Launchpad Grounded

This month, Launchpad's had one too many crashes and needs to try out a new job before taking to the skies again. Picking a job at a buffet, he bites off more than he can chew! Thanks again to everyone for the support this month!

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Scrooge McDuck was massaging his forehead as he sat behind his massive desk. On the other end was one of his most loyal employees, Launchpad McQuack, a tall, broad-shouldered pelican with an iron jaw, peerless flying skills, and some of the most accident-prone, towering stupidity and worst landing skills Scrooge had ever seen. Right now, Launchpad had doffed off his cap, gripping it nervously in his hands and smiling nervously at his boss as the older duck cleared his throat. “So, Launchpad, tell me again how you crashed the Sun Chaser,” Scrooge groaned. “Again.”

Launchpad had long been his personal pilot for one sterling quality: he was cheaper than any other pilot Scrooge had found, but now it was starting to cost him big- even the world’s richest dog could afford only so many planes.

“Well, Mr. McD, you’re gonna laugh,” Launchpad chuckled shakily, “It started with one of the doohickies on the board lighting up, and the light started changing color, so I tried to change it while on autopilot, but then a mountain came out of nowhere, and-”

“Stop,” Scrooge ordered, holding up his hand. “Launchpad, by the end of this story, am I going to yell ‘Bless me bagpipes,’ and go on a tear about responsibility and staying focused?”

“Uh…” Launchpad tugged at the collar of his jacket. “Most likely, yeah, Mr. McD. Look, I’m real sorry, I know this wasn’t my finest hour- what if I pay for the damages?”

“The damages are in six figures, Launchpad, it’s nae cheap to repair a custom cargo plane,” Scrooge replied flatly.

“No, no, seriously, I’ll get a second job, and you can take the rest out of my paycheck,” Launchpad replied.

Scrooge arched his brow, because he knew precisely how much he paid Launchpad- and the years it would take at that rate to pay off the damages. Still, perhaps a lesson could be learned here. Launchpad was practically part of the family, much as Scrooge was loath to admit it. He was loyal, and even if he hadn’t thought things through, this was a sincere offer. Perhaps a lesson could be learned here. The billionaire duck sighed, slumping back into his chair. “Very well, Launchpad. Consider yourself grounded- until you pay off a portion of the damages, you’re going to be on leave from McDuck Industries- not fired, ye understand, but on leave. You are going to go out there and find a job, provided that job has nothing to do with piloting any watercraft, aircraft, or any vehicle that requires a commercial license. Now where does that leave you?”

Launchpad furrowed his brow. “But, Mr. McD, piloting- driving- that’s all I know! I- I don’t have a lot of other skills.”

“Precisely,” Scrooge said, standing from his desk. “You’re good at one thing, Launchpad- very good. But your focus is too narrow. I’m hoping that we can avoid this situation again if we expand your horizons; so, what is the first thing that comes to mind for a job if we take away piloting?”

The broad-shouldered duck sighed, leaning back as he thought hard. “Well. I guess there is one thing I can think of…”

“A buffet? Really, Launchpad?” Scrooge groused. He frowned severely, glaring up at the sign of “Big Bob’s Belt-Busting Buffet.”

“Well, the way I look at it, Mr. McD, everyone needs food- so, learning about food would be a skill, right?” the bigger bird grinned with a light shrug.

Scrooge gave him an arched look, but his statement almost sounded logical. There were certainly worse jobs to have, he would know; he worked most of the worse jobs as he built his fortune. “Ach, alright, if you’re sure…” The older duck followed Launchpad inside, where the pilot handed over his resume (heavily edited by Scrooge and Donald) and began his interview with Big Bob, a surprisingly short and skinny canine. Launchpad’s chances were only decent, until his reference was listed as Scrooge McDuck. Bob perked up instantly, quickly connecting why a slightly dim ex-pilot had brought in a crochety old duck in a top hat.

“I can vouch that you’ll ne’er find a harder working, more loyal, more earnest- but allow me to give ye a word of warning,” Scrooge dropped his voice down, canting his head for Big Bob to lean in. “Be very clear about what you want him to do, don’t leave any room for doubt. The last thing you want him to do is let him have room to think.”

