‘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 2nd
and 3rd 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.’
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