Hello, all. Somewhere between the end of my last shift and me waking up this morning, I found the moxie to post on here about the things that have been going on at my job. No, there is no bad experience that I am hiding for the end. Those experiences will be their own separate posts. All I want is for some rational answers to why on earth any of this is possible.
Some backstory, I’m a 27 year old who just got out of a deprecating divorce and was in need of a job if I wanted to ever have a sustainable living space for not only me, but for my child who I have shared custody with. When I had gotten married, me and my husband, who we will call Darren, failed to sign a prenup which meant I was able to dip into some of his money if I really needed to. At some point, I found myself reliant on him after getting laid off from my old job. I don’t remember if it was for the company filing bankruptcy or them doing that annoying worker liquidation thing but either way, I had no way to get money which meant I was back on my own to look for a job. So when he told me he wanted to file for divorce, I suddenly felt my world crumbling down. I had yet to find a job thanks to my town’s ever-growing population and I have very little saved.
I won’t say that 1,439 dollars isn’t a lot, because compared to others I know I had no right to be ungrateful, however to pay for all the things I would need to survive put that all to shame. I was broke, living with someone who I depended on who didn’t love me any longer. Someone who hadn’t loved me for a long time. But, not being an asshole, I respected his wishes and we both filed for divorce. When we had, we mostly fought over the custody of our son, Rowan, and we landed on split, 50/50 custody. The only other thing that came of it was I was left with my own car and a small, three bedroom house in a nearby town in New Jersey. Thank fucking god. I think I would simply die if I wasn’t left with somewhere to live, even if it was just my car.
When I had officially moved out of our shared house, I knew that the first moment of “peace” I got would be spent looking for a job and doing everything it took before I found one that that could keep me afloat for the time being while I find a permanent job that could skyrocket me back onto my feet. About a week into my new life, I was scrolling through the local newsletter for my town and found out that a diner not too far from where I was living was hiring. Perfect. Initially, I was sketched out thanks to a lot of factors. One being that, for as long as I’ve been coming to this town, I have never once heard of the diner. The name was Berryspout Diner, an interesting name all on its own, and seemed both abandoned yet brand new. I don’t really know how helpful that description alone is, so I’ll try to describe it and better detail. The walls are all covered in muck and overgrown leaves with rust coated hinges and windows smashed all to hell.
Oh and we can’t forget the colorful graffiti depicting horrible things like police brutality and gun violence with naked women to tie it all up. It was lewd and powerful all at the same time. When I describe it as being new, I mean that it seems like it was just placed there, contradicting my description above. Had I just been blind? Was this building always here? But in spite of those worries, I went onto the website listed in the blurb and sent in my application. It was mostly normal, me briefly explaining why I want the job and my gratitude for if I am even considered for the position. After long, restless months of waiting for the divorce to finalize, moving away from what I thought would be a permanent home, and now looking for a job, I could relax my muscles just a little and hope that I wouldn’t be left to my own devices again.
It was a couple weeks before I heard from the diner which left me begging for some money from my parents who I have been mostly financially independent from since I was 16. Thankfully they felt pitiful enough to give me enough to pay for groceries and some bills I had yet to pay. When I checked the mail one morning and saw an envelope from the place, I felt a surge of joy go through my body. I was finally able to get my life back together. Faster than I would like to admit, I swiftly opened up the letter and read through the whole thing like an ecstatic 12 year old opening tickets to their first concert on Christmas day. As if my luck got turned around, the diner accepted my application and I set a date on my calendar for the upcoming Thursday, the day I go in for my first time and learn the ropes of the place.
Skipping some self loathing and hours of crying, Thursday came faster than I expected. One moment I found myself sitting on my couch, scrolling through the dry and boring stories about my neighbor’s cat being saved from the roof of the coffee shop, the next I was standing in front of the building I have yet to see. The letters that were hung up, spelling ‘Berryspout Diner’ were barely hanging on by the hinges and I noticed that the window on the door was similarly smashed to the windows surrounding the walls of the diner. It was as run down as you can get, really. Regardless, I made my way inside and my world flipped on its head.
Walking inside, everything that was not visible when I was outside suddenly filled my sight. The typical bright fluorescent lights lit up the room, illuminating the rows of booths and tables filled with patrons with waiters and waitresses periodically leaving the kitchen then to either give customers their food or napkins or just to ask questions. In front, there was a smiling hostess who looked up from whatever she was looking at and meeting my gaze. “Hello! What can I get you?” She asked, motioning me over as she assumed I was a customer. “Hey, I’m supposed to be getting a tour of the place. Today is my first day on the job.” I explained, noticing how her face shifted from the fabricated, worker cheer to the much more normal, neutral expression. “You’re Jillian, right? Follow me.” The lady, who I assumed was named Megan thanks to her name tag, made her way to the back end of the restaurant with me not so far behind. When we were walking past the countless adults and children, I noticed the almost translucent look to their skin and the sunken-in cheeks that made them look both dead and alive simultaneously.
