The truck stop restaurant on Holy Hill Road is an
oasis of food and relaxation on the outskirts of southeastern Wisconsin.
From the freeway, all one can see of it is the faint beacon of a Citgo sign,
resting atop a pole, forty feet high.
In search of nothing, I take the exit and park my
car, too nice to be unnoticed at a place such as this, at the edge of the
parking lot. Following a bathroom session that has been long overdue, I
sit down at the otherwise barren counter and wait for service.
The waitress, who seems to be a mere twenty-two but
I can see has already lost the happiness of a young life brimming with
possibilities, walks up to me, silverware in hand.
"Would you like some water?" Her voice
is meek and barely audible, making me wonder why this young girl has such an
apparent lack of vitality in every way I have so-far witnessed. I chalk it up to the simple fact that she’s
stuck working at a truck stop diner at 11pm on a Saturday night. My
decline for water releases her from my presence, and she retreats to the few
tables across the room, filled with loud and boisterous truckers. I look at them and sip my extremely bitter
coffee.
I count eight of them, spanning three tables...
and all of the clichés are present. There are the old & angry veterans
with beards down to their chest... the middle-aged professionals... and the young
cats, who are no doubt rookies on some of their first runs. The younger guys are
my age, and like me, are silent.
While
I am silent with observation, they keep quiet because the older veterans are
busy blanching out old war stories. Every single time the veterans laugh loudly,
the newbies chuckle. Even from the other side of the diner, it's painfully obvious those newbies are laughing out of some kind of respect or admiration. If they weren't there, I would bet my toes that no one else would be laughing at
their quips and jokes. These men would be out of
their element in any other venue, but since they're in the presence of people
willing to listen, they fake charisma and hope nobody is willing to give them a
reality check. No one does. They continue to ramble on about pulling 400 mile trips without
wearing pants and looking down the shirts of well-proportioned women in
convertibles.
Their loud, one-way conversation is making it
difficult to decipher the roadhouse-type country music that’s quietly playing
on the radio in the kitchen. Realizing
that even if I could hear it clearly, I would never be able to identify any
aspect of the song… I stop trying.
An old couple sits down a few chairs away to my
right. When they get settled, senility is released into the air, riding
on the shoulders of their conversation.
The husband gripes to his wife, who is staring at me, about his son not caring
about his attempt to document a family tree.
Not getting any response from her does not slow down his dramatic yet
strange sentences, he carries on as if
she were a part of the dialog. I turn my
head toward the wife, whom is still staring at me. To try and end the unpleasant moment I have
been forced to be a part of, I make eye contact with her. My smile and nod do nothing to break her
vacant, unsettling stare. An irrational
fear begins to brew within my mind, I can vividly picture her attacking me
without warning or provocation.
A faint whisper of shit drifts past my nostrils.
“Senile Old People with a Side of Full-Diaper” seems to be the house special
tonight. I however, am content with the industrial-grade coffee I've been
forcing down my throat, so I take the last gulp of my third refill and set the
empty mug down in front of me. My want
to occupy this place has come and gone.
Standing up, I pull a five dollar bill out of my wallet, slip it under the mug, and walk out the door. The silver hue of my car in the distance
provides familiarity, and I feel at peace.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Like what you read? Check these out:
Full Disclosure
Voice of Others
_______________________________________________________________________________
Like what you read? Check these out:
Full Disclosure
Voice of Others
