Welcome to Gaia! ::

My family had owned and ran the same little corner diner called Lunch Box for nearly half a century out of Grove City, Pennsylvania. Each generation of our family since the opening of Lunch Box has worked here before they moved on to bigger and better things. I was one of the few of the later generations who wanted to stay behind and help. Despite being the youngest of three, I was next in line to become owner of Lunch Box. My mother had assured it to me.

I had been working there as a busgirl, a waitress and sometimes in the kitchen since I was 12 years old. In that time I gained people skills and an understanding of how the diner worked. I knew how to handle the early morning opening, afternoon lunch rush and late-night closing. Lunch Box was a popular little diner and we were never really slow. Our warm apple pie, tea, and tuna on homemade bread were our most popular menu items and we even had a small mentioning in one of those major, big city food magazines. After that we started getting double the customers, as travelers and people passing through started coming in, and all because of a magazine article.

He started coming in every day and sat at a table out of everyone’s direct line of sight, with one leg crossed over the other, a newspaper in his hand and some high priced, imported cigarette between his lips. He was always dressed in a three-piece, pinstriped suit; black hair was always slicked back and you could tell he smothered it with hair gel or wax or whatever men of a high status used to in their hair. The light practically blinded the way it reflected off his hair.

He never made eye contact, and always looked down his nose when he spoke to people. He had a different meal for everyday of the week, and ordered it on that day for the six months he came in. Whether I was waitress or working behind the counter and register I always had to deal with him and his snarky attitude and condescending look. We were required to ask how the meal was, it was one of our rules, and every time he said it was horrible or below his expectations. He said this every time, and every time I have to hold my tongue, nod politely and say “We will try harder next time, sir.”

My mother constantly warned me about holding my tongue and agreeing with the customer. I had a few problems with customers before but my mother had never been so adamant about me holding my tongue as she was with this guy. I figured the fancy suit and slicked hair intimidated her, though I’d never known my mother to be intimidated by anyone, let alone a customer. But every day he came in she would squeeze my shoulder and say he would only be there for a little while then be on his way.

However, a person can only put up with so much verbal abuse. Even if it’s only a few words a day, six month is a long time to put up with those few daily words. I remember the day clearly. It was twelve thirty seven in the afternoon; the lunch rush was just getting started. He was looking exceptionally snide reading his New York Times and drinking his coffee black, while waiting for his Tuesday afternoon tuna melt. I tried my hardest to ignore his presence. Sixth months of “Let it go, kid. He’s just one of a hundreds of customers” was starting to lose its effect. The minute he approached the register and opened his mouth, everything he’d ever said over the six months he had been coming to Lunch Box ran through my head at once and I snapped. Every insult imaginable came out of my mouth in the 60 seconds it took me to express my complete and utter disdain for him. Six months of my mother telling me to let it go and drop it was forgotten and six months of arrogant disapproving words guided my own words.

He sputtered for a moment, unable to comprehend what happened. I stared at him with the same obnoxious, arrogant grin he always had when he spoke to me. He left immediately afterward. I felt good, happy, like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. And just as I had expected he did not come in the next day, or the day after that, or after that. Even though I smiled every day, my mother looked worried, increasingly so each day. I found out a week later that my outburst had dire consequences. That snob was not just any snob. He had been buying up land in small towns to start up a chain of small restaurants and our location was a perfect spot. Who knew that adults could be such sore losers.

After half a century; 50 long, good years come to an end because some guy can’t handle of few of his own words thrown back in his face- all because I couldn’t just listen to my mother and ignore him.

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A short story i wrote for my creative writing class. It needs to be revised and the first few paragraphs need rearranged.