Night Life {Watty Awards Finalist 2012}

Chapter 8

I walked into the diner, calling out to Steve that I was there and on time. Rushing to the back, I pulled my apron on and grabbed my notepad and pencil. Then I went back to the kitchen.

"Hey, Steve," I said.

"Can't you girls ever be on time?" he asked.

"I was on time!" I exclaimed defensively.

"You got here a minute before your shift started," he pointed out. I rolled my eyes at him.

"How'd the day go?" I asked.

"Pretty well. Lunch wasn't as hectic as it usually is," he said.

"Is Jaime working tonight?" I asked. He shook his head.

"She worked this morning," he told me.

"Bummer," I said, plucking a piece of lettuce out of the bowl that he had just washed.

"Hey! No eating on the job," he said.

"You're hilarious, Steve," I said, patting his shoulders.

"This is what I get for not being strict with you guys; you don't take my threats seriously," he said.

"That, and the fact that you're a very non-threatening person," I said.

"Go wait on some tables," he said, rolling his eyes. I chuckled and went to the exit.

"Who's working with me tonight?" I asked.

"Randy," he replied.

"Perfect," I mumbled under my breath.

Randy was a college freshman and he was completely hopeless. He had dark brown hair, thick framed glasses, and pale pasty skin. He wore skinny jeans, band tees, and oversized Vans on his feet. And he had a huge crush on me.

Whenever Randy worked with me, he would make a point to try an hit on me. After the first time we met, he lent me several CDs of bands he liked listening to, which actually weren't that bad. But I had made the mistake of telling him that I enjoyed the music and told him he had good taste in sound. Ever since, he's made me twenty mix CDs and insists on talking about bands and music all the time with me. He also said that we were soul mates because of the music of love or something like that. I just thought he was trying too hard. Jaime thought it was hilarious.

I went out to wait on my first customer, which was Oliver.

"Hey, Oliver," I said. He was reading yet another book.

"Hello, Nicky. How are you?" he asked me, putting down the book he was reading.

"Same as usual," I replied. "What are you reading there?" I asked.

"I'm re-reading for the sixth time Plato's Republic," he answered. I raised my eyebrows.

"Nice. Isn't that really heavy reading?" I asked. He shrugged.

"If by heavy you mean gives you something to think about, then yes, it is heavy reading," he replied. I smiled at him.

"I might have to ask you for some help writing an essay for my philosophy class," I said.

"Help is not the same thing as me dictating something to," he said, giving me a knowing look.

"Of course not," I replied cheekily. He smiled at me. "The usual for you?" I asked.

"You shouldn't even ask anymore," he said. I shrugged.

"Well, I figure I should anyway, just in case you decide to change your mind one day," I said.