The Diner Guests that Changed My Life

I have always worked the night shift. For some reason, my mind has always been sharper at night than during the day. Plus, they pay better for night shift employees.

It has been five years since I started working at this 24/7 family-owned diner. The owners are great; they occasionally visit, but only the old matriarch pops in regularly to help out.

In my five years here, nothing out of the ordinary has ever happened, except for the one time when my co-worker called in sick with Salmonella, and I had to handle the night shift on my own for about a week.

The eventful day happened to be the last day of my being alone for the night shift.

Nobody likes the night shift. Everyone has a normal family life. Being in my early and tumultuous twenties, striving to be independent from my family's finances, I took this job. I graduated from a good university and got a nice job in the entertainment industry. For a while, I enjoyed the fast-paced environment: scouting locations, securing permits, and editing footage. The late nights were grueling, but I got used to the work. I loved it and felt entirely in my element. Then one day, the network I worked for shut down due to political motivations. I had only been working there for 18 months.

Desperate for a new job to pay my bills, I found out this diner was hiring. I tried their food, and for a relatively small and cozy place, the food was remarkable. With a background in the hospitality industry, which I studied in vocational school while attending my university online, I've been happy. I like the stability that this job has given me. I earn enough to cover my bills, live comfortably in my quaint little apartment, and have some savings. I also have insurance. However, over the past week, I've been feeling drained, exhausted, and incredibly frustrated. Everyone has been busy, and my friends are either starting their own families or getting married. While that has never been an issue for me, I miss my friends. I hate this feeling of loneliness and isolation. Now, I can't even call in sick because our 24/7 diner would have to close for the first time since it opened.

After crying my frustrations out, I washed my face, applied night cream, and headed to the diner. My shift starts at 10 PM, and it's only 9:45, so I have a few minutes to kill before I clock in. There are no customers yet, and Jera, one of the regular employees, is busy cleaning up the kitchen. I take this moment to sit in silence and survey the diner.

It has been ages since I sat down quietly to observe. The decor hasn't changed much during my time here. It's a 50s style diner with booths, red seats, and a checkered floor. The only thing missing is a jukebox; instead, there's a huge 50-inch flat-screen TV. The place isn't too big. The owners spared no expense in upgrading the kitchen appliances during last year's renovation, but the dining space still caters to only around 50-100 people. We are better known for our catering services. Perhaps the owners didn't see it fit to expand the dining area's capacity since this is a small town, and many people still prefer to cook and eat at home. We mostly serve travelers, drivers, and drunk teenagers seeking to satisfy their late-night munchies and regain sobriety so they don't drive while intoxicated.

It was a Friday night, and while we usually had regular customers throughout the week, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays were our busiest days. Fridays could go either way, sometimes bustling with activity, and other times slow and uneventful. That particular night seemed to fall into the latter category, or so I thought.

Jera, finally done with her kitchen duties, glanced at the clock and let out a sigh of relief. It was five minutes to 10 PM, and seeing that I had already arrived, she bid me farewell. Before leaving, she asked if I would be alright, and upon receiving my affirmative response, she reassuringly squeezed my hand, perhaps sensing my downcast aura. I wondered whether my eyes were that puffy or if my demeanor gave away my inner turmoil to anyone who looked at me.

Anticipating a slow night with no customers until the early hours of the day, I allowed my thoughts to drift back to my current situation. Maybe all I needed was a vacation, a chance to visit different towns or relax at a resort. Yet, despite such thoughts, I still felt disconnected from the life I had envisioned for myself – one filled with excitement, creativity, and intellectual fulfillment. The tears welled up once more, uncontrollable and heavy, akin to an unexpected downpour on an otherwise cloudless day.

It was midnight.

A lady entered the diner, prompting me to hastily wipe away my tears and put on my fake smile. She approached the counter, ready to place her order. While standing there, attentively listening and noting down her requests, I found myself inexplicably drawn to her, much like one's reflection in a mirror. I never passed a mirror without stealing a glance at my own reflection, and she evoked that same fascination within me. There was an uncanny familiarity about her as if she were someone I knew. To ensure accuracy, I repeated her orders back to her.

