The mass of men lead lives of hopeless desparation

Flames, beautiful circling flames, they were all Frank could see in his dreams, ebbing and flowing, building. They were engulfing the diner and he was outside to see it, a marvelous spectacle it was.  He wasn’t sure, in the dream, if he was personally there or if this was being shown to him. Possibly by some kind of ghost of Christmas past, or future, but it had all seemed so real. The flames engulfed everything, the floor, the kitchen, the stools, even the sign, which read simply ‘Diner.’ He saw them shoot up curl around the exterior and he remembered laughing hysterically. He wasn’t sure if he was laughing in the dream or in real life but it didn’t matter. The diner was empty at the time, and as Frank awoke he wondered what it meant.

  

He opened his eyes as the first rays of the sun hit them, and he found himself in his car, the bottle of bourbon almost half gone.  Can’t put the sauce away like I used to, he thought as he wearily opened his eyes. Why can’t I just stay asleep? Just remain away in that world.  He had more control in his dreams, in his dream’s he actually had money, and respect, and casual sex.  Frank could vaguely recall getting into his car after wandering down the dirt road that led to his home taking the bottle with him. He had told his wife some vague lie about taking about the garbage or going on a walk-it was hard to remember and had gone behind the trash cans outside the garage where he had stashed the bourbon.  Frank’s plan was, at first, to drink and maybe come up with a solution, a way out.  A way to unburden himself of everything of everyone.  Yet Frank found as he got deeper down into the bottle the idea’s he came up with got crazier and crazier. To fake his death and move down to Mexico, to hire a hit man to take out his boss, to travel back and time and get into random adventures.  Frank had been in his car pondering the time travel idea when he had passed out a dreamt of the flames. The lovely flames, he thought.  Frank hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in over 5 years before a day ago, he had turned himself around, devoted himself to being in ‘recovery,’ and had gone to AA and even considered himself ‘reformed.’

Although that was always the danger, he knew. Those were the ones they talked about in AA the ones who went back to their old ways, the ones who stopped going to meetings, stopped calling their sponsors, the ones who considered themselves ‘cured.’ He could see himself going down a dark path this time, and he doubted he would be able to pull himself out.  It figures, I work with a bunch of alcoholics it’s only a matter of time before I go back. He looked at his watch, 6:30, fuck. No time to go back to sleep, no time really, to get ready. He had to be in at the diner at 8 to open and help Jim cook. Frank got out of his car, the air was cool and felt good on his skin. He was still slightly buzzed from the night before but it seemed to him nothing that a shower couldn’t cure.  Would they notice that I was gone? It was hard to say, he hoped not. Frank was a terrible liar and eventually they would figure it out. He open the door to his car and pulled out the bottle, walking over to the garbage cans and carefully placed it behind the first one. I wonder what she would do if she found out? Probably divorce him, possibly. It was hard to say if that would be a bad thing. He’d probably get fucked over, he knew. He always seemed to get fucked over.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Marge thought as she walked by the dish area to get her coffee. She always came in 20 minutes to a half hour earlier to get her coffee, have a cigarette, or several.  The bus pans were piled on top of each other, and the ones in the dining area were filling up as well. What the fuck have they been doing all night? She thought as she poured her coffee.  ‘Hey Marge.’ Lynn said to marge as she poured her coffee.  All bright eyed and chipper, Marge thought, obviously this one isn’t too bright. In her estimation anyone who was that bright eyed and chipper after working a long overnight at the diner had to have a few screws loose.

Lynn was putting an order into the computer while a four person order sat in the window. She would always do this and then eventually the food waiting would get cold and have to be remade. ‘Busy?’ Marge asked, more for the sake of being cordial than anything else. Marge walked through the door to the kitchen, ‘Hey Marge,’ Ed said as she walked by and she said nothing. Fucking useless asshole, she thought as she walked outside to the shed.  She still had 20 minutes until 8 and she intended on spending every last second of them outside. She could smell the vague odor or marijuana as she stepped into the shed. Marge sat down and lit up a cigarette, that’s all they do on that 4-12 sit around, get high, eat. Officially the F.R. Rogers company had a half price rule on food, but unofficially Gary, for the most part let them have whatever they wanted for free.

