Frank look down at his half eaten
meatloaf solemnly, looking at it in details, how the gravy was spread out
amidst the crevices in the meat, the dark brown color. He had very little
interest in consuming any more of it so he simply stared at it. His wife Alice
was telling a story, something long and involved about someone he knew vaguely
and a bunch of other he didn’t. It was trivial and banal usual but Frank had
long since learned to filter her out. Like Charlie Brown where all the adults
spoke an incoherent ‘Wah, wah, wah.’ I wonder what would happen if I told her
to shut the fuck up? He pondered, if he told her of trivial stories, tired of
having everyone leech of him and not respecting him. Would anything come of it? Probably not. The foremost reason being he would never do
it, he could never muster up the courage to say it. Nothing is ever going to
change. He had been thinking that for a long time, when it became obvious where
his career was headed. At first he hadn’t
minded as much, he enjoyed cooking in the early days, putting out a nice plate.
Then he had become manager which first had seemed like a dream come true, full
time benefits. Then had come the
reality, being responsible means you’re always responsible be it good or bad.
The waitstaff does something wrong? You’re responsible. Got a pissed off,
asshole, customer? You’re on deck.
When was the last time anyone asked
me about my day? Frank pondered, maybe ten fifteen years if ever. Alice had finished her story, ‘So Frank what
do you think?’ She asked. ‘Sure definitely.’ ‘Good.’ She said, and returned to
eating in silence. His son Ricky got up,
‘Hey Dad can I borrow 20 dollars?’ Frank nodded and pulled out his wallet and extracted
a 20, it might have been two 20’s
because he hadn’t really been paying attention. It was easier to just say ‘Yes,’
he had found. It had been his answer to
everything for a long time, just submit, say yes. Frank got up to clear his plate, ‘I’m not
really hungry, going to go for a walk..’ He mumbled. ‘Ok.’ Alice said. Ricky was long gone.
Nothing is ever going to fucking
change, Sam thought as he put up a couple plates. It’s just going to continue
like this until I’m dead. He had been thinking that way awhile mainly because
he knew it to be true, weather I stay here or go somewhere else, I’ll still
have the same patterns, the same habits, the same addictions. It just felt like
an endless cycle. The orders had been
coming in nonstop since 4, and in the time Gary had done very little to ‘help,’
at all. Gary had been there during the
initial rush, helping him a drop a few things, but after that he had gone out
and talked to customer for 2 hours. Then he had gone outside for a cigarette
break and walked over and talked to the person over at the gas station for a
half hour. All while Sam was
cooking. By the time he had finally come
back to help on the line the order had died down, although they had picked up a
little at which point Gary had gone outside for another cigarette break. I wish I fucking smoked, Sam thought. He threw on a slice of American cheese on a
burger and picked up an omelette on the other grill. It had been combination
orders all night, since they were open 24/7 and people seemed to like to sample
everything at the same time. He put the
last order up.
Gary walked in aimlessly, ‘How we
doing?’ He asked. ‘Alright.’ Sam said with a tone of annoyance in his voice. ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ Gary asked.
Sam didn’t reply, he had learned a long time ago to not respond when Gary said
stupid things like that, he was just fucking with you. At first he had
responded, but he had learned quickly not to take anything Gary said too
seriously. ‘I need a break, I’m going to
go get bread.’ ‘Ok, I’ll watch the line.’ Yeah now that all the orders are gone,
Sam thought. He walked through the prep area to the backdoor outside, it was
clear out with the moon, a welcome respite from the blazing kitchen. This is probably a bad idea, Sam thought as
he pulled out. He almost always thought that when he went to the store. How this would inevitability lead to a bad
hangover, and most likely a few calls to people who most certainly had no
interest in talking to him. In fact
everything about it was a bad idea, and would only exacerbate his woes yet at
the same time he knew it was the only way he would get over the shift. The day
the grind, the day of day bullshit involved in being a human being on Earth.
I’m sad. He had been sad for a long
time, such a long time that he had forgotten what is was like to be happy. To
wake up with a feeling of purpose, to
feel optimistic about the future, to even think about that future. Sam drove through the light toward town. Even though Deerfield’s a small town I still
has two bars and a liquor store, not bad, Sam contemplated. I hope a fucking State cop doesn’t pull me
over, they liked to hang out at the end of the diner parking lot, waiting.
Still he had passed town cops plenty of time who hadn’t pulled him over for the
rejection sticker. It was hard to say
why, maybe it was sheer laziness, not wanting to bother. A he pulled into the liquor store, Sam
noticed a crowd of carhart wearing men and a few women hanging out on the
sidewalk outside the bar. Looks like a
decent crowd in the place, Jim and Judy are probably there. Jim and Judy were there almost always or over
at the Hot-L, it was obvious from Jim’s ruddy complextion that he was a heavy
drinker, ‘Don’t worry you’ll be there soon buddy,’ Sam thought sarcastically as
he walked into the store.
The store was small and brightly
lit, ‘How’s it going?’ Sam said to the women at the counter. ‘Pretty good.’ You
should ask her out, a part of him said. Find something to say, some kind of ice
breaker. But he had nothing to say, no words he could think of off the top of
his head. And anyway he came in there most every day, who’s going to want to go
out with someone like that? He reached into his wallet, 12 dollars. He had
spent most of his check on rent and car insurance with only a little under a
100 dollars left. No worry’s he thought and grabbed six pack of tall boys. 16
ounces more then enough bang for my buck. He always did a certain calculation
when he bought alcohol, is this enough to get me drunk? And not charming James
Bond drunk, more like stereotypical shitfaced party goer with a lampshade on
his head drunk. Sam walked up to the
counter placing with the beer. ‘Long night?’ the cashier asked. She was short
and a little big, maybe Puerto Rican he thought but it was hard to place. ‘Yeah, cooking.’ He replied. ‘Can I get 3
nips of Jim Beam?’ she reached up to grab him. ‘Where do you work?’ she asked
as she scanned the nips. ‘Over at the diner.’ Everyone called it the diner even
though it’s official name was the Pumping station diner, complete with Gas
pumps in the front. ‘Oh I love that place,’ The woman said. ‘I go there drunk
late at night all the time. Say
something you moron, she likes you, the voice said. Instead he put the handed
her the ten and muttered, ‘Yeah.’
She bagged the beer and the nips
and Sam walked out, feeling like a fool.
As he got back in his van Sam wondered
why he felt so alien, to different from normal people. Like his software had
been programmed differently, something off.
Maybe she was just super friendly to people, a ‘people person,’ in his
mind there were just too many variable and it wasn’t worth it. He looked at his
phone to check the time, 8:15, only four more hours.
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