Everybody have fun tonight

Headquarters

Dave felt a pang of anxiety as he drove down the interstate toward F.R. Rogers corporate headquarters.  He had been dreading this meeting since he had heard the previous Monday that a grease fire had burned down the kitchen and part of the back. He had also heard that Frank was there and may have been responsible.  At first he had hoped that they had some footage from the camera only to find out the camera’s hadn’t been working for weeks, and anyway they didn’t even have one on the line.  The fire had also done damage to the roof, and they were waiting to hear if the insurance would cover it.  He was hoping deeply that they would just cut their losses, shut it down.  Of all the 13 retail locations in his district that Diner was the one that gave him the most problems. It was the one they were always talking about.  The way he saw it they could still make money from gas station and the diesel pumps, more in fact.

Large letters F.R. Rogers loomed on the side of the building greeting Dave as he made his way to the exit.  A few people in the company would resist, most likely. The old man would be the problem. He had bought that diner over 40 years before, had a sentimental attachment to it. It had been quite a boon to the company in the early years, before there were many other late night options.  Dave could see in a way, the nostalgic appeal but the way he saw it sentimentality and nostalgia were not sound business principles. The place was dysfunctional, Dave could see that from the moment he took over as district manager.  He pulled off the exit toward the road that led to headquarters.

Frank had his issues, Dave knew, but the one thing that could be said about the man was that he was predictable. Every day, for the entire time he was manager, he had never been so much as a minute late, or had called out sick. Now he had disappeared. No one could find him. They had called his family, friends, no one had heard from him. They found his SUV parked near a greyhound bus terminal, and that was the last trace of him. They said around 300 dollars was missing from the safe, not that it mattered, they had no cameras.  Dave pulled into his space near the entrance. The perks of being district manager, he thought, amused. He had spoken to John and Coleen an urged them to not mention Frank’s presence or any mention of foul play.  It might jeopardize their chances of getting any return from the insurance company.

Dave took a sip of his coffee as he got out of his car. He could feel them kicking in, Xanax, he usually took a least two just to make the meeting more bearable.  He could listen to them drone on about profits and losses without wanting to strangle himself.  This is probably it, he thought as he walked into the building. They’re going to call it quit’s, this albatross over me will finally be over.  It seemed the most likely outcome given the circumstances.  The bigwig’s had been talking about it for years, shutting  the place down and now they finally had an excuse.  It was like an old shitty car that broke down and the repairs cost more than the car itself was worth. Better to disregard it, rather then put in all the work.

Dave got into the elevator and pushed the door to the tenth floor.  He knew exactly what he was going to say and how to say it. The Xanax combined with the coffee had given him the proper inspiration.  He watched the elevator slowly ascend to the floor.  God, or whatever, make this go the way I want it, he prayed to himself silently. He got out of the elevator and made his way into the conference room.  They were all sitting around the table talking, Dave wasn’t listening to the particulars, but he thought he got the gist of it. Steve Roger’s the old man Charlie’s son was talking. ‘So Dave what do you think?’ He asked? Dave was taken aback slightly, he had just arrived. ‘I think we should cut our losses, shut it down, keeps the pumps going.’ He looked around in sudden horror at the look of disgust on his colleagues faces.  ‘We were talking about how were going to find a new manager for the diner.’ Steve said eyeing Dave harshly. ‘You’re not shutting down my Dad’s diner. I know some of you thought that was the plan but you were wrong.  Only the kitchen was damaged in the fire, the dining room is still intact, we just got word from our insurance they’re going to reimburse us. We are going to rebuild it.’

‘Of course.’ Dave managed, feeling awkward. It was the last thing he expected to hear. ‘I need to use the bathroom.’ He said and slowly made his way out of the room. He felt the bottle of Xanax in his pocket as he walked over to the bathroom.  Dave walked into the stall and took a couple pill out of the bottle, chewing them. The taste was terrible but it hit you quicker, the old man. He’s responsible. Well, he reasoned it would probably be a month or two before it was up and running again, maybe I’ll find a new job by then.

The Stalwart soldier

The Stalwart Soldier

‘You go down there and they want to make you speak Spanish.’ The trucker said to John as he refilled his coffee. ‘Yup.’ John said nodding. The diner was empty except for the lone trucker who was going off on a long political rant. John listened to various parts and pieces while about his usual nightly routine, wiping down the counters, restocking, bringing  the bus buckets into the dish area, and the while the trucker had been ranting, oblivious to his disinterest or lack of contribution to the conversation.  This guy just likes to hear himself talk, John thought, one of those.  It was 3:30 in the morning and he was by himself, which was how he liked it. Over the years at the diner, they had sent all manner of strange characters to work with him, people who had tried to fight him, who smoked crack in the parking lot and came back in to cook, that working alone was almost a blessing.

When he had come in it had been a disaster, but that was what he usually expected.  Zach had been on the line and the shed smelled like Woodstock.  He always changed things to how he wanted it anyway which was also one of things he liked about cooking alone.  He had become so accustomed to working alone early in the week that he always had to adjust when Ed came in later in the week to cook. To have to wait 20 minutes for a bowl of oatmeal, to get over easy eggs burned to a crisp.  John had worked with Ed years before and he had been exactly the same way, slow, ponderous.  Of course then he had been cooking on a line with several other cooks to it hadn’t been quite as bad, but by himself.  John knew he could jump in and clear to board before Ed could finish one slip, but Ed was old, obstinate, so he had to wait.  The trucker had finished his Omelette and was looking at a tablet,  ‘I’m going out for a smoke, do you need anything?’ ‘No, I’m good.’ He replied not looking up from the screen.

