Shakes 'n' Bakes

[lanzandpine]

A nod and a curt ‘thank you’ from David. Brunch was certainly going to be quite filling today. David looked at Mr. Pompadour a la 21st century greaser as he was leaving. For whatever reason, he couldn’t at all remember his name, but he was sure that he saw that get-up somewhere. Not just around Las Vegas… but whatever. Waiter Manuel seemed to know him. Must be a classmate, then. Red Rock truly was the place for everyone, he supposed for a moment, before his train of thought was stopped by the arrival of his food. Classmates and milkshakes can wait.

The plate was filled with one big omelet, furnishing the subtlest of greasy sheens, some crispy bacon on the side. How they managed to make an omelet that doesn’t tear because of the sheer amount of fillings continues to be, to David, one of the patented diner mysteries, alongside the diner coffee, to which he moved his attention. Drip robusta, strong and bitter — and who isn’t in our age? He took a small sip. Damningly bitter, surprisingly not sour, and perfectly brewed for a diner meal — just some sugar and creamer and you’ve got yourself the morning staple. The smell of the coffee only pushed his appetite even further. David took a fork in his hand and tentatively poked at the omelet. As velvety as the most perfect of omelets can be, if just a little tough. It smelled of butter, some herbs, and the pan-fried sausage inside, a potpourri of tantalizing breakfast smells. A bright blue sky, parents at the table, various miscellany on the television, and an omelet. David wasn’t sure what he was getting nostalgic for, but perhaps diners had this American magic in it, for what can make such an omelet, if not sorcery?

Reminiscence and imagination alone won’t fill the stomach. He cut open the omelet, and out poured the fillings of sausage, melted cheddar, onion, and red bell pepper, steam hitting his face. It was too early to praise the ingenuity of the diner, he thought. He opened the small cream container (or was it half and half?) and two sticks of sugar, preparing his coffee. He had to prepare well for this meal, after all. Fork in hand — the first bite. A familiar savoriness. The cheddar meshes well with the sausage, creating a surge of umami. The sweetness of the red bell pepper grounds the meal well, balancing the salty, meaty flavors. It was this what David was searching for all the time, was it not? Another bite followed. Soft eggs, chewy sausage. A single taste of the morning. In just two bites, he became a machine programmed to consume diner food. His arms moved swiftly, on their own: a bite of the omelet, and a quick sip of the coffee. Why was it that the smooth, creamy flavor of the coffee worked so well with the savory taste of the meal? Was it simply because he was used to this combination? There was no use for thought right now, however. He was eating, and that was the important part.

David doesn’t know when he woke up from the bliss, but he did, and he found himself with an empty plate. Only the remaining flavors in his mouth, the faintest remnants of the scents reminded him that there was, indeed, an omelet there. He smiled and took another sip of the coffee, bringing him to a comforting diminuendo. Simply put, that was a good meal. The magic of food never fails to bring joy. How he was going to challenge the milkshake, he thought to himself, was a scary mystery. But he was going to challenge it nonetheless.

[LYourLocalAutist]

While the classmate whose name still escaped him luxuriated himself in the flavourful world of diner food and all its greases and glories on the sunny side of the counter, Manuel could do nothing but bear witness to the work of the line cooks and be a liiiitle jealous as he waited for a strawberry shake and some syrup to bring back and serve. The sizzling and swirling and seasoning where he felt so at home felt so far away in this job. Again, he questioned himself: why couldn't he have been a line cook instead? "No professional cooking experience" his ass, this was supposed to be the professional cooking experience. Maybe there was something to the twitter whatever he heard Heather spout on occasion. He'd contemplate this further as he grabbed the pink and white-topped milkshake in the wibbly wobbly shaped glass along with the very typically brown glass bottle of syrup and made his way back to the counter.

