I anxiously poked my head out of my little hole in the wall. It was almost closing time and there weren’t many customers left. The path to the kitchen seemed safe. I could not wait any longer; I was starving.
I carefully walked along the brick wall, moving as slowly and quietly as possible. Right above me was an old dusty guitar with a sign that said “Play me” - not a single patron had touched it in years. I considered climbing up the wall using the guitar and walk along the ceiling to avoid being seen but I knew the sound of the strings would attract undesired attention and blow my cover. I scurried past a table of four, two old couples enjoying some tea after breakfast. Thankfully, old people don’t pay much attention to the small things and I remained unnoticed. Once I turned the corner and crawled under the big soda refrigerator I was pretty much halfway there, right where the brick wall ended.
The rest of the diner was painted half green, half white. Expensive oil paintings of various fruits and vegetables decorated the upper, white half of the wall. Groups of college students were scattered around the room: some slowly eating a rather thin looking BLT, a few sipping on nothing but a cup of coffee, and most with a hand under their chin, almost asleep. College kids were another demographic that would fail to notice my existence, so I took a deep breath and quickly walked past their tables. For a brief moment I stopped by the chalkboard and read the Weekend Specials to find out what was waiting for me in the kitchen. I took a few tiny steps back so I could read the whole thing: Three Cheese Omelet and French Toast with Fresh Strawberries - my mouth started watering.
I wasn't too far from the kitchen now, meaning I had to walk past the cash register: the most dangerous part. I tugged at the end of the ridiculously long receipt still attached to the register and made sure it was secure enough to climb up. It was risky to go up there: even with all the leftovers stacked on top of each other on the counter, I could easily be seen, which would be the end of me.
I was ten steps away from the kitchen; all I had to do was wait for the right moment and run for it. Right when I was ready to leave, one of those college students started walking towards me. He wasn’t looking at me though, so I quickly hid behind the ridiculously long receipt I mentioned earlier. He reached for the big metal spoon attached to the keys to the bathroom, looked at it for a few seconds, then took the keys and left. It was time. I started running.
There were only three people in the kitchen and not a lot of cooking left to do. One of them was washing the dishes and the other two were standing by the stove gossipping. I started moving closer into the kitchen, hiding behind shelves of pots and pans. The safest place to get food at this point was the trash can. It wasn’t ideal, but it would be okay. Okay is better than starving to death.
Peeking through piles of kitchenware, I tried to see if anyone was close to the trash can. I started running towards the trash can when suddenly, a glass jar landed around me like a dome. I had been in this situation before; I could get out. All I had to do was prepare to jump as they moved the jar. The man washing the dishes earlier kneeled down to take a look at me - smiling, happy to capture me. He turned the jar upside down before I could escape and I fell on my back. He closed the lid to make sure I wouldn’t escape.
Thankfully, nobody killed me. I was let out of my jar in a park not too far from the diner. I felt relief but still, a little bit of heartbreak. My stay at Lucky’s Diner was over. They would put mice traps everywhere, maybe even the cruel poison that kills you slowly, in three days. I walked around the park, still hunting for my lunch.
This story is from a portfolio I put together for a creative writing class back in college. The assignment was to write a short story based somewhere in Worcester, Massachusetts. I picked Lucky’s Diner, where the owner Peter kept me fed through several hungover mornings, asked me radical questions about the state of the world and somehow assumed me and my blonde haired, blue eyed friend Mia were biological twins. After my graduation, Lucky’s had to move to a new location when the building was sold, and eventually shut down. Wherever you are Peter: I hope your sandwiches are nutritious and your days are without trouble.