Salt, fat, sizzle, sear – the components are basic and mandatory. The burger is the star and never let anyone tell you otherwise…even if that someone is a stupid bullshit Goodwill microwave because *someone* (Brenda in HR) is too fucking cheapass to upgrade.

I dont have time for this – Timmons needs a submit by noon for a merge by five because Perkins is absolutely horrible at his job – but fuck Perkins. I want a burger, specifically MY deliciously seared burger from last night, so it’s time to settle in and wait. Triple beep on that idiot machine (fuck you, Brenda) and the microwave power’s at 30% for that slow, deep reheat.

People who say you can’t reheat a burger in the microwave have never learned about power levels. Lower the strength and double the juicy. It works, Brenda, it just takes a while. Staggering lunch breaks is NOT a stupid idea.

Some TV while we wait – Pedro seems to be really doing it dirty to Janessa Maria. Would NOT be surprised if he ends up stabbed with all those side chicas he’s had going for weeks.

Annoyingly, the lunchroom TV cuts from daytime telenovelas to grainy cellphone zooms of movie monsters spilling out of weird machines. I check on my burger – five minutes left and still rotating nicely, despite all expectations – and then focus back on the news again.

Invasion. Aliens. Doom. This channel sucks. Flip through a few, but it’s all the same broadcast – burger doing great – and that’s when I realized what’s happening.

This bullshit castoff Oliver of a microwave is all please-maam-may-I-have-moreing my burger into a dry, shitty crumble. Fuck you, Brenda. Power down even lower, might help, has to help.

Back up to seven minutes and what is this bullshit on the TV. Timmons’ task floats into my head and I kick myself – I didn’t drop those completed components into code review. By the time I get back from that, we’re at four minutes, the burger is lightly sizzling and I’ve realized the entire office is empty.

Fucking corporate yoga. I can even hear them upstairs – graceful, my ass, they sound like elephants tap dancing. Three minutes to heaven, though, so who gives a shit. I think I’ll add some BBQ sauce, just to be heathenous.

I hear a crash from the area near Perkins’ desk, but who cares. The guy is a mess. Two and a half minutes. Looking juicy. Another crash. Did they have a lunch out? Perkins *likes* to drink, why do you think he’s useless after lunchtime?

Flip channels for a bit, but it’s all the same stupid YouTube alien movie promo crap – two minutes, die in a fire, Brenda – so I browse Reddit looking at food pics. Another crash and now it’s starting to seem a bit weird. I glance at the microwave, mouth almost aching – one minute thirty – and sigh. Gotta help Perkins.

Aaaand, nope, that’s an alien. That’s totally, completely, absolutely, how the fuck is that an alien. He’s… she’s? It’s tall, scaly, oozy, slimy, totally not human, pure nightmare factory, and appears to be baffled by a stapler. Why does Perkins even have a stapler?

You how know under pressure our brains turn into trapped rats trying to find the easiest way out and we think and do amazing shit? So yeah, one minute left and burger is looking good.

I thank my Brenda-esque brain for absolutely nothing and dart back into the lunchroom, which has apparently become my safe house against an alien invasion. Yay, I always wanted to fight for my life surrounded by old egg salad and leftover pasta.

Right about now is when I realize my problem. See, the microwave has been going with an ambient hum since Sumeria was the shit, so any changes are going to be instantly noticed…and we’re at two minutes left. Also the burger is looking amazi-

Right, yeah, pull it together girl. Fuck you, Brenda. With a REAL microwave, I would have been out of here alr-

Well, hold on now. I creep back to the door. The alien’s apparently given up on staplers and is kinda scanning the room. Like, literally, scanning. There’s old 90s style movie graphics sprouting out of his/her/its eyes.

30 seconds left – hi burger, you’re beautiful – and I’m fumbling with my phone. This whole situation is stupid enough, might as well try….

And there we are. WiFi scanner is picking up something absolutely weird and confusing, clearly some sort of network we can’t identify. The alien’s got some tech – or biology? – emitting a signal.

I groan. I know the answer. I hate the answer. I sigh. I curse fucking Brenda. 10 seconds left. I back away and close my eyes. Everyone sacrifices in trying times.

3, 2, 1 – the rotation stops and the stupid little defunct microwave gives a happy chirp of a ding. Done! Aren’t you proud of me? Never, Brenda-spawn. NEVER.

A claw appears around the door. Oh fuuuuck, yep, this is happening. I duck down behind a table and reach up to fumble at the microwave door. Hopefully aliens aren’t vegan. I manage to jab it open and suddenly the delicious, intoxicating smell of the perfect burger floods the lunchroom, rich and redolent.

Apparently demons like burgers, but I was counting on this. Everyone likes burgers unless they are useless bitches named Brenda. S/he/it leaps for the microwave and I slide sideways – this is a horrible idea – putting myself closer to her as my arms fumble at the countertop. Oh, god, he stinks like childhood trauma and ozone. Too late now and here we go – the creature realizes I’m here far too late, flailing and turning with way too many arms writhing about. Its head is at the same level of the counter top, body coiled to strike.

My lunging fall nearly fails, apparently my aim is terrible, but I trip on a chair and surge upwards again, hands finally wrapping around the microwave.

“You like to transmit shit about Earth?????!” I want to scream but instead I just kinda squeak as I grab the horrible microwave with its beautiful payload and slide the entire thing over the creature’s head.

“Farrady cage?” I whisper hopefully, quickly backing away, because that – and my burger – was really all I had. For a second, the alien is still, simply standing there with head crammed in a microwave, before said head gives a sudden, anticlimactic plop and sinks to the ground, ooze puddling out onto spiny shoulders.

As the creature falls, the body gives a shake, some final death throe, and, with a rattle, a little brown disc comes soaring out of the microwave. It’s a beautiful, heartwarming moment. The alien’s dead, Berlin is playing take my breath away and I’ve been reunited with my hamburger.

The rest of earth can wait a few more minutes for me to save it. This shit is finally hot and ready and it’s lunchtime for momma.