Diet Coke and Cigarettes

Just the smell of this place is enough to make me nauseous. It just smells deep fried. The kind of place you walk into and immediately feel the need to wash your face. I made my way to the bathroom eyeing everyone’s food, telling myself I’m not hungry. I’ve survived the last four days on Diet Coke, gum, and Camel lights. One bite of greasy diner food would undo all that work I’ve done. One fry will inevitably lead to a whole plate which leads to a burger and, next thing you know, I’ll have ordered two large pizzas to whatever roadside motel I make home for the night. No. Head down. Bathroom. Leave.

“Why don’t you sit a spell, you look like you could use a cup of coffee.” The waitress behind the counter says as I’m attempting to B-line for the exit. Good to know I look as exhausted as I feel.

“No, that’s alright. I’m on a pretty tight schedule. Thank you though.”

“Come on over here, baby, I’ll get you a to-go cup.”

“Uh… Okay. Thanks.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“No thank you, just black.”

“Can I get you anything from the kitchen right quick? Onion rings? Fried okra?”

“No that’s okay,” I cut her off, “I’m not hungry.”

She looked me up and down like she was trying to figure out where she knew me from. She gave me one of those “bless your heart” head tilts with that fake, lips pursed smile; a Southern classic when people want you to know you’re not fooling anybody.

“How much do I owe you for the coffee?”

“Sweetheart, it is on me.” She took my hands and gave me another condescending smile. My mother smiles at me the same way. It gives me an uneasy sense of the home I’m trying to leave behind. She continued, “You sure you’re not hungry?”

“Yep,” I said, taking my hands out from under hers, “I’m fine. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Take care of yourself, darlin’.”

You’d think I was fleeing a crime scene with how quickly I sped out of that parking lot. It’s weird how someone figuring you out can cause such a rush of panic and pride. Panic because you’ve been caught; someone knows that I haven’t eaten in days. Pride because it’s working. A stranger noticed. Someone who hasn’t known me at any weight other than this, she knows. No one has ever known. At least no one has ever shown any concern even if they had known. Just as soon as I sped out of there, I had to pull over. I couldn’t see through the tears that appeared out of nowhere, all at once. I thought about going back, but then she’d be right. I was hungry. I’m not hungry. There’s nothing wrong with me. If I walk back in there, I’m just going to be the topic of gossip at her book club, or whatever. I can already hear her telling them about me. “The poor girl looked like she was starvin’ to death!”

I ended up back in that parking lot, staring through the diner window at the Southern belle of a waitress; picking at my already chipped nail polish and furiously chomping the gum in my mouth. Am I really going to go back in there? Let her revel in the glory of knowing she has me figured out? I guess so. I undid my seat belt, opened the car door, and slowly made my way back into the thick, greasy air.

“Hey, darlin’, change your mind?”

“Uh… Yeah. I guess.”

“Well you come on, right over here and I’ll get you a menu.” She patted at a spot at the end of the counter.

I sat down and glanced at the menu. They don’t put the calorie count next to the meals. I started panicking, knowing I’d made a mistake. I shouldn’t have come back in here.

“See anything you like?” She asked me, almost as if she knew I was overwhelmed.

“Uhm, I don’t know. Can I have a few minutes?”

“‘Course. I’ll be right over here. My name’s Jan, just holler if you need me.”

I felt defeated. Nothing on this menu is lacking butter, gravy, ranch; nothing is safe. I flipped to my trusty sides menu. No matter where you go, you can always find a house salad or a fruit cup. I don’t trust the house salad to come out without some type of white condiment or bacon on it, so I’m going to go fruit cup. I’ll also get an oatmeal to-go and then Jan won’t have anything to worry about anymore. I’m doing this for Jan.

“You doin’ alright?”

“Yeah. Uhm, can I get a fruit cup and an oatmeal to-go, please?”

“Absolutely! Anything else, hun?"

“Uh a diet coke? And another black coffee, please.”

“Alright, I’ll be back in just a sec.”

“Thank you.”

I waited for what felt like an hour. It felt like everyone was staring at me. In reality, it wasn’t even five minutes before Jan was back with my order. She put the small containers into a white paper bag with a straw and plastic cutlery set.

“Alright, darlin’, that’ll be $5.89.” She loves calling people darlin’ doesn’t she? I handed her a ten.

“Keep the change.” I told her standing up to leave.

“Well, thank you very much.” She grabbed my hand again, this time it took me by surprise. “You take care of yourself, alright?”

“Yes ma’am,” I replied, feeling the weight of her expression. “Thank you for everything. Have a nice day.”

I rushed out of the building a second time. I threw the bag of food on the passenger’s seat and took off towards the highway. About fifty miles of chain-smoking and blaring Pearl Jam later, I had to stop for gas. Knowing the oatmeal would be too cold to be any good and the fruit would be just warm enough to be a little slimy, I felt okay with throwing it out. After pulling up to the gas pump and getting the pump started, I dug around the bag to find the straw before throwing the bag out. The order ticket was stuck to the straw, I’ll save that, maybe I can write it off as a travel expense or something. I chucked the bag in the garbage can, put the gas cap back on, and got in the car. While opening the straw, I noticed the order ticket wasn’t my order at all.

It’s okay to need help sometimes. You have permission. All my love, Jan

Should I be offended or moved? I’m a little bit of both to be honest. It’s too late now, Jan, I already threw the food away. One more day won’t kill me. I sat there for probably too long reading and re-reading that message. You have permission. It’s okay. How did she know I needed this? I don’t need it, but it’s nice anyway. I took the piece of gum out of my mouth, stuck it to the back of the order ticket, and put it on the dash between the two vents. Maybe next time, Jan, maybe next time.