Workplace Love

I'd just moved to the quaint town of Fayetteville and I needed work. I caught a man, later to be known as Otis, in the bread isle of the local grocer. He had the sports section of the newspaper in his left hand and atop his head sat a perfectly placed fedora. The fact that his Nike Air Max shoes were in mint condition let me know that he wasn't from around here. I also noticed how care-free his attire was, yet every black and gray hair in his beard was perfectly trimmed as if a great amount of detailed labor took place to get it that way.

He seemed like he wouldn't work a nine-to-five type of job. He seemed like he'd rather spend his days alone watching reruns of classic shows or fishing in a boat just big enough for him, some tackle, and whatever he might catch that day. But something about him gave the aura that he was still in the working field. His style just didn't reek "retired" to me. So I approached him as gracefully as possible and mentioned the headline of his sports page. He looked startled as if he'd known I was going to speak to him but my words were not what he expected. I took advantage of this and continued the conversation quickly before he had a chance to further quiz my knowledge of whatever sport I'd so inadvertently brought up. I wanted a job, hell, I needed a job, so I asked him where to look. He told me to check out the place down the street where he worked. Said a waitress quit; must have gone off to college or something.

Can't say I blame her; anyone in their right mind would leave this town as soon as humanly possible. But right now, I needed to leave this store that quickly. No need to linger around Otis, as it is now, the lamb is too close to the lion.

The next day, I awoke and dressed quickly. I tried to put on some appropriate business attire and realized that here, any shirt that you could tuck in along with pants that lacked holes would be more than acceptable for an interview. I walked outside and swiftly to meet my grandmother in the car. As we drove, I pondered what this establishment would be like. I exited the car and began what seemed like an everlasting walk from the parking lot to the diner. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry along the way interrupted my fathoming with a casual, yet demanding, "Hey! How ya doing?"

To which I constantly replied, "Uh, fine. And you?"

Soon the café was within smelling distance. Phew! I thought to myself. You think I would've worn something a little more breathable as humid as it is today. Wanting to make a good impression, I reached into my bag and attempted to casually mist myself with a refreshing spray from one of those high-end fragrance lines.

I approached the door and nervousness quickly set in. I was terrified. I had nothing in common with these people. How would they react to me and all my "city-slicker" ways? How would I cope with the dramatic--. My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sight of Otis.

I knew that if Otis, as solemn and he was, could cope in this one-horse town, then I could, too. Something about seeing him, so alone amidst all these people, let me know that I had what it was going to take to make a life here. I had the will to survive amongst these people. I finally opened the door.

Everyone turned and stared at me. The place smelled like a county fair early in the morning. It was a kind of sweet odor, yet, you could still smell the burgers grilling and the corn dogs cooking. There was a song playing over the store's P.A. Some lady singing about how she cries every night... On some of the patrons' faces I could see that same expression of angst. The walls were jubilant colors that somehow managed to appear as pallor and bland as if they belonged in a funeral home. The lights were very bright behind the counter.

I treaded slowly along, making my way to the counter and assessing the large woman waiting for me behind it. Her eyebrows were penciled in at an angle that expressed some sort of anguish. I asked for an application and noticed two of the cooks checking me out. Neither one of them was worth looking at as far as I was concerned. I continued to ponder what Otis thought of me. I quickly snapped out of my daze and asked the portly lady if her establishment was hiring. She said they were accepting applications and finally handed me one with a taunting look on her face.

I took it to the far-most corner booth, sat down, and began to fill it out. I tried to make my words flow across the page like one of those European poets you see in movies. You know the ones... they still use a quill pen and shop from the set of a Johnny Depp film despite the fact that we are in the 21st century. I failed miserably at that attempt. Once I was finished with the application, I returned it to the counter. Another young lady, dark-skinned with short hair, assured me that if the owner needed me he would contact me and call me in for an interview.