John walked past the line and dish station through the office, he had been there for over 20 years and it always struck him how the place seemed to change yet always stay the same.  He lit his cigarette as he walked outside, a slight breeze in the air.  Is Coleen going to show up tonight? He wondered to himself, probably not, maybe but probably not.  Coleen was, technically, the overnight, ‘janitor,’ who was there to clean the grease traps and floors on other things on nights when it was slow. In reality the position had been created solely for Coleen to keep her job. She had been a cook not long before but after she had come in drunk one too many times, swearing at customers and causing scenes Frank had regulated her to the overnight. Of course he sends her to me, John thought, grinning taking a drag. Coleen was a good worker, he knew, when she was sober.  It was like flipping a coin with her.  On the schedule she was on from 12-6 but she usually came in anywhere from one to never.

              

  John wasn’t sure why he put up with it, but he made good money.  He had sent his son to college with the money he made, which he felt pride in.  Speak of the devil, John thought as he watched Coleen pull in in her Subaru.  ‘Hey, John.’ She said as she got out. ‘Is anyone in there?’ ‘It’s a packed house?’ He said joking. She reeked of whiskey, this was not the good Coleen,  he could tell instantly, this was the other one.  ‘You just wake up?’ ‘Yeah, I overslept a little, forgot..’ she didn’t even attempt a coherent explanation.  Not that he would ask her, he already knew the answer.

             

   Frank watched the lines of the highway buzz by as he rode down the highway. It was empty mainly save for a few truckers, and the random lone car. Frank wondered about those lone cars, wondered what their story was, what mission it was the led them to the open road on such an ungodly hour.  Frank bourbon was riding shotgun with him and he picked it up and took a long swig. He felt the burn deep in his chest and it clarified and reaffirmed to him what his mission was. What it was he had to do.  Sunday morning had been long and grueling. He had been sober for so long that he still hadn’t had much of a tolerance and he had puked twice in the bathroom. He could have sworn someone had heard him in there because Jackie had asked him when he had come out if he was alright.

               

 ‘I’m not alright, damnit.’ He had wanted to say. ‘I haven’t been alright for a long time.’ But instead he had muttered something and gone out to take a break a buy some scratch tickets.  I’m doing alright now though, he mused, because I know what I must do. The thing in question was not something easy or simple but it was necessary. It can’t go on forever, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.  After he had counted the drawer and left for the day he had gotten another bottle of bourbon.  He had finished half on the way home, passed out for a while, and then gotten up hours later and finished the remainder of the bottle from the night before.  As he drank and night war on he remember the flames, the beautiful dancing flames, and it had come to him. It was all so simple, so brilliant. It was going to be beautiful.

                ’24 hour diner,’ the sign read with a list of other restaurants at the exit.  It doesn’t even say our name, he thought amused, which was known locally as the Deerfield diner.  Exit 24, You’re on captain he thought to himself as he pulled unto the exit. The exit led directly out to the diner, and Frank pulled off. He did a quick scan of the interior as he rolled through the parking lot. There was a solitary man at the counter and it looked like John was outside or in the back. Not sure what’s the best way to play this, he thought as he pulled into the back. Probably best to be direct, I am the manager after all. Act like you’re in there to finish up some paperwork, adjust some prices.  Frank took another long swig of his bourbon, those AA fucks are right, he thought, right about everything. I should just go back, get back on the highway and forget about the whole thing. Frank knew this was the rational thing to do, the sane thing, but he had come to far to go back. And there was no way he was returning to his Monday morning routine.

                Frank came in through the back, the light assaulting his eyes.  He walked through the office and through the kitchen door to the dining area, act like everything’s normal. Coleen was mopping the floor and John was looking at the newspaper, standing up as always. ‘Hey Frank.’ Coleen said. Frank nodded, good, perfect. He walked back into the kitchen and over to the flat top grill, turning all the nobs to the highest setting. He walked back into the office to go on the computer. They had been having trouble with the flat top lately, it wasn’t cooking things very well. This was a problem as when they worked on Sunday morning they liked to turn the grill up to cook things faster. They had noticed that when they turned it up it seemed to spark so they hadn’t touched it after. 

               

 Only a matter of time, Frank went out to the dining area and poured himself a coffee.  He poured some cream and sugar in it and walked back unto the line. It was sparking, and a small flame had started on the side of the grill. The grill was coated on all sides and underneath with grease, years and years of built up grease, like plankton on the side of an old ship.  The flames spread slowly and Frank made his way outside.  He took a sip of coffee, it tasted strange after the bourbon and he poured it out. It was more for show than anything else. Speaking of a show, Frank thought and walked around to his car. He got in the front seat and took another swig of bourbon, better get front row seating, he thought and pulled his car around. He parked far enough away so that he could see what was going on but he wouldn’t be noticed.  The smoked filled and he could see John going in to check it out, get out John, he thought.  Sure enough a few minutes later he saw John Coleen and the trucker hurry outside as the flames consumed the kitchen. All he could see was flames behind the window, engulfing both grills, cleansing fire, he thought to himself. Firefighters will be here soon, followed by police.  Got to go, he thought,  but it’s such a nice show. 

              

  Frank took another long swig of his bourbon, it was empty now.  The flames were rising higher and higher and he saw the first firetruck pull in.  He heard his cellphone ring, who the fuck is this? He thought. But he knew who it was, who it could only be. ‘Hello.’ He said as he answered his phone. ‘Dad, it’s Ricky.’ The voice on the other end said. ‘I’m in jail, can you come bail me out?’ Frank said nothing for a moment watching the fire chief talk to John and figure out the best strategy.  ‘Dad?’ the voice asked impatiently. ‘Yes, son, certainly.’ Frank said finally and broke his phone in half and threw it out the window. I’m done.

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.’