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“I’ll have - I’ll have - have - ha - ha,” I stuttered, staring at the menu.

The cashier shifted her head slightly, but her smile full of gleaming teeth never wavered.

“The burger,” I said to the cashier. Stupid, stupid, stupid, this restaurant had at least fifteen types of burger.

“Which burger?” the cashier asked calmly.

“The, the, the,” I said repeatedly.

I heard a sigh behind me and instinctively looked around. A tall, unkempt, slouching man was next in line.

“Sorry, I-” I began to say to the man.

He replied, “Take your time,” in a monotone voice.

I clenched and unclenched my fist rapidly. My mouth hung open. I could feel sweat clinging to my shirt.

I was breathing heavily. I was breathing rapidly. I was breathing and breathing and breathing.

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the sounds of deep frying, the smells of grease.

Breathing. Breathing. Breathing. I could control that. That was me.

I took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

Yes.

I was in control.

I turned around to face the cashier.

“Any reccomendations?” I asked.

“The fish sandwich is pretty popular, it’s limited edition.”

My face twisted in horror.

I was allergic to fish.

This was written in 15 minutes during a Joy of Writing meetup.