Golden Greaser

- 2 -

     "Diana!"

     Sometimes I think my name is shouted more than it's actually, casually said. From impatient customers on Friday nights, coworkers in the kitchen, and even my own family. It's always Diana! Diana! Diana!

     Sometimes I wish someone would say my name like they meant it. Like they genuinely loved me. 

     My manager at the diner peers from around the back door entrance, an irritated look stamped on her face.

    "I'm sorry Ms. Truitt, there was some traffic and--"

     She cut me off as usual. "We've got the rush hour on our tails! Get dressed and get going!"

     I step up onto the ledge that led to the chrome-plated kitchen in the innards of Korky's Diner, rushing to the restroom to throw on my uniform.

   "Quickly, Diana!"

     Man, this place was hectic sometimes. Well, all the time. After five o'clock it was a real circus, everyone got off from work and then the socs would come in wanting pre-party food. 

    Korky's was almost smack-dab in the middle of Tulsa, right on the line dividing the west and east. So, I never saw many of my kind in here. It was pretty lonely, and pretty embarrassing when you get laughed at for what kind of shoes you wear. 

    And a long, tiring walk home.

     But you don't always get what you want in life. And you can't be selfish about it either, especially when your dad's coughing up his guts night and day.

    "Diana!!" My manager calls in anguish from behind the door. I tie my apron around my waist and open the stall, throwing my backpack down once more in its designated corner.

     "I'm coming!" I yell, pushing open the swing door in a fluid motion. 

     "How long does it take, young lady?" She shoves an order pad into my chest, waving her hand in front of me to go out and take orders. "Go, go!"

     This place felt more like an army base than a diner.

     "What tables do I have?" I ask Simone, wiping the sweat starting to form on my forehead.

     "Fifteen, eighteen, twenty-four, eleven, forty-three and uh..." She pauses, flipping through papers. "Thirty-nine."

     I feel my shoulders drop. Six tables? That was too many, especially during the rush hour. 

   Simone pauses expectantly, her eyes wide. "Well, off you go. None of your foolishness today."

     Well, I guess there's the reason why they doubled my tables. After that whole fiasco Saturday night, I'm lucky I didn't lose my whole job.

     I nodded. I was getting tired of this. But if they want to double my tables, then I'll wait six tables. 

    A doubled salary might be a nice addition too.

     The familiar noise of voices and clinking of plates and glasses fill my ears as I exit the back counter, moving out into the fray of the dining area. 

    I head to table eleven first, doing my usual, "Good afternoon, my name is Diana, and I'll be your server for today. What can I get for you tonight?"

     The table of bikers with their bandanas and goatees order their usual burgers and fries, with that one straggler who decided to order a club sandwich.