Tales from a haunted diner

Customer Service

I hate customers, especially the dead ones. Theres a reason Im a cook and not a waitress. I walk out into the dining room to get my 3 am. coffee. I immediately feel a chill down my spine.

He's sitting at the bar, staring at me. This would be unsettling at the best of times, but our valued customer is translucent. There is a horrifying stream of blood pouring from his lips. He's here every night.

Sullivan's diner is a paranormal hotspot, or we have a full staff of mentally ill employees with shared delusions. Either way, I'm to broke to quit. I finish pouring my coffee and stumble over myself to get back in the kitchen.

I've worked at Sullivan's for five years; you survive by adapting fast to whatever weird situation pops up. It's been pretty lax since Ted bought this place, right before I started. Before Ted, the old owner was clueless. He didn't know the importance of keeping the supernatural happy. It took the towns plumbing company a good two weeks of work to unclog his remains from the pipes.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Ivy." Say's Ted with a grin.

He owns this place. The dead don't bother him as long as they pay with worldly money.

"You're an asshole."
"Who was it?"
"Bloody mouthed Randy."
"Fucking gross man."

Normal customers can't see them. The dead only appear when the restaurant is empty and quickly vanish when a normie walks in. They are also the bulk of our nighttime clientele.

If we want to keep Sullivan's Diner in good standing with the dead, we have to serve them. Bad things happen when the customers aren't satisfied, very bad things.

"Randy wants another egg. The first one is too runny." Says Joann, she looks a little nervous.

Joann has been here a year, she's our longest employed waitress. Longest surviving waitress works too. Customer service is brutal. The things people do for a little over minimum wage, or to pay off a contract with a demon. Whatever unfortunate circumstances brought us here, we can't leave until something external deems our time to be up.

The night shift consists of Ted, me, Joann and our dishwasher, Frank. You have to have something a little wrong with you to hold this job, but I guess that's why I'm here.

Ted sighs and drops another egg on the grill. I don't see why Randy cares so much, he doesn't even eat them.

Joann take hes eggs out front again. The sound of a plate aggressively smashing on the floor comes from out front and we hear Joann scream.

"Fuck." Mutters Ted and we both rush out into the dining room.

Eggs and broken ceramic cover the floor. Bloody mouthed Randy has corned Joann and I can hear him gargle something into her ear.

"Eggs... he'd like more eggs, not runny." Her eyes are wide with fear. Ted rushes back into the kitchen to make them again. The customer is always right I guess.

Frank pops his head out to see what all the commotion is about. I can see him shake his head and mutter something about at least he doesn't have to wash the plate. He disappears again a second later.

It's been months since something like this happened, and Randy is usually a very laid-back dead guy. Me and Joann exchange helpless glances as we wait for Ted to come back with the eggs. I have to break my gaze and turn away, so Randy doesn't see the look of absolute disgust at his appearance. Yet another reason I'd make a terrible waitress.

Ted comes back and slams a plate on the counter. The ghosts are known to be docile and harmless as long as they get what they want, a hot plate of food, and some decent service.