Snippet #2023403

Sasha loved days when she was alone at work, having the whole diner to herself. She had a favorite stool in the local diner's backroom. It was old, with four, thin metal legs, and a foam rubber seat, covered in plastic, printed with an old style red and white square-pattern. It was the kind all grandmothers had one of in their laundry room. The rubber foam was poking out where the plastic had broken, and it was as ugly as it was old, but Sasha liked it. She was usually the only one in her work place to use it, and she could sit on it when she was alone at work and smoke; it fit perfectly under the ventilation intake, next to the sink where she could wash down the ash and roach. It also held her seat and one foot, letting her lean against the wall, quite a comfortable position. She had been drifting away into her own thoughts for a while, not thinking anything she could actually grasp or remember. The chef had gone home after lunch servings, the one working dinner and supper didn't show up for another few hours, so hardly anyone came to the diner. She wasn't allowed to smoke inside, but no one had noticed so far, and she couldn't hear if anyone came in if she sat behind the diner.

"DING!" Sasha jumped in her seat "Shit!" she whispered, putting out the cigarette by rubbing it under her shoe, and sticking it in her apron pocket. She quickly got up, making sure her hair was hanging down. She had to hide her sidecuts as best as she could while at work. Her tattoos as well, a think, black jumper under her terrible blue and green uniform hid them. Might as well not, her snakebites and ear piercings gave her more than enough looks.

She went around the door and out of the backroom, smiling carefully from behind the counter. She had never quite managed to look like she was genuinely happy to see customers, more like they weren't tormenting her, witch was more than some waitresses managed. She rested her hands on the counter, the customers was an elder couple, the kind that probably would die at the same time because she couldn't drive, and he could open the fridge... The woman looked terrified, Sasha felt that familiar sting in her stomach, whenever she got that look. Her smile faded, the old man tried a smile back, petting his wife on the back "Go to the rest room so that we have a hope of getting out of here today" he joked. His wife opened her mouth to talk to Sasha, but he interrupted her "I know what you eat wife, I'll order". Sasha squeezed out a thankful, halfhearted smile at the man as his wife scuffled over to the rest rooms.

"You don't have anything we can bring with us? If she's going to preach for and save every diner working teenager along the road we'll be at our destination in time for our own funeral" he joked. Sasha smiled lightly "I'm sorry for your loss, but you don't have to defend me, I choose how I look and who I am" she said calmly, trying not to sound to defensive. The mans face cracked up "Very well, I see we're a little to early for dinner servings, but witch sandwiches do you recommend?" Sasha though for a while "Well, depends on what you like" she admitted, explaining "I usually have the chicken with a lot of extra spices, and I pick out the lettuce". The man laughed "my grand daughter is like that too, she eats like she dresses, a little to bold" he smiled jokingly "so, give us some that looks like we dress" he suggested. Sasha couldn't help but smile, picking out one with shrimp, and one with ham and cheese "Stay or go?" she asked. The man got out his wallet "The wife won't let me eat in the car" he chuckled "Throw in two cups of coffee too" he said, paying up.

The couple got their food, and sat with a table close to the window. Sasha started refilling table baskets with spices and sauce, washing the containers with a warm cloth. She could overhear the old woman complain a little about the food, then commenting on what she liked. She wasn't paying attention until the word junkie came up. Sasha turned around slowly, starring at the harshly "I've actually been clean for over a year" she said with fake, overdone politeness. The woman shrugged "In my days we never got in such mess in the first place. We had some self control" she insisted. The man smiled apologetic at her, but Sasha had enough. Each, and every, single, fucking day. "You listen here! I've done nothing to hurt you, how I look does not harm you! A lot of the pretty faces around you do drugs, you never know! And you have no fucking right to judge! You have no idea who I am, or where I come from!" she realized her voice had gone high pitched. The man seemed less sympathetic towards her now, the woman utterly disturbed. She didn't say anything, so Sasha stomped back into the backroom, her hands shaking fiercely. She lit up the rest of her cig, smoking it in deep, hasty breaths. She heard the "DING" of the door after a few minutes, sighing relieved that they hadn't been locals.

She helped herself to another two cigarettes before she finally had her breath under control. "Contain yourself Sasha" she ordered herself, then yelled loudly at the ceiling "Why the hell do I even try!" She missed it! She missed being so spaced out that there was no thoughts, no consequence, no feel of responsibility. Who was she even trying to impress? Her parents? They had tried to help her, but they hated what she was. All her friends was in the same shit as her, in one way or another. Why should she stay sober? So that she could graduate, get a husband, two point five kids, Volvo, dog and row house, and grow old being just as judgmental as the couple that just had left? She sighed deeply "You're pathetic Sasha" she whispered to herself. She stacked the plates and placed in the dish washer, pulling up her sleeves and getting a wet cloth to wash of the table. She always looked at her tattoos, all of them told a story. On the right arm she had two Venus symbols intertwined "But you're not going to get a husband" she whispered to herself. She had admitted, and liver her sexuality when high or drunk. It was different when she was sober, but the tattoo made it a little hard to lie. "I can still get a Volvo and a row house, and maybe a dog" she muttered.