As most all customers did, he was boisterously reminding her of how much she loathed her job, but like all silent killers there were no symptoms evident on the grayscale of her rgb colorlessness. She had moments ago dove into a colder, inarticulate world where she could replay past events and reconfigure the manner in which she served time with them. At this she could brave solitarily for hours. Ignoring everything around her but seeming, somehow remotely committed as the slaving moon, to be paying attention exclusively to her nightly duties. Ketchup was the mission faithfully embarked upon his bidding after filling up the kiddy pool-mug with achromatic poison.
It was taking her a while... not because she wasn't swift, or was an indolent apparition with broken loops, but rather it seemed she had resolved to get him every.single.condiment as a means to avoid further interaction as much as she could politely manage, that the slender ropes of her forearms could corral.
When she came back, she had to actually lean somewhat onto the table in order to bend and perch the bottles of ketchup, mustard, steak sauce, tabasco, pepper ranch, and best foods, without them clattering.