‘Are you expecting company, ma’am?’ I inquired.

‘Oh, yes, my sweetheart, and my siblings. They’ll be coming in shortly,’ she smiled. I nodded politely and proceeded to the kitchen. You might be wondering how I could leave the cash register unattended to prepare their meals. Over the years, the owners had gradually installed automated security measures, despite the considerable cost. In the event of theft or any potential danger, a report would be automatically sent to the police station. Although I was unaware of the full extent of the security features, in the eight years since its establishment, no one had ever attempted any malicious acts within the diner's premises.

Within the next half hour, the rest of her party arrived at the restaurant, all dressed in fashionable attire reminiscent of a bygone era. Their bespoke garments fit them perfectly, as if they had stepped straight out of a 1950s fashion magazine cover. I refrained from asking about their attire, assuming they had come from an event and chosen our diner as the venue for their afterparty.

After delivering the final order to their table, the lady I had conversed with earlier flashed a warm smile and requested, "Please bring us an extra plate, utensils, and another stool." They were already seated at the largest booth, but I sensed they might be expecting one more person, so I hurried to fulfill her request.

As I collected the additional items, I couldn't help but overhear snippets of their lively conversation, filled with shared anecdotes and laughter. The chubby lady, with an adorable face, chuckled merrily at the conclusion of a story recounted by the beautiful, stern-looking lady. Among the group, there were two gentlemen present. The lady's sweetheart sat in front of her, occupying the aisle seat, while the other gentleman sat to his left. The lady's sweetheart possessed a tall stature, a brown complexion, and distinctive sharp features, including a prominent nose. The other gentleman, presumably her sibling, shared a similar profile but had eyes resembling his sisters'. The lady I had spoken with earlier commanded respect from the others, indicating that she was the eldest among them. The second eldest bore a resemblance to her elder sister, albeit with a perpetually serious expression. However, based on the snippets of stories I caught, she seemed to possess a delightful sense of humor. Then there was the tallest member of their group, nearly as tall as her brother. Her face emanated kindness, though she exhibited a slightly more reserved demeanor compared to the others. The fourth member resembled her first two sisters but possessed a slender frame and styled her hair in a fashionable 1950s updo. Her angular facial features gave her the appearance of a strict yet well-meaning governess. Lastly, the youngest-looking member exuded an infectious charm and bubbling enthusiasm, causing her contagious laughter to echo through the diner.

As I placed the final items on their table, the lady graciously thanked me and extended an unexpected invitation, saying,

"Please dine with us. These dishes are already paid for." Initially, I was inclined to decline, but she gestured to stop me from interrupting and insisted, "I insist, please. We've been away from this town for too long. Tell us about the new and exciting places." Intrigued, I agreed to join them.

We sat in silence for a moment as the lady's sweetheart led a prayer, followed by a shared meal. The lady took the initiative to engage in conversation, posing questions about the latest happenings in town. The others chimed in occasionally, sharing nostalgic anecdotes from their past visits to the area. As they animatedly recounted their stories, I found myself captivated, transported back to my childhood, reminiscent of lively family gatherings where cherished relatives gathered, catching up and embellishing tales from their youth. Eventually, the lady turned to me, still wearing her warm smile, and requested to see my hand. Neat, I thought. Perhaps I could learn my fortune. Leaning forward, I presented my right hand, allowing myself a proper look at her face. She possessed an oval-shaped visage, small eyes, a button nose, and remarkably high cheekbones. Her appearance struck a familiar chord within me, although I struggled to place who she reminded me of. In fact, all of them triggered a sense of recognition, as if I had known them before, or at the very least, they emanated a light and comforting aura.

