Just Another Day
Hank sat at the counter reading his newspaper and drinking coffee while customers came and went from the little 24-hour diner situated just off exit 193 on I-10. The red vinyl stool was his home away from home.
He finished reading about the troubles LSU was having with their defensive line, when he raised his large Styrofoam cup to his lips and there was an unobstructed view of the bottom of his cup.
Without hesitation, he got up, walked behind the counter to the coffee maker and poured himself a fresh cup. He took the pot of coffee and proceeded to go around to all the other customers pouring refills.
Hank's brassy shoulder length hair and shaggy beard, although clean, caused some customers to hesitate for a split second, until they peered into his wide smile and bright blue eyes, allaying any aversions they might have had toward him based on his scruffy appearance.
"Refill your coffee?" Hank asked a tired looking middle-aged man sitting in a booth with his plump wife.
"Yes, please." The man said.
"Regular I hope," Hank chuckled as he poured the coffee, "It is now!"
The man snickered in agreement and thanked Hank as he walked to the next table, repeating the offer of hot coffee, regular.
After emptying the pot, Hank walked back to the coffee maker and made another pot.
"Thanks, Hank." The harried waitress said as she skillfully carried platters of hot breakfast foods to hungry customers.
"No problem, Sally." Hank said.
Hank sat back down on the stool when a new customer in a Florida Gators cap came in and sat down in an empty booth. Hank immediately got up and walked to the new arrival.
"What can I get you to drink? Sally will be over shortly to take your order."
"Water, please." The Gator fan said.
"Water. I think I can handle that." Hank said with a meaty laugh.
Hank walked behind the counter, found the plastic frosted glasses and filled one with ice and water. He grabbed a straw on his way back to the table placed both in front of the man.
"Thanks."
"Sally's a little busy, but she'll be right over."
"That's fine." The man replied as he took a bright plastic menu from behind the napkin holder.
Sally walked up her with order pad and pen ready to jot down the man's request.
Hank scanned the diner for new patrons and seeing none, he picked up his Styrofoam cup and walked outside to the parking lot.
Hank's beat-up black Ford pickup waited courageously among the shiny Hondas, Toyotas and Hyundais. The truck and Hank were a perfect fit, battered, aged but still able to get the job done. The truck's tailgate was missing, making it look like a big toothless grin. The exterior of the truck appeared as if it hadn't seen soap and water in decades. The back glass was cracked and mended with duck tape. The bed was pocked and dented as if it had seen one too many hail storms. Tools, empty oil cans, soda pop bottles, crushed McDonald's bags and a spare tire lay scattered in the bed. A faded red, white and blue bumper sticker with "9/11/01: We Will Never Forget", provided a touch of color to the chipped and scarred obedient comrade.
Hank opened the driver's side door and when he did the door protested loudly. He leaned in and took something off the seat. He poured the coffee from his Styrofoam cup into a white mug with a familiar yellow and blue Sunco sticker.
Hank shuffled back toward the diner, pausing once to pull up his baggy grey sweat pants. Instead of coming inside, he walked to the paper machine outside the wide front window. He rested his mug of coffee on the top of the red box and from nowhere he pulled a brown Cigarillo out and stuck it in his mouth and fired up. He closed his eyes savoring the feel and taste of the tobacco with satisfaction. As he blew the pale cloud of smoke out, he opened his eyes and considered the travelers speeding by on the interstate. The look on his face could have been curiosity or envy. He took another drag off his smoke and a bit of ash fell on his blue and white striped polo shirt. The stray ash landed on his paunch and he swiped it away with a rough, calloused hand.
He took his mug in his hand and had it to his lips when the waitress popped her head out the door.
"Hey Hank, you have a phone call."
Hank knocked the hot, rosy tip of the Cigarillo off with his finger in an adept move that seemed impossible for his stubby fingers. Carefully he placed the leftover stub in his pocket of his snug shirt as he strolled back into the diner.
Hank walked behind the counter and picked up the handset to the old mustard colored phone that sat near the window to the kitchen. He placed the receiver to his ear.
"Uh huh." Hank said, "Okay. See you after while. Bye."
Hank put the handset back in the cradle and walked back to the stool where he sat earlier. Saying nothing, he sat down and picked up the paper and began riffling through the pages.
"What was the phone call about, Hank?" Sally asked as she walked over filling his Sunco mug with fresh coffee.
"Ah, it was Rosie. She called to say we won the lottery. 79 million, I think."
Sally froze and silence filled the diner as everyone held their breath and stared at Hank.
Hank bellowed heartily, "I guess now I can buy those new tires I need for my truck."
The End