Some Joe

Some Joe

By J. Scott Wade

“The coffee’s cold!” sounded like cawfees co-ode, Joe barked. His declaration directed from the 24/7 diner counter to the server in his Charleston, south of Broad, drawl. The server, a young woman, maybe twenty years old said, “I’m sorry Joe, ” as she refilled the old man’s mug. Joe said, “Hell to Betsy girl. Whatcha doing? I want a fresh mug. Geez, are you stupid. Where’s Jake? And it’s Mr. Joe, to you!” The servers eyes welled with tears and she scurried away.

The manager, Jake, came over and asked, “What’s the problem Joe?” Joe had come to the old diner every morning for thirty two years. He always ordered two eggs over easy, wheat toast, coffee, with a side of complaints. Joe replied, “Your new girl is as dumb as shit. You hired her so that makes you dumb as shit too. She dumped fresh coffee on top of this… bullshit coffee. Don’t you train your people Jake?”

Jake exasperated said, “Sorry Joe, let me get you a fresh mug. Breakfast is on me today.” Jake turned to get a new mug and Joe countered, “You’re damn straight Jake, it is on you, I’m not paying for poor service.” After a pause, empowered, he continued, “You know, you ought to fire that girl. I think she’s going to be trouble for you, I can almost guarantee it.” It sounded like far and garl.

Joe picked up a survey card on the table rack, like most corporate restaurants provide for customers, “Besides, you and I both know she’s from the wrong side of town to be working here. You have a pencil?”

Jake with a coffee carafe poised to fill the mug said, “Come on Joe, you’re over-reacting. Jane’s new, she’ll get it together.”

Joe’s face turned angry red with the challenge and retorted, “Jake, you must be doing her. Is that it? You getting some brown sugar in the back room?”

Joe’s voice, desperate, grew louder, “And, she called me a cracker, gave me old coffee on purpose, and maybe spat in it, I’d say you have a problem bud!” His sing-song baritone voice crescendoed, “I demand you fire her right now or I will make sure you get fired too!” Joe’s threat carried across the diner. The clinking of plates, silverware, and voices of the diner stopped, like someone hit pause on a TV. Joe, knew he had center stage, and commanded, “What do you say Jake? Fire her now!” He held up the survey card and waved it. Jane, distraught, stayed in the far corner by the register, another server’s arm around her. The other diners, silent, stared at the battlefield of wills at the counter while bacon sizzled on the flat-top.

Jake put the coffee mug down unfilled. He turned his back on Joe, put the carafe on the counter behind him, and bought time to gain control of his anger. He turned back to Joe, who sat straight up on the stool poised in anticipation of victory. Joe recapitulated, “It’s going to be you or her Jake. Do it now! It’s you or her!”

Jake, his voice low and slow at first said, “No, Joe, it’s not me or her, it’s you!” He pointed his index finger at Joe and ordered, “Get the hell off this property now and don’t’ ever come back! Go back to the slimehole you and your type crawled out of before I call the police and you’re charged with assault and battery!” Joe, in disbelief said, “Assault? I haven’t assaulted anyone.” It sounded like ‘saulted.’

Jake looked around the diner and said, “Everyone here saw you take a swing at me. Right folks?” Joe turned around and saw everyone, to a person, nod their heads yes.

Joe got up from the counter stool and with slow deliberation put his hat on his bald head. He stepped forward, probing with his cane, and limped through the gauntlet of silent judgement. Joe stopped at the front door, turned to face everyone and said, “What has happened to this town? Nothing but a bunch of lying pussies.” It sounded like, Poo-sies.

He exited the building, limped to the crosswalk, and in blind arrogant anger didn’t look up. He stepped into the street and the path of an oncoming City bus. The coroner later stated that, “Joe didn’t feel anything.” Many thought, “Truer words were never spoken.”