Finally, she spoke, her words carrying a profound truth, "You earn money well and have become a more conscious spender..." Indeed, I had become financially literate due to the responsibilities of living independently. "...but you make little time for the things that truly matter to you. You feel like a cog in a machine." My response was simple, "I am managing this place," as I folded my hands on the table.

She continued, challenging me with a thought-provoking question, "Are you happy being stuck where you are? Why not see the world?" I attempted to justify my situation, mentioning that I had seen parts of the world and that I would eventually return to it, just not at that moment.

The lady's sweetheart interjected, revealing a regret of his own, "My one regret might be not allowing my daughter to pursue the course she desired. She would have excelled in agriculture. Instead, I built a life for her so she wouldn't have to engage in menial work elsewhere." The others remained silent, focusing on their meal. He continued, "Things are relatively better now. My daughter followed my advice and secured a great job, excelling in her field. But I understand the burden of unreasonable and unsupportive expectations."

Attempting to console him, I offered, "I'm sure she doesn't resent you."

He reflected, emphasizing his point, "The key message is that you mustn't forget to live. You work yourself to the bone, but you've forgotten how to be truly happy. Always anxious, never slowing down. And you're not even doing it for the things you genuinely care about. It's a surprise you're still alive."

Struggling to hold back my emotions, I listened intently, aware of the undeniable truth in his words. The lady, sensing my internal struggle, placed her soft and soothing hands over mine, stating, "You don't always need validation from others. You don't always have to prove yourself to anyone. You shouldn't care about what you think others think of you. You have been the best version of yourself for years, yet you still carry the weight of others' negativity in your heart."

I inhaled sharply, the weight of her words sinking in.

"And now you're stuck, afraid of change, because not doing anything feels safer than attempting and potentially failing. But how will you ever know if you can excel at the things you desire unless you try? The same principle applies to other aspects of life. You won't lose face; instead, you will gain an impenetrable resolve."

Slowly, I nodded, feeling tears welling up but holding them back. She was right. I exhaled, and a genuine smile graced my face, the lightest I had felt in years.

The conversation flowed smoothly thereafter, but all too soon, it was time to bid them farewell. I couldn't help but notice the absence of any other customers throughout the evening, but it didn't concern me. Their payment for the meal alone would cover my expenses for the next two weeks. Before departing, each of them embraced me warmly. The last to do so was the lady I had first encountered.

Suddenly, a realization struck me, and I blurted out, "Ma'am, thank you for tonight. But before you go, I think I forgot to ask your name. You seem familiar, and I apologize if I've forgotten your name, assuming we have crossed paths before." Breathlessly, I awaited her response. She regarded me with an amused smile and enveloped me in her embrace. As I drew near, the fragrance of Sampaguita flowers emanated from her perfume.

‘My name is Loring’

I gasped, as if oxygen had returned to my lungs. Memories flooded my mind, and I found myself transported back to the master bedroom of my childhood home. Surrounding me were family and friends, their expressions somber, with some even shedding tears. One of them realized I was awake just as the priest concluded a prayer. The room erupted with joyous praises, laughter, and tears of relief. I noticed an IV line attached to my arm and, curious, asked about what had happened since my shift at the diner.

To my surprise, my grandaunt informed me that I never made it to my shift. A few steps away from the diner, I suddenly collapsed and struck my head on the edge of a platform. Jera rushed me to the hospital, where I remained unconscious for several days. Eventually, my family brought me home, opting for treatment here. I had been in a coma for eight days, and as my condition worsened, my loved ones feared the worst, hence the last rites.

I shared my perspective on the events that unfolded at the diner, recounting the presence of the seven individuals. Suddenly, it became clear who they truly were—my great-grand relatives in their youthful years. Loring, the lady I had conversed with, was my great-grandmother.

Smiling, I uttered,

"I enjoyed working at that place. Now, I believe it's time to pursue other aspirations. Acting has always intrigued me, and although I had a brief stint in showbiz, I never had the chance to fully explore it. It's never too late to learn the craft. But first, I have a few people to visit."