Silver Diner

Another quiet day.

The red, cushioned barstools all lined up in a row were empty, the bartop gleaming from how pristine it was. The checkboard floor also shined, freshly waxed, not a speck of dirt to be seen anywhere. The lights were bright, highlighting the sleek, metal tables that stood underneath them, as well as the few faces that sat around in the cushy booths, chatting amongst themselves and smiling as they sank their teeth into a juicy burger.

There was the soft sizzle of the deep friers and grills in the kitchen,  the smell of freshly cooked meat wafting over the counters and throughout the diner. The waitresses greeted two or three more people who were coming in, pearly white smiles on their faces as they grabbed a couple menus and led them to their booths. One waitress, with long blonde hair tossed over her shoulder, her bangs parted and covering her right eye, lifted a finger and started counting how many people were in.

Seven total. That made about 20 today. Not bad, although not great, either. She couldn't remember a single time when this place was packed. No need for those fancy vibrating thingamabobs; wait times were nonexistant here, with how business was. She didn't mind it much; meant a lot more peace and quiet rather than the din of most rival diners. Made her head hurt, she swore.

As the night went on, the waitress nearly dozed off when a shriek pierced the silence. Her eyes flew wide open as she pinpointed the source: a young woman, kind of ritzy looking, staring down at her plate like she was witnessing the next coming of Satan. The waitress fixed herself up and strutted over as fast as she could on her high heels and asked, "Something the matter?"

"Th-That... that THING is the matter!" the woman yelled, pointing down on her plate. The waitress looked down as instructed. Nestled nicely in a bed of fries as a giant, fat roach, antennae twitching about. "I found it there, just as I was about to-"

The words went through one ear and out the other, as the waitress had a terrible thought decend upon her.

Frankie is going to kill us.

She swiftly picked up the plate and said, "Don't worry about a thing, I'll tell the cook to make another batch, 'kay? Just sit tight!" She ran so fast to the double doors that led to the kitchen like she was running from an angry dinosaur and turned towards the gaggle of cooks handling things. She could barely spit out, "Who made this?!"

Most of the cooks shook their heads. One of them slowly raised their hand. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked. "Did they complain that their fries are too soggy? I cooked them perfectly!"

"No, but there's a goddamn roach on them just sitting here. Do you know how much trouble we're in if we see just one roach and all? Do you know?!"

"It's just a roach, kill or something, Isabelle."

Shock turned to rage, and Isabelle hissed, "Make another batch before Frankie gets here. If he finds out we have a roach problem-"

SLAM. All the cooks nearly jumped out of their skin as the doors flew open. Isabelle looked back, then stared like a deer in headlights.

"So, what's all this blab about a roach problem, eh?" a man's voice rang out, standing above most of the cooks and Isabelle. He was dressed to the nines, with black hair slicked back, square frame glasses pushed up as far as they could go before sliding down the bridge of his nose. His dark brown eyes were fixed upon the diner crew, his cold gaze bearing down on them.

Isabelle was the first to recover and stammered, "Frankie, sweetie, how ya doin'? It isn't something you should be coming out and handling, oh no no no-"

"It's just one tiny little roach!" the cook shouted. "Someone complained about a roach! It isn't that big a deal, is it?"

Frankie slammed his fist onto a table and snapped, "Not that big a deal? You say it's not that big a deal?!  Maybe I should shove my fist up your ass, maybe that won't be that big a deal! For fuck's sake, if there's one, there's a fuckton more somewhere! And crawlin' on a customer's food?! Are you tryin' to get the Health Inspectors in, coz they'd find that this is a big fuckin' deal!"

"Just call an exterminator! Seriously!"

"With what money, you blockhead?!" Frankie yelled, shoving his way past to look the defiant cook in the face with a fierce look that rivaled a lion's "Maybe the bucks comin' out of your paycheck? I don't have cash flowin' out of my ears, and we barely stay in the black as it is! You know goddamn well we don't get much business here coz everywhere ya look, there's a brand name restaurant that's singin' swan songs  to bring in customers and make their wallets a helluva lot lighter than when they first get in! All they recognize are brand names, with only the locals swingin' by here for a bite! And you got the guts to tell me, when I know what the hell's goin on and own the damn place better than you know the girls you've been screwin' for the past few days, that I can just call an exterminator and it's all gonna smell like roses after, huh? Huh?!"

Isabelle put a hand on Frankie's shoulder and said calmly, "Now honey, you know that's going a bit too far. Take a deep breath, he's not worth it."

The cook stared right back at Frankie. "Well, you wanna know what I think?"

Panic set in. Isabelle and the other cooks started mouthing at him, "No, no! Don't say it! Don't you dare!"

"I think you're taking this shit way too seriously! All this over one, count 'em. ONE goddamn roach!"

It took all the remaining cooks and Isabelle's combined effort to restrain their boss before he could throw a punch. Whole kitchen was a mess, with screaming and yelling, mostly from Frankie.

"YOU  PIECE OF DOGSHIT THIS GODDAMN PLACE IS MY LIFE AND YOU CAN'T EVEN TAKE YOUR DAMN JOB SERIOUSLY-"

It took a few minutes to calm him down, with one cook freed to remake the meal before the customer decided to leave. By closing time, all the customers were gone, and Frankie was taking out all his anger on that fat roach, crushing it in his grip as everyone else helped with cleanup. Isabelle skittered over to him, pale as a sheet, and said, "You hangin' in there, Frank?"

"If by that, ya mean not throttlin' that punk into a paste, I guess so," came the grumbly reply. If there was a roach in his hands, it was hardly recognizable as one anymore. "I swear, I feel like I'm bein' taken for granted, with this bullshit. One roach isn't a big deal, my ass. She's gonna get on yelp and downrate us for it, and we need all the good ratings we can get."

"I understand that you were over-the-moon pissed," Isabelle said, handing Frank a napkin to clean his hands off before brushing her hair back. "But let's not add another reason why the police should throw you back in jail. You did enough time after that whole crime syndicate thing, didn't you?"

The slick man pulled a box of cigarettes out from one of his pockets and pulled one out. "Not enough, accordin' to some," came the reply. "Some think I should have rotted in that hellhole. Others think I should be dead by now. I only got out from a stroke of luck, that's for damn sure." He then looked out the window, staring at all the people and cars passing them by, all the lights for other restaurants dimming until there was nothing. A solemn look replaced the anger as he placed the cigarette between his lips. "Didn't believe in second chances once. Now that I got one, though... I don't plan on wastin' it."

Isabelle shrugged and sighed. "You'll end up wasting it if you keep this up. Guy wasn't even worth it. You gotta be more careful and pick your battles, honey."

"Yeah, yeah, careful and all that. Can't go makin' myself some rope to hang myself with, can I?"

"Not at all. Now, what did ya plan on doin' tonight?"

"Goin' home and sleepin'. The usual. Writin' this knucklehead a pink slip. Got too many cooks in the kitchen anyway; don't need one messin' things up for everybody else. Stacy's good, though. Damn, she comes up with good ideas and cooks well, too. I mean, who ever heard of a Dragon Burger?! That was some good stuff, so I've heard. Gotta try one myself."

"You'd cry like a baby, honey," Isabelle said with a wink, picking up her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. "So, see ya tomorrow?"

"Same time, same place," Frank said with a smirk.

He watched as his workers left, leaving the diner as pristine as they found it. He took a moment to light up his cigarette and take it all in: the sights, the smells, the sounds... Just looking around the place at it's best calmed his nerves. And all of this was his responsibility, his pride and joy.

"See ya tomorrow," he said to himself before flicking the light switch.