Big Bob arched his brow. “Is this still a recommendation?”

“Oh aye- in fact, ye’d be doing me, Scrooge McDuck, richest man in Duckburg, an enormous favor by giving Launchpad a job… but ah, if there are any extra expenses, just let me know and they’ll be covered.”

The canine slowly nodded. “Right…” He turned to face Launchpad. “Alright, pal- you got the job!” the broad-shouldered duck beamed at the news. “Go in back and find an apron that fits- I want you here at ten o’ clock tomorrow morning!”

“Oh, you can count on that, Mr. Bob, sir!” Launchpad said, saluting his new boss. “I won’t let you down, or my name isn’t Launchpad Mc… uh… Quack, right. I got this!”

The following morning, Launchpad was the first one on the job. Without any aircraft to crash, he began his first shift with a surprising degree of competence. He was focused on making this up to Scrooge, and so he was determined not to let anything slip. Just as the dinner crowd had left and the heating pans had been turned off, Launchpad dutifully took trays of food into the kitchen, lining them up on tables. Everything from fried chicken, pasta, and lobster bisque was lined up alongside caesar salad, gelatin, and chocolate cake.

“Alright…” Bob looked up from a clipboard. “Not bad, not bad at all, Launchpad, for your first day. Just take care of the leftover food, and then clock out.”

“Uh…” Launchpad scratched his head, looking back over the food. “How do I take care of it, Mr. Bob? Like… we can’t just throw out all this food, can we?”

“Well we can’t serve it tomorrow, either!” the short dog scoffed. “Look, these pans need to be spotless- get rid of all this food, or just don’t bother coming in for your next shift, got it?”

Launchpad huffed, blowing air out of his cheeks as he looked at the veritable smorgasbord spread out in front of him. There was enough food here to feed a small village, at least, but he couldn’t just throw it out- if there was one thing Mr. McD had taught him, it’s that waste not… well, he forgot the rest, but he knew Scrooge would almost faint at the sight of so much wasted food- and how much it must cost. Looking around helplessly in the empty kitchen for some guidance, Launchpad eventually shrugged his shoulders.

“Guess I don’t need to worry about dinner tonight… or into next week.” Launchpad sighed, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work- he had to get creative, but with a few unused boxes, his apron tied into an improvised sack, and a few plastic bags he had on hand, he managed to scrape every pan clean, and every last bit of food back home. Now he had a new problem; his personal fridge had nowhere near the room for the mountain of leftovers he brought back with him, and so, faced with either disappointing Scrooge for being so wasteful or failing his first shift, Launchpad sighed and did the only thing he could think to do. He grabbed a fork, and peered over the boxes of food he’d brought home. “Alright… I think I saw some spaghetti around here, that’d be a good start…”

The next day, Launchpad was commended for leaving the kitchen absolutely spotless. The fact that his apron was harder for him to manage was overlooked, for now. Launchpad continued working diligently, and quickly, Bob left the kitchen cleaning duties to him exclusively, hinting an assistant manager badge may be in his future if he kept up the good work. To Launchpad, that meant he should stick to what he had been doing; in fact, it might even help to double down. Every night, he took bucketloads of leftovers home, and then gorged on as much food he could eat- he couldn’t bear to think what Scrooge would say if he saw him wasting food.

Of course, with Launchpad taking a far less demanding job and eating meals large enough for the entire extended McDuck family every night, the predictable results soon began piling on. His bulky build hid the extra weight for a while, and Launchpad was hardly the most perceptive person to begin with, but soon there was no hiding the small butterball belly clinging to his middle. The pilot made note to squeeze in more exercise, but nothing ever came of it- there weren’t enough hours in the day, after work and stuffing himself to the point of exhaustion.

He soon became very well acquainted with every dish the buffet; that much was evident, as his belly continued to grow, and then a veneer of blubber began to build up, softening his strong arms and stretching out his pants. Launchpad tried not to think about it as he had to find looser pants and the next size up for his shirts. He could take care of all of this after he got back to piloting.

