I put a little more effort into opening the large jar of pickles. Morris is standing next to me, talking about his family. He always has these long entertaining stories about things his family does. They are an eccentric bunch. I have never met even one of them but I have managed to group the families together and after several years of listening to Morris talking about his family and this and that aunt or uncle, I feel like I know them all personally.
Morris sees me struggling and offers a helping hand, not missing a beat of his story about Uncle Bud and his three very dumb sons. I laugh as Morris pulls a face to open the bottle. He hands it to me and moves back to his cutting board where he was busy cutting up onions to make onion rings.
I hold my fingers over the open bottle mouth and tip the bottle over the sink to let the liquid out. Morris gives me the evil eye. He likes to drink the pickle juice. I don't. I wink at him and move back to my cutting board where I start slicing the pickles in thin slices.
We get together every morning an hour before the diner opens to prepare for the day. We slice and dice everything that needs to be sliced and put it in airtight containers in the large glass door fridge.
When I am done slicing the pickles, I drag the large twenty litre bucket of tomato sauce from the storage room. Morris sees what I am busy with and brings a large crate of empty washed tomato sauce bottles to my workstation. I smile a thank you at him. He doesn't really give me a chance to talk so he will need to be content with a smile. He nods his appreciation without missing a beat of his story.
I grab a jug and a wet towel to wipe whatever I am going to spill while filling the bottles. I take a moment to listen to Morris before I start filling the bottles. I am so incredibly grateful that Morris has entertaining stories. If the stories were not entertaining it would have been absolute torture to listen to him day in and day out. There is only fifteen minutes left before the diner will open its doors. I will have to help in the front today. I fill the bottles and wipe the spills. I take a few bottles in my hands and walk through the swinging doors to set the bottles on the tables. I smile as I hear Morris go silent the exact moment I walked out of the kitchen. He will immediately pick up his story where he stopped, the moment I walk into the kitchen again.
I have just finished setting out the condiments on the tables when the large clock on the wall clicks into its nine o'clock slot. I lean over the counter to grab my apron and put it on. I walk to the front door while I tie the apron behind my back. I flip over the closed or open sign on the door and open the door for the first patrons to enter the diner.
The first two patrons are regulars. They always come in the morning for their first coffee. The two friends walk in one after the other. Their hair is perfectly styled and their tan heels match their tan handbags. One of them is wearing a navy-blue power suit. She looks absolutely stylish. The other is clad in a loose fitting, lightly flowing black dress. She looks far less formal than her friend but stylish none the less.
I do not need to wait for their order nor need I take them to a booth. They smile at me as they pass me not breaking off from their conversation to greet me. I turn to the counter to ready their coffee order. I place the two cups on the tray and walk over to the furthest booth where they like to hide out before the day begins. As I set the cups down on the table, they look up to me and smile. I return their smile and head back to the counter.
Most of the other patrons that come in at this time of day will rather take a cup of coffee to go. There are few who will sit down for breakfast. The busiest time of the day is in the afternoons when everyone takes their lunch breaks.
The day proceeds as every other day. The mobile phone in the pouch of my apron rings a few times during the day. I ignore it. The people who love me has the number of the diner and knows to contact me on it should they need to reach me urgently. Anyone who only has my mobile number and does not know that I cannot answer during the day will have to wait until I have a break or until I go home at the end of the day.
The diner is situated on the beach front. It is a very laid-back community. The people are always friendly and always willing to help each other. Sometimes when it is the holiday season people from the cities will flood the beaches. They are the unfriendly, demanding lot. You can recognise them when they walk through the door. They do not smile or really greet for that matter. They will place their coffee order with specific likes and dislikes. You need to pay close attention to their orders because if you get it wrong your only payment will be an insult and the need to redo the order. They judge everything. It's frustrating to serve them.
In the afternoon I take my lunch break. I do not leave the diner. I only go to Morris in the kitchen where I will make myself comfortable near the back door and listen to more of his stories. He knows when it is about time for me to take my lunch break and would usually prepare something off the menu for me to enjoy during my break.
I go through the swinging doors and remove my apron. I hang my apron on the hook at the back of the door and take my mobile phone out of the pouch.
Seventeen missed calls from an unknown number.
It must be urgent; I cannot think of ever needing to call someone so many times before.
I put the phone down on the counter to put my hair up in a messy bun. I take a bite of the toasted sandwich Morris made me and give him a very approving look. I didn't realise how hungry I am until I started eating. I finish my meal. I take the bottle of water I placed in the fridge the morning out and start drinking. Harriet comes through the swing doors with a bang.
"Rachel! The diner is bursting at the seams!" She grabs a clean apron and heads out again.
I get my apron off the hook where I hung it when I came in. I give Morris a knowing look. Today we will run until the doors close. When I head out the door Harriet is busy serving tables at the far side of the diner. Jenny is this side of the diner so I take the counter.
Fifteen minutes into the shift everything is under control and everyone is helped and happy. Harriet and Jenny come behind the counter where we start wiping everything off. We have been working together for more than five years. We know each other's strengths and weaknesses. We work well together.
The diner starts clearing out slowly. We clear up as the people leave.
As the last patrons leave the diner Harriet puts on a last pot of coffee. Jenny turns the sign on the door to show we are closed. Morris comes out with a tray of toasted cheese sandwiches and the four of us take the somewhat hidden booth closest to the kitchen door. This has become one of my favourite things to do. This light conversation before we go home is the only bit of social life I have.
"Rachel" Morris says when he finished his sandwich. "You left your phone in the kitchen. It has been buzzing all day."
My eyes grow wide. I completely forgot about the unknown caller who so desperately tried to reach me. I wanted to call them back when Harriet came into the kitchen asking for help. I excuse myself from the table and walk into the kitchen to the counter where I left my phone. I wipe my hands on a kitchen towel and pick my phone up from the counter.
I see there is another nine missed calls. As I swipe to unlock the phone it rings again.
It is the same unknown number that has been calling all day.
"Hello" I answer hesitantly.
"Rachel! Thank heavens! Its Ana!"