Another morning and Mrs. Sing opens the mint green door of the 50's style diner trailer, just as she has for the past 22 years. Every morning she wishes to find the door broke down by vandals. Her loyal employees are all there; her daughter Eve, now in her mid-30's, Julio, the cute but dumb cook, and Patty, the blimpish hag. A flick of old switches bathes the trailer in pink and green neon.
The diner is overflowing with nostalgia. Hub caps from classic Chevy and Cadillac hot rods hang side by side along the close walls. An old jukebox illuminated by rainbow lights, sits idly in the corner, waiting for someone to play a record by singers like Chuck Berry, Little Richard and Buddy Holly. Mrs. Sing wants nothing more than an angry mob to storm the place and destroy it all.
She sits at the counter and opens the morning paper. She slogs through the same old stories she's read before. Patty turns the small TV over the coffee makers to the Today Show, she eats all that nonsense up. Julio fires up the stove, releasing the suffocating smell of hot cooking oil and melting grease. Eve starts washing dishes Patty left in the sink yesterday. Mrs. Sing feels like she's trapped in the same faded diner, in the same gloomy day, for the rest of her life. An orange juice commercial reminds her of sunny Florida and makes her resent ever agreeing to take over the wretched diner.
The regulars start to wander in and Patty gets them coffee just how they like it. Julio starts making their usuals before they can place an order. Patty chats them up with an overdose of hospitality. She's one of the reasons they come in morning after morning. Eve handles other customers, making sure to be polite and re-filling their coffee more often than anyone should need. Upon finishing their meal, loyal patrons pay without needing a hand-written bill, reserved for the rare newcomer. Mrs. Sing wishes one day, one of them will pull out a gun and rob the place, maybe shoot Patty while their at it. Then she'd have an excuse to close the place and sell it, instead of perpetually going through the motions of her personal purgatory.
Patty jabbers on about the latest developments with her trashy Brady Bunch family but it sounds like the same old bullshit to Mrs. Sing. The rotary phone on the wall gives out a tired ring that rattles the whole device, like it's ready to fall apart if someone doesn't pick up soon. "Sing's Diner," Patty instinctively answers. It's Thomas, Julio's brother; Julio's wife just went into labor, a week early.
Julio rushes from the kitchen to the phone with an urgency filled with equal parts excitement and fear. He goes to ask if things will be alright if he leaves but Mrs. Sing cuts him off, "What are you waiting for? Go!" She sounds happy for him but all she can think about is how much work his brat-to-be-born is going to cause her.
As everyone goes outside to wish him luck, Mrs. Sing slowly walks to the kitchen; she hates cooking almost as much as she hates Patty and the rest of the miserable diner. While looking around to gain her bearings, she spots her salvation, instantly formulates a plan and puts it in motion. Nobody notices her cutting the phone cord or allowing grease to run freely from its' traps all over the kitchen. None of them think twice when she throws an empty box into the dumpster because she slipped the fire engine red extinguisher inside of it with deft cunning.
Mrs. Sing hears Patty holler an order of hot cakes and says "Comin' right up," with a devious grin on her face. She clicks on the gas griddle and watches the whole kitchen being licked and whipped by swelling flames. Patty, wonderfully stupid, predictable Patty, tries to control the blaze with a pot of hot water but that will only make Mrs. Sings dream come true brighter, faster. The inferno's heat radiating on her face gives her a smile as she thinks of the Florida sun beaming down on her.
More of these, please.
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