Two weeks rolled by before my phone rang from them. The old man on the opposite end of the receiver informed me that I was the lucky recipient of an interview with him that following Wednesday. I was shocked! Was he really interested in hiring me? Did he actually think that I would coincide with all of his current employees or was I just going to be a spectacle for them to look at? Either way, I'd have to suck it up and attempt to nail this interview so that I could land this job.

I got dressed for the interview in an outfit similar to one I'd seen a local news anchor wearing. The difference between the two simple, and in my eyes, very important: my tag read Oscar De La Renta and hers probably said "Jeorge" with that goofy looking J that can only be found in every super store across America. Plus, I thought my shape better filled out the ensemble.

I walked into that horrid place of eatery again, looked around for the manager, and scooted into the cluttered booth he declared his desk. He began discussing the ins and outs of the job in a tone very similar to Ben Stein with a head cold. My mind quickly diverted back to Otis. He was standing in the window of the kitchen staring at me as I attempted to follow the conversation the owner was now having with himself. Despite my short attention span, I landed the job and was instructed to return a few days later for my first day on the job.

Several weeks passed of me working there before Otis spoke to me again, but what he said was beyond shocking. He asked me, in the most nonchalant manner, when we could be together. I was confused and unsure of how to respond so I stared at him waiting for him say something, anything, that would clarify what he had just suggested. Because he simply walked away with a devilish grin, I was forced to make inferences of my own. It haunted my thoughts for the rest of the day.

Why would he ask me that? Had I been too flirtatious? After hours became days of this fathoming, I was forced to ask myself if I was interested in him, too. I couldn't decide; he was attractive but he was far older than me. I contemplated how our relationship could work... how my family would react... how his friends and family would react.

My period of thought was interrupted by a new suggestion on his behalf. He told me how he would treat me if I were his wife. He promised I would have anything I wanted. He swore he would wait for me to turn 18 before he even attempted to have any kind of serious relationship with me and that for the time being he would just court me and hope that I still wanted him when I became of age.

All of this was extremely overwhelming to me. I took much longer this time to study all of the things he had said to me. I finally came to the conclusion that he was not for me. I couldn't ever be with him. He wanted much more from me than I could ever give him at such a young age. I had to learn to be strong in my declines to his advances so that I could continue to maintain my glorious position as a waitress in the dinkiest malt shop still in town.

This was more difficult than I could have ever imagined. Every time he spoke to me there-after was as if he could read my mind and the contents of my heart. He spoke to me as if he'd known me his whole life and each time I melted a little more inside. Soon, I found out the conniving old man was not only pursuing me, but also the portly woman who I so despised.

She wasn't actually a mean woman; just unsightly. She often got on my nerves but in the stress of maintaining a life in this mundane place, everything got on my nerves. One day while on break, she explained that she and Otis had been lovers for years now. She told me of all the things he'd promised her and admitted that he was a functional alcoholic but she loved him anyway.

I was so overwhelmed. What should I do? Who could I talk to? One day while pondering this, I allowed my mind to wander while I stood in the doorway of the walk-in freezer. Otis approached me calmly and stroked my cheek. I blushed on contact and stammered for words. He chuckled, mostly to himself, then brushed past me to acquire the vegetables he came to retrieve.

Despite the steady and chilling blow of the freezer's air I was warm all over. I fathomed the day when he could be mine. Each time a break in customers came that day I sat down to contemplate and the image of his lover, the cow-shaped woman, interrupted abruptly. I shivered and realized he was nothing I would ever want if she had already had him. My prior convictions must remain in tact. I have to leave him alone.

Slowly I weaned myself from him. I quit talking to him at work. He finally bought a cell phone and asked for my number. I kindly denied him. His passes were shot down with each passing day; one day I imagine they wouldn't matter.

I've been working at this same restaurant for over a year. Otis still works there, too. He still makes advances ever-so-often and I still turn them down. The same music still plays over the P.A. and is sourced by the same record player. The red walls still look pallor and bland despite their rich paint and texture. The same customers are still regulars and the large Coca-Cola clock on the wall behind the portly woman still ticks as slow as ever.