Chapter 1: The Daily Occurrences of Autumn Van Ross

1539 Words
Chapter 1: The Daily Occurrences of Autumn Van Ross Time seemed to move even slower when I watched the seconds pass from the cheap clock that hung on the opposite wall of the diner. The hands on the clock ticked over the blocky, black letters that were printed on its blank face, and I felt myself drifting deeper and deeper into boredom. The seconds seemed to go on for hours, dragging out moments to where they passed at a grueling eternity. I just wanted to go home, I wanted to be far away from this place, and I wanted to be in the comfort of my warm bed. My mind flashed to the pile of laundry that I had sitting in the center of my studio apartment; it’s been sitting there, growing as the weeks passed by without a day off. There were not enough hours in a day, and even if there were, I’d still have to spend every single one of them in that hell hole. There was nothing that I hated more than the countless hours that I was forced to spend working at the dirty 24 Hour Diner. I should just quit. I could just quit and run away from here. Forever. These thoughts appeared in my mind over and over again throughout the day; they seemed to lessen the blow of the depressing and dead-end environment. Secretly I knew that the idea that I could just quit this place forever, and move onto bigger and better things, was only a fantasy that I created to protect my own sanity. I had responsibilities. I had strings that I just couldn’t cut. I had no money and I was stuck. This wishful thinking only served one purpose; to make work just a little more bearable, especially when my manager signed me up for double shifts. In all honesty, working at that greasy diner wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t for my power hungry bosses. Or the lemon-and-body-odor-scented cleanser that we used to mop the floor. Or the twangy country music they played out of the busted speakers that hung from the spider-web covered corners. Or the putrid smell that leaked from the armpits of the handsy male-cooks. Or the disgusting stampede of unwashed truck drivers that liked to track their muddy boots across my freshly cleaned floor. I sighed as another group of loudmouth truck drivers entered the restaurant. They waddled over to the furthest booth and seated themselves, leaving behind a dusty trail of footprints on the checkered tile. I sighed as I pulled out the broom that I had just put away and leaned it against the hostess’ podium. “What can I get for you?” I asked when I got to their table, forcing myself to smile. “Hey beautiful, can I get a coffee?” One of the dirtiest ones removed his hat and offered a yellow, toothy smile. I nodded attentively, attempting to disguise my exhaustion and my wavering attention span. I frantically scribbled down the orders of the extremely unpleasant smelling group. I had to hold my breath when they spoke. Besides their odor, they seemed to be a pretty decent table; not the type that wasted my time with stupid jokes or pick-up lines. I smiled as I finished writing, “It’ll be right out-” “Excuse me, is there something wrong here?” My manager, Khaled, appeared next to me. The confused customers shook their heads then turned to me for an answer. I attempted an “everything’s alright” smile, grinding my teeth as I stretched my lips to make a poor excuse for a smile. It took all the strength I had not to strangle him where I stood. My manager was a massive jerk. He was also a sexist moron, who took his job way too seriously because he wanted to impress his even bigger jerk of a father. “Do you mind if I pull your waitress to the side?” He escorted me towards the front of the diner and out of earshot of the customers, “That order was taking forever! I don’t pay you to chit-chat with customers, okay?” “Okay.” I tightened my grip on my pen. He pointed towards the ground, where the dusty footprints created a mosaic of things for him to complain about, “Do you see this?” I nodded. “I told you a thousand times that we sweep and mop the floors twice every day,” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve already swept and mopped the floor twice,” I cleared my throat in an attempt to hide my anger. He put his hands out to his sides, “Obviously not!” I sighed, my eyes dropped to the floor. “Just clean it,” He shook his head, “and take care of your customers.” I wanted to trip him as he walked away. I wanted him to fall down into a nearby mop bucket, wheel out of the Diner, and roll into oncoming traffic; there he’d hopefully get hit by an eighteen wheeler. I’d mentally stabbed my manager thirty thousand