Marge and 1^st shift resented this because Frank always took a harder line, making them ring in what they ate. They still ate but they just had to by sneaky about it,  she would have Jim cook her a hot dog or something, and furtively take bites over at her station.  Marge knew that most likely Frank wouldn’t  chastise her for it but he would also likely make her pay for it. As  Marge saw it the company was already fucking them over with low pay, no benefits, no vacation time, the least they could do was let her eat a fucking hot dog once and a while. She took a drag of her cigarette and opened the door slightly to look outside. The sun was coming up and it looked like it was going to be a nice day, too bad I’m stuck in here.  A red truck pulled up, right next to the rear entrance. Jim and Judy marge thought, she looked at her phone, ten minutes.  Jim and Judy walked up to the shed. ‘How’s it going?’ Judy said as she entered.  Marge nodded, ‘It’s pretty bad in there.’ She said.  Judy lit up a smoke and Jim followed suit. ‘Ed’s been alone all night, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, there’s   piles of dishes, trash everywhere, looks like a fucking bomb went off in that place.’ Jim nodded, ‘Sounds like a Sunday morning.’

They're all heads there, they ordered hemp hats

Judy was crying again. She cried every time she drank too much which was every time she drank. Jim had tried, in the early years of their relationship, to console her. To ask her what was wrong, but he had learned years ago that such efforts were futile, useless. If you just waited an hour or so, the sobbing would subside, and you could go back to business as usual.  Jim was sitting at the bar of the Hot-l drinking his 5^th coor’s light.

 Judy was on the porch sobbing, talking to one of her girlfriends.  They had been at the Hot-l since 9 and it was close to quarter to 1 by now, fuck it’s getting late, and we have to get home.   Jim had given up getting his license back long ago, he had too many strikes against him and it was basically impossible. The situation often left them in positions like this, Judy would be the only one with the valid license, but too drunk to drive, and George, buzzed in his own right but with faculty enough to get them home, but without the license.  If I stop at this one, just hang out for a big have a smoke, I can get us back home.  

Most of the bars closed at 1 but the Hot-L was slightly more generous.  They would stay open still serving drinks for a few minutes after if the place was full enough.  Jim could remember getting beer there at 2AM before, the only patron besides him and his friends an old man who used to watch MASH on the TV, nursing a miller high life. The high life, Jim smiled, wish I had that.  Judy was usually pleasant when she first started drinking. Mellow, enthusiastic about everything, then after a few  more she would start crying, About this or that, sometimes legitimate things, sometimes random tirades, sometimes nothing at all. It was all hard for Jim to fathom.  He had always been even tempered, what some would call ‘stoic,’ quiet, balanced.  It was hard for him to understand.  Sometimes he would get annoyed on the line and curse, and get annoyed but he always maintained a calm.

Jim finished his beer.  He slid a few dollars to the bartender and got up.  Got to be getting back, he thought, it was hard to know what it would be like tomorrow but it wouldn’t likely be good. We don’t have far to go, Jim thought as he walked outside.  Judy was there, she had regained her composure and was smoking a cigarette on the porch. ‘Ready?’ Jim asked as he walked outside. ‘Yeah.’ Judy replied and they walked toward the truck. Jim never asked if he should drive, the choice was obvious.

6AM Overnight

Thank God that’s over.  Ed thought as he looked across the diner. It was like the scene from some kind of massive ancient battle. With the remnants  being dirty dishes and bad tips. There were a few tables still there but they had all already eaten, the worst of it over. Ed looked over at the dishes, there were 3 bus pan’s on the dishwashers stations and the other four in the dining hall were all full. I could do all of those, and not stock up the line, or stock up the line and not do those dishes. It was an interesting position.  He needed to do a certain amount of dishes so that he had enough plates to use.

Ed had wanted to walk out. It was clearly walk out situation. He had come in Sam had left, it was obvious no one was coming to stay, and Gary would clearly be no help.  Still he had persevered and eventually cooked all the orders, albeit on his own time.  No one is coming to help, It had been a terrifying concept at first, and then somehow inspiring. If no one was coming to help then he could cook on his own terms, no manager, no oversight, then they would just have to deal with it.

Ed walked out into the dining hall, everyone had cleared.  ‘We got through it.’ Ed said to Lynn was was  clearing a few tables. ‘Yup’, she replied, ‘Almost there.’

There's only so much a man can take!

‘My attorney has never been able to accept the notion-often espoused by former drug abusers and especially popular among those on probation-that you can get a lot higher without drugs than with them. And neither have I, for that matter.’-Hunter S. Thompson

  

She wasn’t pretty.  At least not in the traditional sense, but she wasn’t ugly either.  Sam never went for the ones who were the traditional standard of beauty, the Barbie doll, girly girl types, although to be fair, they never seemed to show much interest in him either.  Still she had a way about her, she was curious, friendly, and obviously looking for someone at the diner to hook up with.  Her name was Becca and Sam could tell she was at least five years younger than him.  She had started as a dishwasher and it was obvious that even if she had a boyfriend, she had long ago lost interest. ‘Where do you live?’ She had asked him and he told her. ‘Oh I know where that is, my cousin lives there we should hang out sometime.’ Sam had said something, maybe yes, certainly not no, he couldn’t remember, but he hadn’t pursued it really either.  It was always so hard to tell, to read the signals, to tell if she was genuinely interested in him or just being friendly. He had been wrong so many times before, that he felt it wasn’t worth the risk.

