Temporary Address E2C4
By: Arjun Blackwood ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Episode 2: Morning Shift
Chapter 4: Opening Hours
March 4th, 2024. 5:44 AM.
I woke up far before my alarm.
Which was irritating, because now I had to lie there in the dark and pretend my brain had not decided to open the day for me out of pure nervousness.
The ceiling fan above me rotated slowly, making that faint clicking sound every few turns.
Definitely going to break soon, I thought.
I stared at it for a few seconds.
Then I stared at the wall.
Then the fan again.
Okay.
First shift.
Do not be weird.
That was probably the most important instruction.
Not because I was confident in my waiter skills. I did, technically, have experience. 6 years is definitely enough to know how to carry plates without launching them into the atmosphere and enough to know that customers became significantly more irrational when hungry.
I'm joking, obviously. 6 years is a long time for any kind of profession, even part-time.
Anyway, no. The problem was that this was not the city.
The layout would be different. The people would know each other. Elena would notice everything. And if I messed up, there was a decent chance the entire diner would hear about it by lunch.
I sighed and sat up.
My apartment was still cold in that quiet early morning way, the kind of cold that made even the floor seem offended by your existence.
Even outside the crickets haven't stopped calling. As if it's hour 29th instead of 5 am.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment before forcing my body into motion.
Basic tasks.
Shower.
Shave.
Uniform.
Wallet.
Do not forget your wallet.
I stood up before I could talk myself out of it.
The shaving took longer than usual because I kept pausing to stare at my own reflection like it belonged to somebody else. My uniform shirt was clean, but I still ironed it the best I could on the floor with the flat of my hand and a towel underneath it, because apparently I was committed to the illusion of preparedness.
I checked my wallet twice.
There was still barely anything inside, but checking it made me feel like I had some say in the matter.
By the time I was done, it was still too early for anyone reasonable to be awake.
Which meant, naturally, Clara was already outside in the hallway.
She was standing near the corridor window with a cup in one hand, her hair tied back loosely like she was about to leave for somewhere before the town had properly decided to wake up. She glanced over at me, then at my shirt, then back at my face.
That look immediately told me she was already aware of the date.
“That today?” she asked.
I looked down at myself.
“Yes.”
She nodded once, like that explained everything.
“I thought so.”
“You’re up early too.”
“I’m going to the morning market.”
“That’s a very responsible sentence.”
“Do you need anything?”
I blinked.
“What, from the market?”
“Obviously.”
“Hm.”
I thought about it for half a second, mostly because the question was polite enough to deserve actual thought.
“No, I think I’m good.”
“Sure?”
“I’m heading to work. I should probably not show up with a grocery list in my head.”
Clara gave me a small look that said she did not fully trust that answer, but she let it go.
“Good luck then.”
“Thanks.”
She lifted her cup slightly in a quiet little sendoff.
“Try not to die on the first day.”
“That feels weirdly specific.”
“It’s morning. I’m being supportive.”
“Right. My mistake.”
Putting her mug on her windowsill, she walked past me toward the stairs, then paused just long enough to glance back.
“Also, you look more alive than usual.”
“That’s not even a compliment.”
“It’s the morning. I’m also being honest.”
Then she disappeared downstairs, leaving me standing in the hallway in a shirt that suddenly felt too neat for my own apartment building.
I stood there for another second before sighing.
Then I left.
===
The diner café was already awake by the time I got there.
Not fully open yet, but awake in the way workplaces always were before the first customer arrived. Chairs were still flipped upside down on tables outside. Someone had already unlocked the front door. I could hear the muffled clatter of dishes from the back and the low murmur of a radio playing something soft enough to ignore.
The smell hit me the moment I stepped in.
Coffee.
Bread.
Detergent.
Warm metal.
The kind of smell that told your body to start moving before your brain had time to complain.
Elena looked up from behind the counter as I walked in.
For a second, her expression changed into something halfway between amusement and approval.
“You came early.”
I glanced at the clock.
Then at her.
“I came on time.”
“It is not even six forty yet.”
“Then the clock is lying.”
She gave me a look.
I gave her one back.
That made her smile a little.
“You look like you prepared for this.”
“I ironed my shirt.”
“On purpose?”
“Against my will, mostly.”
She snorted quietly and waved a hand toward the back.
“Come on. I’ll introduce you to everyone while they’re still pretending to be functional.”
I followed her through the narrow staff passage into the back area, where the kitchen was already humming with morning energy.
One person was cleaning the coffee machine. Another was checking inventory boxes stacked against the wall. Someone else was carrying a tray of bread from the prep area. The dishwasher looked like he had only recently become a conscious being.