It made my mind wander back to how on the outside looking in, the restaurant was deserted yet when you step through the doors you’re met with a whole new world. I got the idea to look back to the windows, but before I could, a gruffly male voice obstructed my hearing. “Hello there little lady, I’m Hank.” An older looking man said, holding his hand out for me to shake. After a couple moments of hesitation, I took his hand in mine and ended the handshake as quickly as it started. “Before we start with the tour, you need to change into our signature uniform!” Hank began, a smile taking over the previous frown that must’ve been imprinted on his face naturally. The uniforms were what you would expect. A black shirt and black pants or skirt duo (with the addition of leggings and/or long-sleeved shirts) with the logo of the diner printed on the front while the apron we had to wear was this maroon-ish berry color to go with the Berry part of Berryspout.
Once I finished putting on my work attire, I left the employee locker room (which was fairly large considering I only saw about 5 workers in total) and met back up with Megan and Hank who had just finished a conversation with a patron. “You ready for the adventure? Hank is known for being over the top with his descriptions.” Megan humored, flashing me a quick smile before waving goodbye and heading towards the front where a small line of people (if you could even call them that on the account of their translucent skin and visibly dead looking face) waiting to get served.
“Right off the bat, you should get to know the table numbers and their locations.” Hank started off, walking over to the podium at the front where a tablet was. Grabbing it, the man excused himself as an apology for interrupting the work of the brunette I have come in acquaintance with before tapping the screen to avoid the tablet from shutting off. “There are 20 seating options in total in 2 sections. On the right side of the restaurant are the tables to accommodate the larger parties that come in. You’d be surprised on how many death dates are celebrated here.” Hank laughed, seemingly ignoring the confused expression on my face. “Death dates?” “Don’t keep your mind trained on that yet, sugar.” Despite the skepticism and curiosity coating the walls of my brain, itching for an answer, I attempted to let go of that small detail while he continued. To spare you the details, Ill briefly list the important things he told me:
The last two rules were strange in their own right, but Hank again reassured me that those weren’t two that I would need to try and justify nor worry about too much. However, the most important detail was told to me at the very end. After visiting every area in the diner and wrapping around to the employee locker room, the chirpy man who has been guiding me for the past hour suddenly had a serious look on his face. Before, Hank only wore a soft smile and cracked occasional jokes to keep the mood light and airy. In the current moment, his eyes were glossed over with a look of solemnity and stood up straight. Whatever he was going to say next was the most crucial thing I would hear all night. “One thing you should be made aware of might sound shocking, but I swear on my mothers grave that I am telling the truth.” I hated when people did this, the starter off sentence that filled you with enough suspense to make you think you were about to explode. It kept you on your toes for no reason other than entertainment.
“Our diner is,well, special. I don’t know if you picked up on it yet but, the patrons we serve here aren’t actual people. Not anymore, anyhow. Berryspout prides itself in being a ghost diner, allowing whatever ghost roaming our town to come and sit down for a meal.” Hank calmly explained, his arms crossed like he was my father listening to me make up an excuse when I was a kid. For what felt like hours, I remained silent. It was a mix of shock and me trying to rationalize what I had heard. But no reason I came up with was good enough. “Ghosts?” The question came out in a weak, near-whisper which in hindsight was a bit embarrassing. How would anyone react to that news? News that I would be serving the dead. Hank, however, looked as though he understood my shock and slowly continued. “Berryspout is a ghost diner. Ever since our start in 1923, the dead has come here to look for a comfortable place to sit and eat. The underworld, from what I have heard from making conversation, is quite boring. It’s a dark void where all you can see is specific buildings and the other ghosts. The only thing I can not provide to you is how we have the ability to serve ghouls. That is something no one has ever figured out.”
I was hung on this for days after I initially heard it. It didn’t help that I was thinking about it while at work, serving people who have long since past. I felt sick during these moments of thoughts, especially when I comprehended the ghost children who came and went with their families. It was depressing and bleak to see infants and toddlers, happily ordering chicken tenders or mac and cheese like they would if they were still alive. I even tried coming up with answers on my own with the occasional help of Megan, Hank, Tyler, Jaxon, and Olivia. So far none of them seem credible. But I’ll list them anyway in case someone could try and explain it to us better. Our first and only working theory is plain magic.
Yeah it seems silly, like Harry Potter type shit, but what else could we think? I mean whenever we walk out of the doors, everything is normal. The diner was run down and abandoned on the outside while when you stepped in, it was all perfectly neat and new with no indication of abandonment. Tyler even came up with his own little backstory about how in the 1920’s there was an evil scientist who wanted to offer his mom and little sister another meal after they passed and through an explosive chemistry experience, he ripped this hole into the fabric of space and time. Eventually, that hole took the shape of a diner. Now it doesn’t make sense, we know, but that is why I confided in you all. I am hoping that someone could offer a logical answer, especially now that we’ve been getting demons in the restaurant. They are so rude and creepy. They bite at our arms and have tried to kill us in a plethora of ways. I was sent to the hospital because of one of them on an occasion. So I guess I lied in the beginning about no bad experience. But seriously, how is this ghost diner even possible?