I hate this place. I hate this place. I hate this place. I kept chanting in my head as I cleaned up the umpteenth table, which was left purposely dirtier by some snob skinny girls that kept snickering all the time, glancing at me. Ugh. I so hate this place. It's not that it's bad per se, actually, it looks like a nice place, but it's frequented mostly by high school girls that believe they own the world, middle-aged perverts that ogle those girls, then very, very old people. Then add that my employer is a huge asshole with capital A, and you'll understand why do I hate this place so much.
Besides, I'm not supposed to serve tables. I'm supposed to be behind a desk writing articles about thrilling events happened in this or that far country or about whatever floats my boat. But no, I'm stuck here serving haughty toothpicks that think they're better than me only because they can eat like pigs without putting on one single pound. Well, I'm unfair. They don't eat like pigs. They don't eat at all. Those girls come here at least thrice a week and all they ever order is a very light salad they share, plus water. Wow. So riveting. No wonder they look like they've just popped out of a mode magazine. Me, I think I'd be good for the Michelin commercial, I even have the same flab.
Once I'd cleaned up the table, I went back to the counter, having heard the bell that informed me another order was ready. Of course, my co-worker was there polishing her nails, as usual, because, hey, don't you dare ask Your Highness to raise one single finger, she's so delicate! Aaaand ... she kinda fucks the boss so she's paid to do nothing while I do both my and her part. Yay. Technically, Scott would be married. But you can't really expect such a stallion as Scott to keep it in his pants, can you?
Poor Edith, she's such a nice woman, I wonder how the hell did she end up with an ass like Scott. I guess she was blinded by his good looks. I mean, now he looks like pretty much an incident between a snake and a goat, but she swears he was really handsome when he was younger. More than good looking, I think he's good with flirting, that's why his lame pickup lines always work with clients. Mandy here, my co-worker, she's been his lover for four months at least. But, she's also in bed with our cook. It doesn't concern me anyway. I just live my Hell 12 hours a day then I go back home and wash away the stench of failure, trying to convince myself I won't die in this horrible place ... I hope.
Ignoring Greg, the cook, flirting with Mandy, my ever so professional co-worker, I grabbed the order, and scuttled to serve the waiting clients, who didn't even bother to say a very simple thank you, as usual. Then again, when were New Yorkers ever kind? And who's that freak that ever thanks the waitress just because she's brought you your food still warm without even spitting in it?
Glancing around, I saw nobody needed anything and all tables were clean, so I took a moment to rest, but of course, I'd barely leaned against the other side of the counter, opposite to Mr. and Mrs. Let's Have Sex Wherever At Least Thrice Per Shift Every Day, that I already heard that booming voice: "Joanna! I don't pay you to sleep! Move that fat ass of yours!"
Please, Lord, take him. Please. Before I murder him among sauces. Or at least give me patience, because if you give me strength, I'm gonna kick that ass so much he's gonna end up on Mars. Rolling my eyes, I stood straight and turned to the sauces, pretending to be reordering them, trying to tune out Scott going to flirt with his bimbo.
Having finished with the sauces, I sighed, careful to look still active, although Scott was gone. I had only one moment of peace, because then I heard the door opening, a new client entering, so I turned around, ready to take care of yet another impolite jackass â you'd think it comes with the diner client job, being a rude jackass. However, at the sight of the newcomer, my throat dried as much as Mandy's eyes bulged out. I think I've never seen her adjust her merchandise so eagerly and sprint so fast towards a client. "Hello, there!" She greeted the guy perkily, a huge smile on her face, the kind I've only seen the rare times someone actually decent comes to eat in here.
On the other side there was a pretty tall guy with broad shoulders and tousled light brown hair that barely reached the back of his neck. Does that sound familiar?
"Hello." Ben greeted Mandy politely. Politely. Men don't greet Mandy with the kind of smile they use for a cute child or an elderly. Men drool first, then stutter their way to a hi when they have Mandy in front of them. Especially when, clearly, she has her eyes on them.
