with a twenty thousand paycheck in my hand, my mom asked me, “Why don’t you have any friends? You and your friends should really stop getting paid so much. Like WTF?”
“Wash two fries,” I said, and she went into the kitchen and did just that.
I meandered into my bedroom feeling lost and alone and upset at the world in general. The dark blue wallpaper did nothing to help. I felt like my bed was watching me, so I went into my closet instead. The smell of old ripped jeans, the touch of my silk prom dress, and the darkness of the night - they all felt sinister to me. I almost cried, but then I suddenly remembered Mr. Baby Cactus all alone in the bathroom, and I realized how lucky I was. But that just made me more sad, and so I eneded up crying anyways.
“WTF!” I sobbed. “Why are the fries so soggy?”

“Because,” my boss replied, looking over his shoulder as he carried a plate of unwashed fries past me, “you hate your life. You don’t understand anything that’s going on in this chaotic world. You’re lost, alone, and upset.”
“WTF? When did you become a philosopher?” I asked as I scrubbed away at the dishes.
When he came back carrying a plate of soggy fries, he told me, “I majored in philosophy, kiddo. So don’t ask me anything. Ask a math major instead, and she’ll tell you something.”
“What will she tell me?” I asked. I stopped scrubbing my dishes and stared at him. “What will this math major tell me?”
“She will tell you to get a college degree.”
SMASH! My plate slipped out of my hands and crashed onto the ground. The shards of white china, the chunks of soggy food, and the sprays of soap flew into the air like water in a fountain. They suspended for a magical moment in time in the air, like a beautiful art performance that is infinitely timless yet chaotic. Then they splattered soundlessly onto the oily floor.

“WTF!” I screamed in terror. Mr. Baby Cactus was gone. In his place was Mr. Teenager Cactus, sitting innocently next to the sink.
“I was just going to tell you a story,” I pleaded with him. “A story about timelessness and chunks of food. It was so beautiful, and so sad, and so - so….”
I stumbled to a halt as the toilet suddently flushed. Was there a ghost around here? I glanced around in terror, but all I saw was my pale reflection. Maybe I was the ghost after all.
I looked down at Mr. Teenager Cactus, and realization struck me like a truck. So that’s why Mr. Teenager Cactus wouldn’t talk to me.

“Chaos,” my boss said. “That’s what time is. It’s chaotic and uncontrollable.” Holding a cherry coke in one hand and leaning into the scratchy sofa, he stared defiantly at each of us. Under the dim blue lighting of the employee’s lounge, the red and oily flabs of fat that framed his face was cast in evil shadows.
“No, time is linear,” the math major argued, suddenly leaning forward. “Time is linear because we live in the third dimension. We are free to move up and down, left and right because are are three dimensional beings. But we can only move forward in time, not up, not down, not left or right.”
I glanced at over at her, and all of a sudden, I felt blood rush into my face. I stared at her dark complexion and steady gaze. The way she spoke made me believe in what she was saying, made me want to congratulate her. Suddenly, I had fallen in love with her.
“Yes,” my boss suddenly cried out, and I jumped at hearing his hysterical voice. His face was flushed in a way I had never seen it flushed before. “It’s linear, like linear algebra, like lines! Like y=ax+b! It’s all linear! It makes sense! IT MAKES SENSE!”
“Nothing makes sense in my life except you,” I told the math major, turning back to her.
She finally looked at me, but with a shock I realized that she was crying. Panic crept up inside me. I had to get back to the kitchen, right now. Right now! Her tears were stealing the water away from the fries. I had to save them! Had to make them soggy again!
“Sorry,” I mumbled, standing up and fumbling with my employee’s cap. Words tumbled around in my mouth, and I spewed them out incoherently. “I have to go now. I have to go wash two fries. Or was it three fries? Two or three? Too bad I don’t know. To you, good night!”

“Have I been gone this long?” I moaned. Mr. Teenager Cactus was gone like the wind. In his place was Mr. Businessman Cactus. He had grown a new arm. Under the flickering yellow lightbulb, it almost seemed as though Mr. Businessman Cactus was waving at me.
“It was a privilege to have my heart broken by you!” I moaned, quoting Shakespeare or wherever that came from. “It was, it truly was. How you grew up so fast. So fast! I wanted you to meet that math major, but she never had time. So busy! Maybe you can get a college degree so you can marry her. Marry her! Her name was Mary, or so I think. I think so.”

“WTF!” My boss screamed. “You’re fired! Why did you put those fries in the dishwasher!? You were supposed to WASH them. Not put them wherever you want!”
It was the end of me. I knew this day would come. So I took off my hat and threw it in the sink, watching it sink among those soggy fries floating listlessly in the dirty water.
“WTF,” the customers whispered as I stepped out from behind the door that said EMPLOYEES ONLY on top of it.
“Who’s this guy? What happened to him?” they muttered. “Did this employee kill a man?”
“No,” I said, looking at the people around me. Their faces were dead. Dead and pale and hungry for soggy fries. “No!” I roared. “No! Go get a college degree! Go study a philosophy major! It’s the only thing that’ll matter in life! I promise. I’ve been down to the bathroom and back, and there’s nothing waiting for you except for that philosophy degree.”

Death. What is death?
The definition of death is Mr. Oldman Cactus. He died yesterday.
Dead and cold and gone. Gone like yesterday, gone like those fries I flushed down the toilet. Gone like the ship lost at sea, gone like my memories.
“WTF,” I muttered, pacing around in the bathroom. “Why did you die, Mr. Baby Cactus? I miss you. I miss you so much, but you’re dead, so you have no idea how much I miss you. But I miss you anyways, and I wish that you never grew up. I wish you never got that business degree. I wish you were still with me, Mr. Baby Cactus. But you’re gone, gone, and gone. Gone.”
I finally looked at myself in mirror. And I saw that I was a ghost.