Elena pointed at them one by one without stopping her own work.
“Dante. Servers. Too much energy. Too many opinions.”
The guy she pointed at turned immediately, grinning like he had been waiting for his name all morning.
“Oh, so this is the new guy.”
“I am standing right here,” I said.
“I know. And I’m judging you in real time,” he said while grinning.
He was young. About my age. No, maybe a little younger. No, far younger. Sharp eyes, restless hands, the kind of face that looked permanently one bad idea away from a timeless story they could tell to their grandchildren.
He stuck out a hand.
“Dante.”
“Ferdinand.”
“Wow. That’s an old, old name.”
“And yours isn't?” I grinned back at him “We should circle together so I can understand this little divine com-”
Elena cut in before I could respond further.
“Kitchen staff are busy and will not remember your emotional needs. There are three of them, and one dishwasher. If you need names later, ask when the place is not on fire.”
A man near the stove muttered something that sounded like agreement without looking up.
One of the kitchen staff laughed.
The dishwasher gave me a tiny nod.
And just like that, introductions were over.
No formal gathering. No dramatic handshake circle. Nobody had time for that kind of thing.
Which, honestly, was a relief.
Oh, btw, you guys got my joke earlier right? Dante's div- yeah.. you get it, you're smart.
===
Elena handed me a towel.
“Start simple. Tables first.”
I nodded.
Wiping tables. Preparing utensils. Refilling salt and pepper shakers. Carrying a couple of ingredient boxes into the walk-in freezer. Learning the table numbers.
All of that felt manageable.
Familiar, even.
For maybe the first ten minutes, I actually relaxed.
Then customers started arriving.
And the vibe changed instantly.
The printer began spitting out orders.
Someone called a number from the kitchen.
A cup dropped somewhere near the sink.
The radio kept playing quietly in the background, which was almost insulting considering how much faster and louder everything else had become.
One of the servers walked past me with a tray in one hand and a napkin in the other.
“Table four needs their extra toast.”
“Got it,” I said, glancing at the wrong table.
“Seven,” Dante corrected immediately as he passed by, without even looking like he was trying.
I stared after him for half a second.
Then at the table.
Then back at the ticket in my hand.
Right.
Different layout.
Different rhythm.
Different expectations.
The first mistake happened quickly.
I brought warm water to table six when it was supposed to go to table eight.
The customer did not care, which was nice.
Dante noticed, moved the tray before anybody else could say anything, and covered for me like it was nothing.
“New guy tax,” he said, grinning as he went by.
“I’m standing right here,” I muttered.
“I know. It makes the tax easier.”
I heard Elena laugh from behind the counter.
That was somehow worse.
The thing about restaurant work, I remembered, was that the work itself never really looked hard from the outside.
Wiping. Carrying. Bringing things. Clearing tables. Moving fast.
Then you were inside the shoe, and suddenly the whole room was moving around you at once.
The printer kept talking.
People kept talking.
The kitchen kept talking.
The customers kept asking for things in slightly different orders than the menu had arranged in your head.
Cheeseburger with pancakes for the buns, hot iced tea, or decaffeinated latte without dairy.
And no one was waiting for your brain to catch up.
I could feel the pace slipping under my feet after the first real rush started.
A tray of mugs in one hand. A plate in the other. Elena calling something from the counter. A customer waving gently from table three. Dante laughing too loud at something an elderly woman had said.
I was sweating before I realized it.
My legs started reminding me they existed.
By the time the noise level had climbed fully into breakfast chaos, I had already forgotten what I was nervous about.
Then I remembered everything.
This place was small.
Too small, actually.
People knew each other. Not vaguely. Actually knew each other.
One customer greeted Elena by name before she even reached the counter.
Another asked about Marianne like it was a normal part of the morning.
A regular at the corner table already knew the menu by memory and ordered before anyone opened their mouth.
And at some point, one woman looked up at me and said, “You must be the new tenant.”
I froze for half a beat.
The woman smiled politely, like she had just pointed out the weather.
“The whole town talks,” she added.
“I’m discovering that, yes,” I said.
She nodded as if that settled the issue and returned to her breakfast.
I walked away with my tray a little more carefully than before.
The town felt smaller after that.
Not in a bad way.
Just in a way that made me aware of myself.
My body started to complain properly somewhere around the end of the breakfast rush.
Sore legs. Tight shoulders. That dull pressure behind my eyes that came from listening to too many voices at once.
Elena noticed, of course.
She noticed everything.
When I passed the counter with an empty tray, she wordlessly handed me a glass of cold water.