Big Bob’s customers, however, began to notice the efforts of this increasingly large server. As Launchpad grew from gorging himself every night, he became surprisingly knowledgeable about Big Bob’s food, and started making friendly suggestions to the customers, even occasionally approaching larger diners, elbowing them in a jocular manner and then pointing out all the best cuts of meat. “Big guys like us gotta eat, right?”

As he got more comfortable in his job, and he started to pick out his favorite dishes, such as the chocolate cake and the taquitos, Launchpad continued to grow larger, and was increasingly unconcerned. Even as his belly snowballed bigger and bigger, and he began collecting some serious extra padding in his rump, Launchpad was dedicated to doing a good job. That “assistant manager” title came in faster than he expected, and he wore it on his increasingly plush chest with pride. Able to throw his steadily climbing weight around, he began making suggestions on how to improve certain dishes- with him there to taste-test, of course.

After enough time had passed, and Scrooge kept careful track of Launchpad’s payments toward the Sunchaser, the millionaire duck decided he could pull Launchpad back into piloting. He called the buffet, and got Big Bob on the phone. “Good afternoon, Mr., uh… Bob? This is Scrooge McDuck calling. I’m curious how Launchpad has been doing.”

“Oh, he’s been a boon- the best assistant manager I ever had. You were underselling him, if anything! He’s hardworking, customers love him, the kitchen staff have been appreciating his insight. You know, I was a little worried when I saw him, uh, growing into the role? In fact, I was really worried about his uniform, but that sorted itself out- you know, he’s really resourceful when he puts his mind to it. Don’t know how I managed without him.”

Scrooge looked down at his phone, his face twisted in disbelief. Launchpad? “Well, ah… I’m quite glad to hear. Good day.” The wealthy duck mulled over what he had just heard; perhaps Launchpad really had taken this to heart. He had barely seen him since the pilot started working at his second job, but there was something about him when he glanced Launchpad a couple days ago that he swore seemed wrong or different. He activated the PA system on his desk. “Ah… Mrs. Beakley, could you send Launchpad here? I would like to congratulate him for his work so far.”

“I’ll send him up, Mr. McDuck, it may take a moment… he may be stuck in the kitchen. Again.” Beakley said, her voice sounding irritated. Scrooge slowly arched his brow, but then leaned back his seat, waiting. After a moment, there was a rhythmic thumping that was steadily getting louder. Scrooge was starting to get worried, but then it stopped as the door opened, and Launchpad leaned into view.

“Uh, you wanted to see me, Mr. McD?”

“Yes, Launchpad, I wanted to congratulate you. I just talked to your boss- bless me bagpipes!” Scrooge exclaimed as he got a good look at Launchpad’s face. “What happened to ye, Launchpad? Did ye have an allergic reaction to something? Your face is bloated up to the size of a car tire!”

“Uh… I don’t think so? I mean- I feel fine,” Launchpad said. “A little hungry, maybe.” Scrooge’s jaw nearly hit his desk as Launchpad came fully into view. The pilot got stuck in the double doors, as he was now wider than he was tall. Launchpad had ballooned into a massively obese creature, his frame dominated by a sloshing belly the size of a small car, billowing out in front of him and nearly drooping down to the floor. It was supported by a pair of trunk-sized legs, thunder thighs mashed up against each other, and an inflated rear, cheeks the size of globes, nearly spilling out of his pants. Resting above his belly, his chest was like a pair of bags of flour resting on a hay bale, and his arms were laden with reams of fat, nearly bursting his sleeves apart.

This giant snowball of a duck nearly robbed Scrooge of his senses, but he recovered his wits. “I, uh- I’ve heard ye done very well at the buffet, Launchpad.”

“Oh, heh! Yeah…” Launchpad smacked his gut, causing a raucous amount of jiggling. “I’ve really gotten good at working with food, hah. But I am ready to get back into the air! Though, uh… waddya think of enlarging the Sunchaser’s cockpit? Just, uh, spitballin’ here.”