In a whip, with no breaks and I'm hittin' the gas.

1990

Frank put an order of fries on a turkey club and put the plate in the window. 'Order up!' He said loudly half joking. The waitress Jackie would frequently leave food sitting in the window for five sometimes even fifteen minutes. Of course while she did this she would also proceed to put in 6 more orders, while the 5 or 6 orders he had put in the window got colder and colder. This would, in turn, lead to customers sending their food back because it was cold. Thus, Frank sometimes found it necessary to inform her, to get her attention the moment it was in the window. We need a fucking bell or something, Frank thought to himself as he looked out the window unto the dining area. They'd probably ignore that too. She saw it this time and took the order promptly. Thank god, Frank thought to himself. Seems like it just about that time for a coffee/cigarette break. He peeked his head through the kitchen door and looked around, empty. It was a little past two and the lunch rush had died down for the most part. He made his out the back door into the warm spring air. A couple milkcrates outside the back door served as a chair and the unofficial break area, for all three shifts. Frank lit up. He had heard that third shift liked to hang out a little further back in the lot, where, the word was, they liked to smoke joints, and maybe a little more as well. He hadn't thought much about it when he had heard it, he didn't give a shit, personally, as long as things got done.

Frank felt good as he felt the warm spring sun hit his face, he felt well. Like thing were, just possibly starting to go in a positive direction. He had gotten married, had two kids, and had worked his way up from dishwasher, to lead line cook, to assistant manager. And each time he had gotten a raise, and a decent one at that. His boss Bob seemed to really like him, and the company had been good to him. He still had plans to go back to school, pursue a career, maybe an M.B.A., but the way he figured, he still had time. He was only 28, with a lot of life in front of him. Plenty of time. He took one last pull of his smoke and put it out. As he rose from the milk carton he saw Bob emerge from the back door. He was a thickset man, with a gravelly voice and a mustache, 'Frank, I need to talk to you in my office.' He said gravely. 'Alright.' Frank replied, 'I was just coming back in.' He walked back and followed Bob into the back office. It was a wood paneled affair with a computer in the corner and the timeclock with the timecard's hanging on the far wall.

'Have a seat Frank.' Bob said to him as he entered. A stack of papers and invoices lay on the desk near the computer. 'Well, basically Frank we need to talk about some issues.' Franks heart sank for a second but he kept listening. 'Basically Frank, you've been doing great work around here, and I want you as our new manager.' Frank sat in stunned silence for a moment. 'Really?' 'Absolutely. I've finally gotten the promotion from the company I've been waiting for to district manager, and when they asked me to name someone as my replacement I couldn't think of anyone else but you.' 'That's great!' Frank said finally. 'So you'll take it?' Bob asked. 'Absolutely.' 'It's a lot of responsibility being manager, lot of meetings down at headquarters, lot of pressure. But if you can handle it its not bad. You'll be on salary, paid vacations, sick time. You've got nowhere to go but up now. Welcome aboard.' He shook Franks hand. Yeah, Frank thought, nowhere to go but up.

It was in small writing, pencil, it looked like, in the corner of the shed. Sam had never noticed it before but it looked like it had been there for a decent amount of time, perhaps a few months. 'F.E.R. started 2/15/1982' then someone had added the date of the fire as when he had left. He hadn't noticed it mainly because it was on the side of the shed he usually didn't sit on, also to be perfectly frank with himself, he was usually drunk or stoned when he was in the shed, or in the process of becoming so. Still when he saw it, it only raised more questions. Who wrote it? Frank himself? That was the most obvious explanation as he was the only one who would know the exact date he started. But who wrote when he left? Frank? But why? Why had Frank spent a whole thirty plus years of his life at the diner? And why had he chosen to document it?

 Sam sat still in the shed pondering his situation. .His evaluation with Alex had been two weeks earlier, and now Mike wanted to talk to him. Mike had started out as a morning cook, usually eight to four, but since Alex had taken over he had moved to more nights. Someone to 'Keep tabs on us', as if we were all incompetent children who didn't know what we were doing, Sam thought. They always liked to say things like that, that second shift didn't do anything, didn't prep enough, were always getting stoned. Which was true on one level, but it didn't prevent them from getting things done. Zach had only been to work 3 times since he had had his confrontation with Alex, and since then Alex had posted a note on the board saying that Alex was 'Stepping down from his position as assistant manager, but will remain with us to help the new employees handle the transition.' Alex had since hired two people, a woman and a man, and had created new guidelines, news rules. Zach hadn't showed up the two days after he had left early, and Sam had only seen him twice since then. Once to work a shift training one of the new people, and the last time to pick up his check.

Sam saw a figure moving toward the shed and slowly realized it was Mike,which was not to be unexpected. Mike always came out after he had been out there a certain amount of time, usually over five minutes. Sometimes, rarely, it was to tell him there was an order, other times it was just simply to 'See how he was doing.' Mike had always had a strange attitude on breaks to Sam, one shift after he had been on the line for 4 hours and Mike had been prepping in the back and he had asked Mike to cover him in the line and Mike had replied,'I haven't had a break all day.' Take a fucking break, Sam had wanted to reply, he had been back there the whole time. Mike walked in casually 'What's going on?' He said as he answered. 'Not much, taking a break.' Sam replied. He's testing me, Sam thought. To get a reaction. 'I heard you got your evaluation. How was it?' 'Fine.' Sam replied. He's goading me, trying to get something. To report back to the boss, to see how the people are faring. 'How is it in there?' Sam asked. 'A couple tables just sat down, but that's about it.' Sam nodded and said nothing. Obviously he has some other motive for coming out here, Sam thought as they sat there. 'Were going to start having these kitchen meetings at the beginning of each month to talk about issues, ways we can improve who we are doing things here, to just get a feel on things that we can improve on.' Sam nodded, 'Yeah, sounds good.' Mike nodded. Sam hadn't said much to him once he realized Mike was simply relaying it all back to Alex, so they stood in silence for a little while.  'So you had your evaluation the other day, how did that go?' Mike asked finally. 'It was fine, not much really.' Sam replied.