She didn't seem to detect that tone, she just smirked, and went to set onto his table, making sure to show off as much of her legs as possible. "What can I get you?" She asked, leaning in enough for him to get a pretty clear idea of what's her bra size.
"Uh ..." Ben's eyes moved to the menu on the table, much to my surprise. Since when the crappy food in this diner is more interesting than Mandy pretty much throwing herself at you, averagely handsome but charming guy? He seemed halfway between flustered and uninterested.
"JOANNA!!!" Scott thundered from his office before I could hear Ben's full response. With a sigh, I dutifully dropped the cloth in my hand and went to my boss, before he could start insulting me loud enough for the whole diner to hear. Not that it would be anything new, regular customers are used to it, but I'd rather my brand-new neighbor with whom I haven't even really spoken yet didn't witness one of my daily humiliations.
As I dragged my feet to the back of the diner, I could faintly hear Mandy turning every dish on the menu into something R-rated, as if she were some brothel hostess presenting all the things her girls were available for. Don't get me wrong, I'm not slut-shaming her. Mandy isn't a slut for wanting to sleep with whatever hot guy she can get her hands on, no. If anything, she's a whore for shamelessly sleeping with married or at any rate committed men without a care for the families she destroys. However, most of my concerns were going in one direction: what if she actually starts dating my neighbor and I have to endure this bitch for the remaining 12 hours of my day where she can't make my life more miserable than it already is?
--
With a heavy sigh, I shouldered my bag once I'd changed into my plain clothes â which, even as unfashionable as they may be, still are better than the crappy excuse for a uniform Scott forces us to wear, and I headed for the back exit. It's technically not very safe, but the diner gets crowded on Friday nights due to the Karaoke on the opposite side of the road, and I didn't want to make my way through the horde of 20-something college students, so happy and full of dreams, while I smelled like French fries and overcooked fish.
I had dreams. A long time ago. I don't know what crushed them. Maybe my own self-deprecating and self-loathing behavior that led me to not trying enough; maybe the "crisis" that affected the publishing world so heavily that even an internship seems like asking for the moon. Or maybe I just missed my proverbial train because I was too busy being afraid of the world outside my room. Yeah, I know, I'm "only" 28, there's time. But 28 is that age when you're still young yet not enough to keep dreaming without ever setting your feet on the ground. Especially not when you can barely make ends meet.
Clutching my bag, having plugged my earphones in, I headed to the bus stop near the diner. The only reason I got the job is that when I applied for it, Edith was in, her husband was in Alabama to visit his mother. I didn't realize why was Edith so quick with formalities such as contract and whatnot until her husband plainly told me I had a job only because his wife took pity on me. Right then and there I swallowed it, thinking it would be just a temporary thing not to starve, but ... 3 years have passed. 3 years, can you believe it? 3 entire years of putting up with Scott's crap. Mandy only arrived a few months ago, and I gotta say, Scott's mood has improved ever since he started sleeping with her, but I'm still devil incarnate for him. Mainly because he cannot fire me, even though he'd love to. His wife added a clause in the contract, according to which only she can send me away. The diner is technically hers, or rather it was her father's, but when she married that caveman, she became a housewife and he took over.
When I got to the bus stop, I found only a couple of teenagers busy making out. I did my best to keep my eyes elsewhere. I've never had that. High school romance. I was invisible at best as a teen, and not much has changed. Hope and Faith say it's because I do nothing to take care of myself, which may be true, but I don't see why should I make my life uncomfortable just to accommodate someone else. It's not like I'm much interested in a social life anyway. Like I said, I'm an island.
One bus came and the teen couple left, so I remained alone. It was only when I turned around to check the arrival times that I saw Ben lazily leaning against the wall, listening to his own music. I kind of wanted to say hi, be it only to apologize for having been rude the past few days â I avoided him as much as I could â, but I didn't know how. I chose to sit on the bench and stare at my phone, to pretend I didn't see him. Unfortunately for me, the bus I usually take home is always late, and this time was no exception. As much as I tried to focus on the music in my ears, it was still awkward.