I took it without stopping.
“Saviour.”
She gave a small nod.
No babying. No fussing. Just good ol’ cold water.
Which somehow made it better.
Dante caught up with me a few minutes later while I was resetting a table.
“So,” he said, lowering his voice like he was about to share something important, “city life. Is it actually as glamorous as people think?”
I looked at him.
“You mean in the sense that everyone assumes we all live in neon lights and eat expensive noodles while standing on rooftops?”
“Exactly…?”
“No.”
He looked genuinely disappointed.
“Aww… That’s awful. The movies lied to me.”
“I know.”
“So what was it really like?”
I paused for a moment while stacking a plate.
There were a lot of answers to that question.
Too many, honestly.
But I could feel the exact wrong ones gathering in my mouth, so I kept it vague.
“Busy. Loud. Expensive.”
“That’s it?”
“Well that’s most of it.”
He leaned against the wall for half a second, like he was processing the collapse of his own imagination.
“I thought there would be more window shots.” “Window shots?”
“You know. People looking thoughtful in trains and restaurants.”
“There are thoughtful people. They just look tired and depressed instead.”
He laughed.
“Fair. So no La la land?”
“Yeah… it's more like, The Bear.”
“I loved that show! It rules!”
I glanced toward the kitchen where Elena was already moving between prep trays and a ticket printout without slowing down.
“And you,” Dante added, “you just came back here, right? From the city?”
“Yeah…?”
“Why?”
I was already answering before I really thought about it.
“Because it got too easy to keep pretending I was only there for work.”
He blinked.
Then he pointed at me.
“That sounded suspiciously deep.”
“I’m trying to avoid being specific in public.”
“Fair enough. Still, that was a very adult answer.”
“I feel old enough to regret saying it.”
“You do look like you pay taxes in silence.”
“That is a deeply unkind sentence.”
“Thank you. I trained hard.”
That should have been the end of it, but Dante obviously had no internal brakes.
“I mean, I’m trying to leave town someday too,” he continued. “Go somewhere that looks important. Somewhere with trains and terrible rent. Somewhere with people who say things like ‘networking opportunity’ or ‘the quota this quarter’ without laughing.”
“You say that like it’s a dream.”
“It is a dream.”
“That’s an… okay, dream.”
“C’mon grandpa, don’t ruin it for me.”
I shrugged.
“Fine. Dream responsibly young padawan.”
He grinned and disappeared back toward the tables.
For a while after that, the shift became easier in the strange way work always did once your body stopped arguing with reality.
I remembered the positions of the tables faster.
I learned where to stand so I wouldn’t block the kitchen entrance.
I stopped hesitating before picking up two plates at once.
At some point, one of the regulars nodded at me and said, “Francis, you’ve worked here before, haven’t you?” I nearly laughed out loud.
“Ferdinand sir. And no, not here.”
“Close enough,” he replied, and went back to his coffee.
It was such a small thing that I only noticed how much it helped after it happened.
Maybe I did look like I belonged.
Maybe not.
But for one second, at least, the place had treated me like I wasn’t new.
===
By late morning the rush thinned out.
Not gone. Just softer.
The chairs were messy. Empty mugs sat around on tables. A few crumpled tissues had been left behind by people who had apparently decided that cleanup was a problem for the emotional weak.
The staff started resetting the room together.
No speeches. No praise. No team bonding nonsense.
Just routine.
The dishwasher disappeared behind the sink.
The kitchen staff kept arguing about something that sounded meaningless and important at the same time.
Elena moved like she had never once in her life been surprised by the amount of work a room could create.
Dante, who seemed to survive by talking at all times, waved me toward the side door.
“You made it through the first part.”
“That’s not a very inspiring sentence.”
“It’s true though.”
Outside, the alley behind the diner was already starting to warm up.
Delivery trucks passed on the road nearby. The air had that slow, dusty late-morning heat to it that made you want to sit still and do nothing for a while.
Dante sat on a crate with a convenience store coffee in one hand and a cigarette box in the other.
After burning his, he offered me one.
I stared at it.
“Aren’t you… nineteen or something?”
“Basically.”
“That is not a legal answer.”
“It is in spirit,” he said, inhaling and coughing a bit.
He shrugged and handed me the coffee instead.
“Food service ages you anyway. Elena says I’m basically forty already.”
“Food service does do that.”
“Told you.”
I took the canned coffee but waved off the cigarette.
“No thanks.”
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Suit yourself.”
We sat there in silence for a little while, which was surprisingly fine.
The alley was quiet except for the occasional truck, the low murmur of voices through the wall, and the faint clinking of dishes from inside.