times in the neck with my ballpoint pen. I even contemplated hitting him over the head with the broom that I held in my right hand, but that would only result in unemployment. So I swept instead. “Autumn! Hey, Autumn!” A whispered call came from the booth a few feet away from the entrance. I snapped around to find my younger, more successful, and more attractive cousin, hiding behind the booth. She was wearing a dress that barely covered anything and was shivering from the cold December wind that leaked through the front door. I gasped, “Reagan! When did you get here? What are you wearing?” “I’ve been here for a while, okay?” She whispered, “I have no money and the guy I was with bailed on me.” I sighed, “You date such losers.” She rolled her eyes, “Can you please bail me out this time? Just let me dine and dash.” “I don’t know, Khaled is in a bad mood today. If he catches us, I’m fired immediately. Why don’t you just call your grandmother?” I shrugged, “She can send over the butler, or the shofar, or something like that, right?” “I can’t call grandma!” She gasped, blowing whiskey-scented breath against my face, “do you know what time it is? She’s already asleep.” “Have you been drinking?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips. “I can’t let grandma know that I was out with a boy. I’m supposed to be spending the night at April’s house,” She sighed, leaning against the counter. “I’m sure she knows that April doesn’t exist by now,” I shook my head, “Grandma is so much smarter than that.” “Can you please help me?” She whimpered, sticking out her bottom lip. “Fine,” I sighed. --- Reagan stuck around at the diner until my shift was over and Khaled wasn’t ever far from her side, doting on every word that she spoke. He kept asking stupid questions – the type that are made just to keep the conversation going – while he micromanaged how I closed the diner. He leaned over the table as he spoke, raising one bushy eyebrow in an attempt to seduce her while he pointed out spots that I missed on the floor. Reagan leaned back slightly with an uncomfortable expression as he spoke, but she kept the conversation going. She was good at that; talking. She was charming. I was not. Despite Khaled’s constant complaints, his pathetic attempts to hit on my underaged cousin, and the many times he made me sweep that damned floor, my day was finally over. Khaled used my tips for the day to pay for Reagan’s food so my entire days’ worth of work was spent on food that I didn’t get to eat. My stomach growled as I drove Reagan home. It matched the unnerving rumble that came from the hood of my old mustang. We sputtered down the road in partial silence as the wind of busy highway whipped against the windows. Getting my car fixed was another thing that I had to add to my “save for when I have more money” list. The mustang mostly ran off of hope and prayer. Every time I started the engine, I silently prayed that the mustang would make it home in one piece. “I don’t think I’m going to drink again for a very long time,” Reagan leaned her head against the passenger side window, fighting the nausea that was gnawing at the edges of her stomach. “You say that every time,” I shook my head, “And what do I say every time?” “You’re seventeen, Reagan, you shouldn’t be drinking at all,” She mimicked my voice. “My voice doesn’t sound like that,” I stifled a laugh as I pulled up to the automatic iron gate that guarded Velma Van Ross’ grand mansion, “you’re still in high school. At least, wait until you’re in college to start dating losers and drinking heavily.” “I don’t want to go to college,” She sighed, looking out the window. I pushed the numbers on the keypad, “What do you mean you don’t want to go to college?!” “You sound just like grandma,” Reagan giggled, pointing one finger in my direction. “All I’m saying is that you have a great opportunity that not a lot of people have.” She rolled her eyes, giggling to herself as my car rolled up the mile long driveway. I parked in front of the stone steps that led to the grand entrance, “Thank you for driving me.” She spoke as she shrugged off her seat belt. “You’re welcome,” I sighed, “I miss you.” “I miss you too,” She stepped out of the car. “I’ll see you later-” “Wait!” She spun around and leaned into the car, “Do you want to do something with me this week?” “What would we be doing?” I asked suspiciously. “It’s a party,” She smiled, “I can get grandma to pay for your dress.” “I don’t know, Reagan. That’s not really-” “Be here Friday at five!” She closed the car door mid-sentence and skipped up the stairs…
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