I wonder what he must have thought. He moved in about a week ago and his only neighbor still hasn't said a word to him other than a shy hi when we meet in the hallway. Every time he smiles cheerfully, as if he's even glad to see me, and I clearly see he wants to start up a conversation, but I just always run off. Most words I've ever spoke to him were: I'm 28, I'm a waitress. He's a photographer from Nebraska and he's my age. I often hear him talk on the phone â walls are really thin â, so he probably has a girlfriend. Maybe that's why he didn't respond to Mandy's attempts today. Could he be one of the last gentlemen standing?
When the bus finally arrived, I felt relieved yet at the same time disappointed. I should have said something. We stepped inside from different doors, and I was careful to sit as far as possible from him, but I could see him clearly. He seemed preoccupied. Mindlessly staring outside the window while listening to music. That's something I normally do, ending up plotting ways to murder Scott and get away with it.
Deciding it wasn't polite nor sane to keep staring at my neighbor from afar, I went back to my daydream, but right before I got to the killing part, my playlist shifted to my ringtone, signaling and incoming call. I didn't even need to look. Only my parents call me and always exactly when I get off work.
We don't say much to each other, there isn't great communication in my family, it's all about how are you, did you finish work, are you alone, have you eaten ... the questions a mother asks. It's not that we don't care, it's just that we're not one of those openly affectionate families, which I appreciate.
By the time the bus arrived near my building, the call was over; however, before I could restart with my music, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder, so I turned around. "Hey, neighbor." Ben greeted me sweetly, to which I barely cracked a smile.
"Hi." Well, that's a start, I guess.
"How are you?"
"I'm ok. You?" The driest conversation ever, but at least I managed not to stutter.
Ben shrugged. "A bit tired. Between relocating and work, plus classes, I haven't had much time to breathe lately."
"Classes?" Way to go, Joanna, way to go. One word at a time can help sustain a whole conversation without you turning into the reddest tomato ever seen.
"Yeah, I'm a Photography & Imaging major at NYU."
"Oh." That wasn't exactly a word, but close, right?
Ben cracked a small smile and ruffled his hair a bit. "I started late, I know. I do photography for weddings, bar mitzvahs and other ceremonies right now, but that's just one of those jobs you do not to starve. What I really want, is to be a National Geographic photographer. Or it was that as a kid." He pursed his lips, as if thinking of something.
"Not anymore?" Oh, wow, two words together. Progress, Jo, big progress. We still were standing just outside our building, by the way, and for some reason I didn't want to go inside.
"I mean ... if National Geographic called, I'd be ecstatic, but realistically ... it's not gonna happen. I'll settle for anything that'll allow me to take interesting photos."
"Nice."
"What about you?" Ben asked, starting to walk towards the condo and I instinctively followed. "I can't believe working in a diner is your biggest ambition."
I remained quiet. No, it isn't. But as I said, my dreams are gone. Yes, I do look for a new job every day, but realistically I have as many chances of making it that Ben has of somehow catching the eye of someone that works for National Geographic.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you ..." Ben mended quickly, looking at me worried. "What I meant is, it's a diner and ... ugh, no. I mean, a girl like you ..." He stopped walking and rambling, and ran a hand over his face, sighing. Then he turned to me, and my heart skipped a beat, because he looked straight into my eyes. "The thing about photography, is that it teaches you to really look at people, learn about them without talking, capturing their most hidden sides without them realizing it or even wanting you to."
I blinked my eyes, confused. He wasn't gonna say he secretly took some pictures of me, right? Just now that I was starting to consider him just a cute, innocuous, nice guy.
"I can see that you're unhappy at the diner."
You don't say? Who in their right mind would be happy working 12 hours a day every day in that dumpster?
Ben cracked a small smile, restarting to walk, to which I followed. "I hear you singing, you know." He mentioned, and my cheeks reddened. I sing when I take a shower, sometimes when I cook â the rare times I don't order takeaway. "Someone that sings like you, I can't believe your greatest ambition is to serve mediocre food to rude people every single day for the rest of your life."
I remained silent, unable to answer. How could he read me so well just by listening to me singing?