Schedule Conflict

This would make a better story if I could remember exactly the time and circumstances of my return to Boulder, but I do recall that my mother and father had picked me up at the airport (ratty old Stapleton, not the glorious circus tent that is DIA) and were taking me home. I asked them if we could stop by Arby's before they dropped me at my apartment - not because I had a hankering for Beef 'n' Cheddar, but because I was anxious to check the schedule for the upcoming week.
When I got to the back door, I stopped and knocked since even though I was a manager and had my own set of keys, they were laying on my dresser at home. The face that greeted me was unfamiliar, but I was able to put together a guess pretty quick. It had to be "Susan." She was taking over for the departing Waldo, my mentor and inspiration in the fast food business. I had decided to cut her some slack before I even met her, since Waldo was going to be such a hard act to follow. Then I looked around the back room. All the signs, objects and personal touches had been removed. Over the course of my employment at Arby's, I had drawn dozens of cartoons which had once adorned the back wall. They were all gone. But the most disturbing development was that the mini-vac that Waldo had won on his ill-fated "Tic-Tac-Dough" appearance was nowhere to be seen. One of my favorite employees rushed by with a stack of trays for those who wished to "dine in." "Hey Buckwheat," I called, "Where's the Wink Martindale Mini-Vac?"
He gave me a scared, sad look, and pushed through the swinging doors past the slicer. What was more telling than his lack of response was his nametag. It said "Matt." I had trained this kid. I had made his nametag myself with the Dymotape label maker. It said "Buckwheat." Until now.
Finally I moved over to the small desk next to the oven and examined the coming week's schedule. I wasn't on it. The little plastic toys that used to crowd the desk were gone, and apparently so was I.
"Susan" appeared behind me, shocking me out of my haze. "I wasn't sure when you would be back." She moved past me to sit at the uncluttered desk. "You're Dave, right?"
"Dave-O," I said, recalling my Arby's name with some difficulty but a degree of pride.
"Maybe you could pick up a couple of lunches this week and maybe next week we can see about..."
I had stopped listening. I hadn't worked lunches, except as favors to hungover types desperate for my intervention, for years. I was a closing manager, and fiercely proud of it. I had taken the job at Arby's out of desperation. I had bailed out of my initial attempt to go away to school, and I needed something to keep my days full while I reapplied myself to getting into another college. I didn't stay there because of my love for the beef, I stayed at Arby's because of the people and the fun. Now that fun was gone, and from the looks of the schedule, so were many of the people.
On the way out I grabbed my nametag. It was a specially made - embossed. Waldo ordered them whenever he made someone a manager. Mine read, "Dave-O, Assistant Manager." I went out the back and the door closed behind me.