Saturday, December 20, 2008

Jaded

jaded \JEY-did\, adjective:
worn out; tired, weary

The bell above the door still jingling from the last departing customer. The tables still filled with the debris of leftovers: ketchup-ed plates, crumb-smeared faux-leather booth seats, froth-crusted milkshake glasses, chewed red-striped straws criss-crossed over one another, depleted peeled-back plastic cream containers lying on their sides and gaping. Dropped silverware still lying on the floor. Tips, crumbled dollars, half-resting in puddles of soda and coffee spills, the green of the paper slowly turning to the same dull colored brown of the floor. Boot scrapes and chair digs accentuate the old linoleum. A mop only sweeps away the tiny stones and mud trails, but leaves behind everything else: another day's worth of aging.

The people behind the counter move slowly, only mildly surveying what is left to be done. Someone pours the remains of the pots of joe down the drains, after first leaving a few mug-fulls for anyone who may be wanting. Sponges and rags are dragged across surfaces, sliding a layer of soapy water across the flat faces and tops. Bottles of condiments are refilled from buckets of the same kept in the back beneath the wells of sinks in the kitchen, where now the things which need cleaning are brought to soak. No one bothers to scrape off the remains of meals into the garbage pails, and so the pieces of food float to the top and bob, bob, bob.

At the end, when all that can be done is done, one by one the night shifters jingle the bell with the door as they leave, pulling keychains from pockets, and walk softly to their automobiles. They bring the smell of the place with them in their skin and in their clothes and in their hair. At home they unbotton and slip out of their uniforms. They comb and pluck and brush. They shower, shampoo, and scrub themselves, and after rinsing, they repeat.

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