My writer's group in 1975

 1982

This is the last one on my list, Frank Richards thought as he pulled into the parking lot of the Deerfield truckstop diner. It was the only other place that had called him back and he had applied at 10 other places already. He had gone everywhere, grocery stores, convenience stores, even a couple factories, even though the idea of stacking boxes in a warehouse had zero appeal to him. It doesn't matter what I want, Frank had thought. He was married with a kid on the way and he had to find something. He parked out front, close to the entrance. There was a pile of old snow near the entrance, melted with that layer of dirt and salt that always comes when snow has been sitting somewhere for a long time. He looked at his watch, ten minutes, he thought. Enough time to walk over to the gas station and buy a couple scratch tickets, he thought as he got out of his car. Maybe I'll win a couple million and I can forget this whole thing he thought to himself as he walked across the parking lot toward the gas station. The thought brought a smile to his face, however briefly. He hadn't smile in a long time, he seldom did. His mother had told him that, he had always been serious, even as a child. As if he came out of the womb with a suit and tie and a whole boatload of paperwork to finish. As he walked into the gas station he could feel that heat, he ordered two scratch ticket's and a pack of cigarettes. 'Fucking cold out there.' He said to the clerk as her the money. 'I know it.' She replied. 'I'm going for an interview over at the diner.' He remarked. 'Oh really?' She replied, an interesting look on her face. She was an older woman with greying hair and a gruff demeanor. 'It's like a zoo over there they go through people pretty quick.' She handed him his change. Frank wasn't sure how to respond to that. 'Well, good luck.' She said finally as he was leaving. 'Thanks.' Frank manged. There was something strange, Frank thought, about someone working for the same company actively discouraging someone from working there. Oh well, she's probably been here for a long time.


Frank took out a coin from his pocket and started scratching as he made his way across the parking lot, nothing of course. He tossed the ticket into the trashcan by the entrance as he walked inside, there was a chill that seemed to follow him as he entered the restaurant. Smoke filled the air, it was the first thing he noticed. He smoked also, but even to him it seemed excessive. A few grizzled truckers at the counter gave him looks as he walked up to it. The heat is on, but it doesn't seem to be working. He caught the eye of the first waitress he could find, a stout woman with a hardened look to her. 'Excuse me, I have an interview with Bob.' She gave him a glazed look at first before responding, 'He's in the office, I'll get him.' Do I really want to work here? Frank thought as he looked around. There was the coffepot, behind which was a massive neon clock. Everything metallic and shiny. He had been working at his friends software company before, before his friend had made a series of bad business decisions which had resulted in the company going bankrupt. He hadn't anticipated being out among the job seeking public again, and on the phone Bob had mentioned it was slightly above average compensation.

I'm overdressed for this, Frank thought as he waited. He had a blue dress shirt and tie, it just seemed natural to him. His mother had once told him he was always that way. She even joked that he had emerged from the womb in a dress shirt and tie. Frank saw him emerge before he spoke, a tall man with a dress shirt and tie. 'Frank?' He asked as he came out from the back. 'Yeah.' Bob replied. 'Nice to meet you.' He shook his hand. He had a good handshake, firm, but not too long. 'Let's have a seat over here.' He gestured toward a booth in the back. Frank followed him, feeling at ease.

Bob eased into the booth and Frank followed. 'Frank, I've been reviewing you're resume and it's quite impressive. I just wanted to remind you that this is an entry level position. Now if you do good, there a possibility that you could move up, but right now we're just looking for a dishwasher.' 'That's fine.' Frank replied. It all seemed strange, as the ad he had responded to had been for a dishwasher. 'I've worked in kitchen's before, I'm really just looking for anything.' Fuck, Frank thought as the words tumbled out. That didn't sound right. You couldn't say things like that, it sounded desperate. 'Ok.' Bob replied. 'Can you start tomorrow?' 'Alright.' Frank replied, feeling elated. It's OK, I could always find something else...


Something bad is going to happen, Sam thought as he drove to work. There was no way around it, so many avenues, angles, and ways it could come. He stared at the bright red 'R' on his van as just one example, basically inviting the cops to pull him over. That, of course, was the most obvious ways but there were many other ways it could come. He was in a dead relationship, he could tell that for sure. If it wasn't exactly dead it was on it's way out. There was nothing there, no glue keeping it together nothing feeding it. He knew that the moment that woman at the bar had offered to take him home. He had wanted to find something, some reason to say no, but it hadn't come. Nothing, and afterward there had been no guilt. Nothing, he had waited for it to come, but it never showed up. He had left afterward early in the morning before she had woken up, but he thought her name was 'Karen', or something like that. She was in her mid-40's and lived with her 19 year old daughter which made it even stranger, so he had left.  In some ways he still wasn't sure why he had done it, it was impulsive, an instinct which he rarely indulged.

Most people meet me and think I'm chill and laid back, but it's all a facade. I am in fact a walking pile of neurotic anxiety waiting to come apart at a moment notice. It could all come apart, he thought, as he got closer to his job. Only a couple of lights to go, before he would be on. Order's coming in the printer going off, the orders piling up. Of course my job is also another area where it could all go wrong, where things could go awry. It was always hard to tell how thing were going over there, and with the new management it was even worse. Sam went through the second light and headed toward the diner. He checked the clock on his phone, 12 minutes, thank god, he thought. A least a little to get it together, he thought as he pulled into the lot. How many people has this place gone through? Sam thought as he got out of the van. How many managers, cooks, and waitstaff has it burned through?

He saw Gary as he walked toward the shed. 'How's it going?' He asked as he approached. Gary was there smoking a cigarette, but something was gone. He looked old, haggard, beaten. 'It's going.' Gary replied. It was strange seeing him this way, looking defeated. It was strange seeing him this way and something about it made him feel bad. 'A lot of prep to do?' He asked attempting to make conversation. 'Probably, you'll see.' Gary said finally and through his cigarette on the ground. As he walked off Sam noticed some writing on the front of the shed, 'FBR' Started 2/6/1982. In the same handwriting someone had written that date of the fire, in the same handwriting. 30 Years. Almost to the day. God, I got to get out of here, he thought.