Mike knew it was a lie, but he betrayed no emotion. Not going to give you shit, Sam thought, not going to give you the satisfaction. Last week, he had said something to Mike about Alex badmouthing Frank, his predecessor, all the time. A couple days ago, Alex had said something to Sam about it. Mike was up to something, was plotting for some kind of control of what was in reality a really shitty empire. Sam got up, 'Better get back in there, might be orders.' 'Alright.' Mike said finally. Sam got up and walked out, a breeze catching him as he walked outside. He heard Mike mention something about Alex coming back later to drop of something he had forgotten, but of course he had been vague about when. If I'm going to hit the store better go soon, he thought as he walked back inside, definitely getting drunk tonight.

All of this insane behavior is going to take it's toll soon. The thought came to Dave  unbidden, a random piece of clarity amid the madness that had dominated his thinking. He heard it, but it was small, distant, and unable to penetrate the thick haze of alcohol, painkillers, and other prescription medication that now dominated most of his thoughts. It was almost as if he could see what he was doing, but was unable to stop it. Only a couple of exits now, and it all ends. He had called out sick for 3 of his five days last week, and had only come in a couple days the last. They were talking, he could tell, all of them. About him, when he came in they tended to ignore his gaze, speaking in hushed tones about his 'problem.' At least that's what it seemed like they were doing, judging. His co-workers, people who not long before shared jokes with him, acted like his friend, now treating like a pariah, like dirt, nothing to them. He switched into the passing lane, going around the truck in front of him, he looked at the spedometer, 95, just one more now. Maybe I'll get pulled over, the distant rational voice chimed in again, and his whole crazy plan will fall through. Not that it would be too much better, D.U.I., probably a charge for the handgun he had in the glove box.

Dave took a swig from the bottle he had in the center console. Fucking Alex, his stupid smug face. All of them, the bosses. Bunch of incompetent, overpaid, hacks. Friday, the last day he had been in the office, Seth had told him he needed to talk to him in a meeting on Monday morning, probably about Alex's promotion, or maybe something worse. He had, of course done the most logical thing in his mind, he hadn't come in. Since then he had simply ignored his calls, which seemed to work, for the time being. Not that it would matter soon, since all of that was about to change. '24 hour diner, next exit.' The sign read. Dave took another swig of the bourbon, making the turn off the highway, it took him a while to slow down and his tires screeched on the pavement. Is it left or right? Dave thought to himself in his haze. He had only been there 3 or 4 times, then he noticed the lights from the sign, right. He peeled out quickly not looking if another car was coming, you're going to fast, the little rational voice told him now, the turn is coming up. He ignored it again going faster 70, 80, until he saw the turn, he made it without looking, and it wasn't until he felt the impact and heard the glass shatter that he realized he'd gone straight into another car. Fuck, the thought came to him vaguely as he saw the airbags deploy, could tell that this wasn't something minor, I'm fucked.

Sam wiped down the counter near the microwave, the same spot he had been wiping for the same half hour. It was a little past ten thirty, and Alex was still there. He had arrived around 8, dropped off whatever they needed, and then he had lingered. First he had gone on the computer after that, presumably to do some kind of order, maybe something they needed, but when Sam had walked through the office briefly he could see he was only checking his personal email. Ok, so that makes sense, maybe he wants to check up on some things, but he had stayed. And stayed. He had asked Mike, the other cook who was working with him, to stick around for a little, 'Don't leave me alone with him,' had been his exact words, and Mike had agreed. Then when 10 had rolled around Mike had told Alex that it was slow and that he may as well take off, so he had. Now he was out by the front counter talking with the same customer he had been talking with for a half hour. He's fucking with me, with us. Lindsay was the only waitress out front, and they were the two who had always had the most problems with him. Its some kind of psychological thing, he's fucking with us. 90 percent of what Alex did seemed to be some kind of fucking with them.

Sam looked out the window on the dining area, Lindsay was wiping down tables. He knew she couldn't stand Alex as much as he could so he thought of a solution. He walked out into the dining area feeling bold, walking up to her he asked, 'Want to go outside, real quick?' 'Yeah, definitely.' She replied, it was empty save for an old grizzled trucker who was talking to Alex.  She went over and told Alex quickly she was stepping outside and he said ok. He had been acting strangely nice the whole time he had been there, something was wrong. Sam led the way as they walked out the side door, feeling a draft of wind as they exited. Lindsay let a cigarette as she walked outside, 'Want one?' she asked. 'Sure.' He replied. He usually didn't smoke, but sometimes he did when they were all outside. She handed him one from her pack, 'When the fuck is he going to leave?' Sam asked as he took it. 'I know, right?' Lindsay replied. 'He makes me really uncomfortable.' 'Yeah.' They sat for a little bit, as the wind picked up. Say something to her, a voice said to him as he looked at her. Ask her out, do something. Nothing came to mind. He looked inside the Diner, Alex was no longer at the front counter, the trucker sat there alone.

'I think he's leaving.' Sam said finally. 'Thank god.' Lindsay replied. Yup, going to smoke a quick bowl in the shed soon, just have to wait. He always waited at least ten minutes, when he could get a visual and actually see that he was leaving that he attempted anything. Had to confirm before it was safe. He heard Alex car before he saw it coming around the diner, he saw him wave. He also saw him pull out a little too quickly, not noticing the car going the other way much faster. He heard the crash before the saw it, then the flames, the sound of crushing metal.