Diner
After swerving down Merrick road we pulled into the pantry diner. It was about 3:15 in the morning and a cop was already stationed out front, more or less ignoring the inebriated state of almost everyone who went in. He stood with his arms folded, looking like he could hear and not see.
We went up the concrete stairs and were stopped by the manager.
“How many?”
“Four.”
“You hafta wait.”
Joe was pushing us in. We were packed, and then we split up for a moment. The place was loud, not from music but from people. Everybody was making noise. Plates and silverware crashed against each other. Everybody was talking and if they weren’t eating they were talking even louder as if the volume knob had been turned left. People stuffed the aisles between counter booths. The cash register rang.
“Over here,” the manager motioned.
“Hey, we were here,” my friend Joe said, looking straight ahead at him with a fixed stare.
“Yul hafta move, am sorry. I toldja."
Hafta, I thought.
Joe called to the cook without changing his straightforward stare. “Hey cook, let’s have an order.”
“What’ll it be,” replied the cook.
The manager idled over to the door.
“Two scrambled….”
“What’s her’s?”
Joe said nothing, then “'Hers?' Whose ‘her?’ Is that what her name is? ‘Her?’”
“Your girlfriend. What’s your girlfriend’s order?”
“I dunno cook. Cook, we’ll have two orders of scrambled and French fries. Make it fast, Cook.
The counterman waited for the rest of our orders. The manager came back. “I’m sorry. You people hafta move. We got customers coming in here and you hafta…”
The loud place seemed to get louder.
Joe said precisely, “Who do you think we are? Beggars off the street. Listen friend, I’m going to Nam in two days, and you never even been to Nam, so you can watch out who you are talking to." Then he yelled. "Hey cook, let's hurry up with the scrambled…”
“Listen, I don’t want to make trouble. But you gotta wait.”
“We need water, Cook.”
The counterman came over.
“I am not servin' you. He spoke pointing with his finger down at Joe, with his arm outstretched. Turning, he carried himself away.
“Water!” said Joe loudly. Then, “Hey, what gives, boss. Get over here. Your cook won’t serve us".
“Listen, one more time and the personnel is in here”. Meaning the cop.
Listen, buddy, I don’t care about your ‘personnel.’ You and people like you fuck this country up. I am going to Nam in 2 days to protect the likes o’ you.”
Tony and I were served and eating. Tony looked up and over. “He does anything to you Joe, and I’ll kill him. You do anything to my friend and I’ll kill ya.”
People heard him. Most looked amused.
“You’ll what?” said the manager taken in at first.”
“You do anything to my friend and I will kill you,” said Tony, slowly eating his eggs.
“Okay, let's go outside,” said the manager and walked away. “Anytime.”
“Yeah, after I finish my scrambled.” Tony at as usual.
“Hey man,” I said leaning towards him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m pissed now. Just let me finish my eggs. I said I’d kill ‘m. Haven’t killed anybody in a couple of years”. He exaggerated.
He said to me, “Hey Duane, tell em its too. Hot. It’s too hot in here. Tell ‘em.,” said Joe. I yelled to no one that it was too hot.
We finished our eggs and got up. People didn’t look at us but moved out of our way. We went to pay and Joe took out bills. “We don’t want your gum,” said Joe to the counterman. He turned to me. “We don’t want their 6-cent gum.”
From behind us, the manager said, “Really going to Nam?” Joe squared his shoulders and walked through the door the manager had opened for him. He bumped down the steps towards the car, walking fast and getting farther and farther.
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