His return to the land of three different classmates at the same time was marked by the placement of the shake in front of the aforementioned unnamed classmate, the placement of a bottle of syrup at the Drakenbergs' spot, and topped off with the customer service smile (as much as Manuel could muster one) and a simple, effective "Enjoy". The guy in particular seemed to be really, really enjoying the food here. Manuel had secretly hoped it wasn't actually that good, as to ward off people who could give him shit for working here. That plan looked to be out the window already. Damn.

However, luck hadn't seemed to leave Manuel hanging just yet. Despite the fact his best best friend currently present was leaving, Manuel heard something that he had a feeling he'd begin to be very very glad to hear the more he worked here. One of his wider, toothier, more genuine grins took the place of the customer service plastic, and he pumped his fist as he looked down at the bag he'd successfully caught. He didn't know how much he could separate as his own as opposed to what was paying for the meal, but it was money. Fuck yeah. Johnny got a wave right in return, and Manuel immediately decided now was a bit of a good time to let his guard down, trying to count his probably less than ten bucks profit. His eyes trailed to Emma for a moment, remembering this wasn't the only guaranteed tip he had today. Maybe jobbing wasn't suuuch a pain in the ass.

[Deblod100]

That Johnny Bravo fellow finished up his food after he nearly choked on something. He was still acting friendly to Manuel, so he was probably a friend or a close classmate back at Red Rock. Manuel was trying hard to multi-task with the amount of orders he was getting. The waitress life didn't suit Emma. All the piercings she had on would not fly in a restaurant workplace. That didn't seem to stop Manuel, who was going around like one of those old diner-themed time management games, doing whatever he could to be in his manager's eyes.

Wait, why wasn't Manuel working at the kitchen? Emma knew that he liked to cook, so why not in the kitchen? Was it that he was too young, maybe?

Emma couldn't complain, since Manuel sped by with the syrup they needed. Some good old-fashioned maple from the Canadians, whom Canon was probably screwing over. Emma slid the syrup bottle over to Riley, making sure she didn't spill it on the table. "Don't add too many. You'll smother it." Emma said, when Riley did add a little too much syrup onto her mini pancakes.

Emma added some syrup to her own french toast, just so she wasn't tasting pure sugar from the frosting that was put in with the toast. Now, Emma and Riley were both happy beans and can eat their food, while the former was beginning to have colorful teeth from what she was eating.

[lanzandpine]

Oh, by Jove, the milkshake.

David gave a smile to the waiter-classmate. He certainly looked like he was working his ass off today, like it or not. "Thank you very much for your hard work," David thought to himself, expressing a silent gratitude, and then found himself confronted with one last obstacle, one last challenge. For strait is the gate and narrow is the way, correct?

The strawberry milkshake mocked him. For good reason — David knew well that he was fairly damn full already. But Lord knows that if he doesn't finish this milkshake that he ordered, he'll feel worse. There was no use for reflection and thought now, David. This is a battle. He took this one last moment to thank the heavens above for not making him lactose intolerant. Why did he even order the milkshake? Was it some weird stroke of diner passion that forced him to order more than he could manage? Did the cherubim pull at the strings and make him go down the rough path? Whatever the reason, the reality was simpler than his reflections — he ordered it, and he will drink it.

First sip. Frothy and a little thick; the gentle strawberry taste seemed to soothe his worries just a little bit. For a fleeting moment, he believed that he could finish this drink. Second sip. That belief vanished as fast as did the strawberry foam on top of the milkshake, and so did his hope. With a short laugh and a sigh, David glared at the drink. He was caught in a damnable trap. Las Vegas wasn't as predictable as he thought. Neither was his life — he never thought that he'd have such a dramatic encounter with diner food (he knew very clearly that all of the dramatic parts came from him, but he sweeped that under the rug). David knew well that he didn't even like diner food that much. It was good, yes, but the best spice is hunger. Now that he ran out of it, all the color seemed to have been sapped out of this place.

