Diner Etiquette For Nowhere

20260317

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Nowhere-On-Particular was a strange little riverside town. Quiet. Too worn-down to count as “quaint”. And deeply seeped in loneliness. Cassie wasn’t planning on staying long. She hadn’t been planning to stay at all, but the cheap coach ticket she’d bought dropped her off here without enough money to buy another. So here she was. For now.
You’d be forgiven for assuming the place wasn’t even a town, just a coach stop in the middle of nowhere; you were dropped off in front of the motel, its two-story building’s guttering neon lights the main landmark for miles. To your left was the diner, almost as large but skulking low to the ground by comparison. To your right was a 24/7 gas station with attached mart, and next to that, oddly, an old-fashioned barbershop.
All four businesses had signs propped in their windows saying they were hiring. Presumably most of the people they employed were like Cassie, only pausing long enough to refuel as they drifted through.
If you walked around the back of the motel, or were in one of the cheapest rooms, you could peer across the river and see the town proper through the haze. There was a bridge, but Cassie hadn’t tried it. No need. She went straight to the diner seeking work, then the motel to get a room. At an employee discount, she was pleased to learn; some deal between the various businesses.
“We need someone for the late shift.” The diner owner had said, squinting at her in a measuring fashion. “Handling folks coming off the night buses.”
Sure, she could do that.
“Good. There’s three rules - we don’t make change, send ‘em to the mart. Bathrooms here are employee only, send ‘em to the motel lobby. And don’t ask them questions.”
Sure?
So here she was, dressed in the least ill-fitting uniform she’d been able to find in the back room, learning the kitchen layout before the cook clocked off. At least the overnight menu was nice and simple. Most of it was even served cold. And the day staff had cleaned the whole place rather than expecting her to do it. She’d had far worse gigs.
Now, when she’d been told not to ask clients questions, she’d assumed this meant queries like “are you old enough to be travelling on your own?” or “is that paper bag full of a legal substance?” or “do you have proper ID?”. And she was good at not asking those questions.
But she didn’t have practice not asking “are you, like, human?”.
Because normally that’d be a ridiculous question, right? And, well, there was nothing overtly out of place. Just a bunch of people wrapped up against the night chill, faces shrouded by hoods or hats pulled low.
Sure, she could swear that person had multiple limbs wriggling inside their windbreaker, but she had to be imagining things. And while that person over there looked like their eyes were glowing, it had to be novelty contacts or something. Maybe smart glasses. Ugh. Actually, she’d prefer if they just weren’t human. That still left the possibility of not being a creep.
The oppressive atmosphere didn’t help. Everyone slumped over their order, wrapped in a web of silence which the jukebox somehow amplified rather than drowning out.
No eye contact. No conversation. Most of the customers didn’t even speak to order, simply pointing at the menu. Cassie felt increasingly antsy. While the last six years drifting had massively widened her standard of “normal”, this felt more like a nightmare than a work shift.
While handing over yet another coffee and toastie, something snapped and she blurted out a familiar icebreaker: “So, why’re you travelling?”
Every head rose. Cassie quailed under the ethereal weight of two dozen stares. Should she apologise? Take it back? Or just let the silence continue?
“Why do I travel?” The figure rasped, in a voice like a fistful of soggy cigarette butts. “Hm.” They tilted their head. Seemingly pondering. Then they asked “Have you ever been so lost, that you became free?”
Cassie’s breath caught. “I think that’s what I’ve been chasing.”
They nodded. “The trick is remembering that some wrong turns are necessary for the journey.”
Cassie smiled and nodded and tucked this advice away. Sure, it didn’t sound useful, but… it resonated.
While most of the crowd had turned back to their orders, some were still gazing at her. Uncertain? Hopeful?
Cassie picked one at random. Made her voice as casual-yet-encouraging as she could. “How about you?”
Without hesitation they wheezed “I chase a feeling I can’t hold.”
“Oh. Yeah, I getcha.”
And she did. So, so well.
The silence felt… warmer. Closer. Lighter.
Another stranger spoke up unprompted. “I’m travelling until the past gets tired of following me.”
“Mood.” Cassie topped up their drink with a sympathetic smile.
It carried on, voice by voice. A soft midnight confessional. Cassie listened, and served order, and gave understanding.
And she noted that, despite all entering alone, many customers walked out together. In pairs, or small groups. Though she couldn’t be certain (despite being so, uh, individual, they were hard to tell apart), she increasingly felt the groups were forming based on similar answers.
Finding each other.
The jukebox warbled in the corner. There was never an empty seat. And Cassie served orders, and asked gentle questions, and witnessed.
~*~
Next morning, the owner was amazed at the all tips that’d been left. But he wasn’t the sort to ask questions. He just gave Cassie a raise on the spot, and told her there were some nice flats across the river. Affordable. Already furnished. Perfect for someone starting out with not much.
Cassie looked out at the coach. She fingered the money in her pocket. She smiled and said she’d wander over the bridge and take a look this afternoon.
Nowhere-On-Particular was a strange little riverside town. Quiet. Too worn-down to count as “quaint”. But you met the most interesting people. Cassie fit right in.

Prompt was “Have you ever been so lost, that you became free?”