Dante leaned his head back against the wall, puffing the last bit of his cigarette.
“The first shift is always the worst physically,” he said after a moment.
“I forgot how exhausting this kind of work is,” I admitted.
“That means you still have some dignity left.”
“I’m not sure that’s comforting, Dante.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
I laughed quietly and took a sip of the coffee.
It was both terribly bitter and incredibly sweet.
Which somehow made it perfect.
Before we could sit there much longer, the door opened and Elena stuck her head out.
“Customers are coming in again.”
Dante groaned dramatically.
“You got five minutes.”
“I’ve got enough time to regret my life choices,” he said.
“You did that before you got hired.”
I stood up, rolled my shoulders once, and went back inside.
The second half of the shift moved faster.
Not easier, mind you. Just faster.
The rhythm made more sense now.
I knew the table numbers better.
Started anticipating when the kitchen would need space.
Carrying multiple plates felt less like a gamble and more like something my body had remembered how to do.
The noise was still there.
The heat was still there.
The tiredness was definitely still there.
But the panic had gone out of my system.
I even got more small nods from customers who mistook me for long-time staff because I moved around the floor without looking lost.
I did not correct them.
It felt good enough to keep.
By the time shift closing work started settling in, my body had fully caught up with the rest of the day.
My feet hurt.
My shoulders hurt.
My brain felt like it had been rinsed in warm water and left to dry somewhere offscreen.
Elena walked past me once while I was setting a table back into place.
“You survived.”
I looked up at her.
“Barely.”
She held my gaze for a second and then, without making it a big thing, slipped a small employee meal onto the counter for me.
I blinked.
“Already?”
“You worked.”
“That seems unfairly rewarded.”
“Eat.”
I did.
Simple food. Nothing special.
A pile of rice topped with fried egg along with two sausages on the side all doused with their special garlic pepper gravy. My favorite order.
Warm, filling, exactly what I needed.
Oh, and there's some veggies too. I ate them… promise.
Dante kept talking nearby while he finished wiping down the last table. Ignoring his food.
Something about a customer asking for cinnamon in coffee like it was medicine. Something about moving to the city and becoming a person with a loft.
I listened with half an ear while eating.
Mostly, I was too tired to do anything else.
And still, I realized, it felt good.
Not exciting.
Not life changing.
Just good.
The kind of good that came from having done something all day and knowing it had not gone badly.
===
At around one thirty, I finally left.
The walk back was slower than usual because my legs had stopped pretending to cooperate.
The town was quieter now. Late morning sliding toward afternoon. The heat had started building over the roads, and the light had that pale, washed-out look that made everything feel slightly unreal.
By the time I reached the apartment building, I was already tired enough to ignore the fact that I was content.
Clara was in the corridor when I got upstairs.
She was leaning by the second-floor corridor railing again, one hand on her sketchbook, watching the street below.
She turned when she heard me.
“How was it?”
I paused.
Thought about lying. Or joking.
Decided not to.
“Tiring.”
Her mouth twitched a little.
“That bad?”
“No. Just tiring.”
I leaned a shoulder against the wall and let out a breath.
Then, after a second, I added, “Pretty good, I think.”
That got a small, satisfied look out of her.
“Good.”
I nodded.
My legs hurt too much to stand around and explain myself further, so I kept walking.
Clara watched me for a second longer before calling after me, “Ferdinand. I bought you some groceries.”
“What…?”
“Here,” she said, handing me a bag that was resting under her legs.
It was a carton of eggs, bunch of carrots, spinach, milk, box of my favorite cereal, and, importantly, frozen dinosaur chicken nuggets.
I stared blankly at her, shocked.
“How do I repay you?” I asked, confused.
She smiled and said, “It's nothing, just don't forget to eat your veggies and don't pass out on me.”
I let out an audibly tired laugh.
“No promises.”
I opened my apartment door, stepped inside, and put everything from the bag into the fridge.
The second I stood back up, I did the one thing my body had clearly been waiting all day to do.
I walked straight to the bed.
I did not turn on the lights.
I did not take off my shoes.
I did not complete the thought I had been having.
My face hit the pillow and the rest of me followed less than a second later.
And just like that, the day ended before I could properly narra-
…
...I think I might have…
…zzZ
===
SNS:
@GrumpyTeflonPan:
Welp. I passed out after work yesterday.
Woke up hours after the kid I'm tutoring threw a baseball at me from my open window.What a life huh? 🫠
March 5th 2024 • Yapper for YouPhone
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SunSway Diner & Café. I don't remember when I took this:
