One Night in December

           

            “Boy, this place sure has changed a lot since I last worked here,” the man in the black jacket said to himself.

            With the temperature at a chilling nine degrees Fahrenheit, and snow gently making its way to the ground, it felt nice to be inside a warm restaurant and passing the time. It wasa Friday night, but the restaurant was not as busy as it should have been; maybe it was the cold weather, or something else that deterred business. In one of the rooms nearby, there was a sweet sixteen going on, but aside from that, there were only three tables occupied on the main floor.

            The man in the black jacket looked longingly at the restaurant and how much it has changed since he last worked there. He could even see himself, as a nineteen year old, going to tables, filling up water, and bringing out food. He still heard the bands playing at the stage up front, even though there weren’t going to be any more bands. The staff was not too busy and was mostly standing around, waiting for something to do; some of them were still there when he worked there last. Other members of the staff had either been fired or quit for one reason or another. When those who worked with him saw him, they gave him hugs, and inquired about how his life has been.

            The man looked forward to seeing them again, and told them that he was doing fine and how life had opened new doors and opportunities for him. He didn’t go into too much detail since he didn’t want to overburden them with how he was. One of the waitresses he spoke to filled him in on what has been happening since he left, and what she had to say wasn’t all too good:

            “It’s been quiet around here. We still have a birthday, a party, or a catering event every now and then, but business has been really slow, and the former manager and head chef have quit. I’ve already started looking for new jobs because something tells me this place does not have too much longer to go,” the waitress said.

            “Really? Has it gotten that bad?” The man in the black jacket asked.

            “I’m afraid so. The menus have been changed up more than it should, and the owners really have stopped looking out for this place. We have a new head chef, but she’s not as good as the last one, and it really has shown in the feedback we get.”

            “Wow, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

            “It’s no problem, it’s out of my control anyway.”

            The man in the jacket gave the waitress a hug to let her know that he was glad to see her again, and went back to his place at the bar. To him, the place looked dramatically different than it had when he was working there. He remembered when it had opened the summer of his second year of college and how the manager promised he would make good money. It had a great view of the Hudson River and the food was a blend of Mediterranean cuisine. Some of it was French, Italian, Balkan, Middle Eastern, Israeli, North African, and even from countries he had never heard before. He wasn’t entirely sure whom this was supposed to be marketed to, but it found its customers, and the atmosphere seemed more of the jazzy, cool type where old men would bring their illegally young girls on dates.

            The restaurant attracted all kinds of weirdos, but as long as it was making money there was no reason to complain. Once again, he saw the younger version of himself rushing to tables of customers who once ate at the restaurant, but never returned. He delivered the trays of those little cheese puffs, which were addicting little things. The cheese puffs he ate now were rock hard, cold, and dry, as opposed to the puffs he snuck when he was younger. They were buttery, bursting with flavor, and one could never get enough of them. But now, these puffs lost all flavor, and even seemed to have lost all its life, leaving just another tray to be eaten; but not consumed.

            The man heard noises coming from the kitchen, which sounded like yelling, but from a voice that didn’t sound like it belonged there. He didn’t know who exactly it was, but he didn’t care enough to find out. It was a voice that simply didn’t fit in the atmosphere. It passed through the kitchen doors and into the bar area where it struggled to find a place, any place, where it could resonate in peace. But the place was too different and the voice too foreign. When the place opened two years ago, it could have found a place, but now that the restaurant solidified its identity, there was nowhere the voice could feel safe in.

            The time for identity searching was over. The days when the restaurant was a vacuum were finished. It had steeped itself in what the owners and the customers made it into, and the man in the black jacket agreed that it was a good identity to have. The only problem he had with it was that he knew it wouldn’t last too much longer; it couldn’t last too much longer. As with anything, it had to find out what it was to become. When it did, IF it did, then it would have to hope that it could survive as that.

            The more the man looked around, the more ghosts he saw. He saw himself, along with the other workers who were no longer there. He saw the first manager, the second one, and the third one, all doing what they did to keep the place afloat. He saw the people eating in the different parts of the restaurant, and the messes they made when they left. The urgent need arose in him to grab a napkin and wipe down every table on the floor, but there was no need to. There was someone else who was being paid to do that, someone that wasn’t him. He knew where the water pitchers were kept, where to get those cheese puffs and how to prepare them with the olive oil and herbs. The worker’s station was beckoning him but the man knew that he couldn’t go back there since he no longer worked there.

            The ghosts of the man and the previous workers scrambled across the restaurant, trying their best to provide the service they could. Customers waved them over and told him what they needed; some were pleasant and fun to talk to while others, he remembered, were unreasonable and unbearable. For those customers who were awful, he remembered wanting to end their existences by either slipping something into their food, or outright stabbing them. Thankfully he didn’t do it, but they caused more trouble than they were worth.

            But there were some customers who were happy to have him and made the job worthwhile. Sometimes he would talk to them about the election of 2016 and give them a little history on the restaurant. These kinds of customers were the ones worth having and always left a generous tip if you got to know them beyond consumers. Good luck getting them to be your customers though.

            The man in the black jacket continued to look around the restaurant as the ghosts from the past faded away into the ether of memory. It was still snowing outside and looked as though it wouldn’t stop until at least the next morning. The sweet sixteen was winding down now and whatever few tables remained left for the night. In a few minutes, the decorations would be taken down and the room would be set up as usual again; but for now, the girls were enjoying the last few minutes they had. The man stood by the bar and watched as people gradually left the restaurant one by one. When the last person from the party left, the room was nothing more than empty plates, deflating balloons, and faded party decorations. He offered to help the servers clean up some of the mess, but they declined his offer and assured them that it was under control. The man in the black jacket watched as the tables were moved back into place and set up.

            “This was the last party we have for a long time to come.” The waitress said to him.

            “Do you know when the next party is, if there is one scheduled?” The man said.

            “There’s supposed to be a luncheon for a funeral next month, but until then, there’s nothing planned. There’s not even anything after that so far.”

            “Times really have been tough here haven’t they?”

            “Yep, but I’m just a waitress. I don’t want to be co-owner, head chef, or manager, because when this place goes, I’ll have lost my job, and nothing more.”

            The waitress continued to set up the plates and move the tables as the man recalled catering for a wedding in that room. It was quite a scene with flowers and bells and boughs all over the place and the happy couple seated at the front of the room. That was all a long time ago, and the restaurant was still in its prime when it happened. Now, it was downhill from there. The restaurant had its youth, its fun, and its rites, but the man and the rest of the staff knew that it wouldn’t be too much longer until it met its end.

            The man in the black jacket made his way back to the bar and paid for his drink and the cheese puffs. Since there were no more customers, the manager decided to close up early. The wait staff said their goodbyes to the man, as he said his to them, promising that he would see them again at some point or another. The snow outside was starting to build up, and he decided that it would be best to head home.

            Before the man turned the key in his car, he could see the snow pile up on the restaurant as the roof was covered in an inch of snow. The lights were switched off inside and he could see the manager locking the door as he pulled out of the parking lot. He knew that it would open the next day; it had to. But the man knew that one day its doors would close for good. What was horrifying was that it was closer than him or any of the staff could think; and no amount of nostalgia could bring it back.