 He hadn’t pursued it further that night, and she was soon talking to Zach, the other cook. They had gone out to the shed for a long time, a half hour maybe, and by then Sam could see the writing on the wall. He could tell what was going to happen because he had seen it play out this way so many times before.  She was leaving at 10 Sam knew and he would be right behind her.  ‘Do you mind if I cut out a little early?’ Zach had asked.  He was on until 10 but the restaurant was empty at 9, ‘Sure.’ Sam had said. It was really the only response one could give to such a question. Sure technically he could say no, could insist that he stay, but then he would look like an asshole, and in truth he most likely wouldn’t have done much if he had stayed. He had already made his up mind.  Sam had looked up the back window 5 minutes after Zach said he was leaving, but he was already gone.  And now they’re going to go home, get drunk, and have massive amounts of sex, Sam had thought, and I’m going to work until midnight.

Sam drained the last of his tallboy and put it down on his desk.  It was his third and he could feel it hard.  He had a good portion of the first one on the way home, and gone through the 2^nd and 3^rd in quick succession.  He was on the internet, social networks, the TV on, thinking about women.  Why they acted the way they did, why he couldn’t seem to attract them.  I’m doing something wrong, Sam thought, something fundamentally wrong.  Of course no one would tell you, not the same thing anyway. Everyone seemed to have their own idea of what worked.  If you asked a guy what worked they usually said something like ‘Confidence,’ something along those lines, although it varied. If you asked a women what worked they would usually say ‘sense of humor,’ although there were many variations.  I should write a book about what I’m doing as a guideline of how not to get laid, Sam thought with a grin. He rose from his chair. I need another beer, Sam thought, and walked through the door of his room through the office to the kitchen.  

He rented a large room from an older woman with his own bathroom, but he still had to use her kitchen. The rent was decent enough, but for 600 a month he felt he should at least get his own shower, his room only had a toilet, and perhaps a kitchen.  Sam walked over to the fridge and pulled out a cold one, two more to go, he thought.  Ed had come in at around midnight exactly and they had exchanged brief pleasantries.  It looked like it was filling up as he left, Sam cracked open his beer,  I hope they’re doing ok in there.  It’s alright, he thought. I’ll still get blamed for it anyway.

Ed

‘Can I get that cup of French Onion?’ Lindsay asked through the window.  Ed was silent for a moment and then said, ‘It’s working.’ He had five long slips to deal with, and a single cup of French Onion was the least of his worries, still he walked over to the microwave and took it out. It had been sitting there for several minutes, but it looked like it was still hot, Ed placed it in the window.  Lindsay was nowhere to be seen, what the fuck? Ed thought.  Of course the moment I actually get it your gone, he thought. Ed looked down at the ticket he was working on, although the board had been empty when he had showed up at midnight, it had filled quickly in a short span.  He had greeted Sam who had responded in kind, and Ed had thought maybe he was staying, but when he looked out the back window several minutes later Sam had been gone.  Someone has to be coming in, Ed had thought, but when he had asked Gary who was going to help him cook all the order his only response had been, ‘Well you’re here.’

Ed’s first thought when he heard that glib retort had been to respond with a  string of obscenities, but he knew that wouldn’t solve anything. Still he did get a certain satisfaction thinking of Gary left alone, with all those orders.  Ed folded up an omelette and plated it, pouring on the homefries and placing the toast on the plate, he put it in the window. No one is coming, no one is going to help me, he thought.  The thought was grim, but in some ways it was liberating.  I’m the only cook here, she’s just going to have to adjust to my pace.

How can it take 45 minutes for a cheeseburger with fries and a cup of French Onion soup? Lindsay thought as she took the order from the window.  Midnight had come and gone and Lynn, her replacement, was nowhere to be found and now it was quarter to 1 and she was starting to have a bad feeling.  She had called Lynn several times already to no avail, maybe she’s still coming, she thought. Lynn had been late before, in fact she usually was, but this was extreme.  Lindsay walked over and place the French Onion and cheeseburger at the table, a lone man accompanied by a couple of younger women.  Prostitutes maybe, Lindsay had thought. Although she knew maybe she was wrong, maybe they just enjoyed the company of creepy middle aged men in the middle of the night.

Lynn came through the kitchen. ‘Hey Lindsay,’ She said cheerfully, ‘Sorry I’m late.’ Lindsay saw her as she walked to the window. Damnit, Lindsay thought, I could punch you if not for the fact that I want to hug you for being here. Instead she said, ‘Thank god you’re here.’