But it was not to say that the milkshake was bad, he still enjoyed it. It was delicious. At the same time, he thought that people can enjoy the adrenaline and cortisol when being beaten to half-death, but that was neither here nor there. Third sip. The lightest sourness refreshed his vigor, and the world seemed to be okay again. David once again heard the music and once again felt the smells emanating from the kitchen. With the fourth sip, his world went mute once more. David felt ready for the lakes of fire.

Fifth, sixth, seventh. Man shall not live by milkshake alone. None should, David felt, as he was close to finishing the drink. He didn't even know if he was enjoying the milkshake at that point, but he nonetheless finished it with a triumphant last sip, followed by a sigh and an unlikely smile. "Good shake," David thought to himself, despite everything. He sat still, eyes closed, steeped in the diner atmosphere. All was fine.

With another sigh, he pulled out his wallet, not waiting for the bill. A quick search revealed an uncomfortable truth. "Ah, damn, nothing but big ones..." David was used to the honorable debit card, but this time, he went out without it. Well, not to fret. He pulled out a bill, the crumpled, almost a little disheveled face of Ulysses S. Grant throwing him the side eye. A low hum. David waved over the grinning Manuel, offering the money with a smile. "Another coffee please. This should be enough, right?" he asked with a smile. "Keep the change, please."

He forgot about the poor sod that first took his order, but would've tipped him too, if he hadn't.

[LYourLocalAutist]

Manuel was beginning to get into the groove of things. The zone, if you would. There was a rhythm to waiting tables, as there was a rhythm to cooking and basketball. Manuel, ultra-genius-prodigy (real) that he was, had found it. A set of dancing steps which led throughout the tables, behind the counter and back out again. Lifting things with total precision all throughout. A plate here and a glass there and then right back again. He was getting the hang of it. The stiff nature of his movements, and his expressions by extension, were slowly, slowly beginning to give way to a paid road of skill. Day 1 diner waiter G.O.A.T, baby. Some thanks could probably be attributed by the fact he was getting, yknow, paid.

It was with this newly burgeoning attitude he was called over by the whatshisface classmate who was clearly enjoying his food way too much (which was in fact meant to be the natural default of man (food tastes so good)). The next steps were coming to him quite clearly; here, it was pen/pad -> order -> movement reset. His grin had softened into something a little more genuine. Maybe it was the fact that it wasn't that packed today which helped primarily contribute to his cheer, but he could cry about it when it happened. For now, the appearance of a third tip was reinvigorating his spirit. "Yessir." he let out, along with a widening of his toothy grin. Just like with the extra dough from Johnny's tip, he could count and separate later. For now it was a small jot on the paper and a deft return to behind the counter. One last classmate-sourced bag to chase after this one, then he was home free. What a great day.

[Deblod100]

It would be a while until both Emma and Riley finished their breakfast meals. Emma felt a bit bloated, but she doubted that the diner added trans fat into their America-centered pop culture staples here at Shakes 'n' Bakes. Riley was cleaning her plate after she finished her milkshake, while Emma had to wipe her mouth including her piercings at her lips of any food residue. She rather not have any folks laugh at her when they see pastel-colored frosting that hadn't been wiped away. She was no clown and she had to deal with several of them currently setting the world on fire.

"You're good for the restroom? You better not complain about wanting to use the toilet while we're on the road. We might not return home in like 20 minutes. There's still some other errands we need to do." Emma said to Riley as a brief warning. "I can try..." Riley innocently said.

"Yeah. I might as well try to take a leak." Emma said, making sure that she had that crusty dollar tip for Manuel. Her money to him is also for her silence to not reveal how he got screwed into the waiter job. It would've been worse if he was forced to wear an apron. People hadn't been using the insult of malewife in a while, but you can never be sure.

Emma also got her credit card ready to pay for the overall breakfast meal. She hoped that this hadn't maxed out her credit card for the whole week. Then again, she was in the process of saving money for something fancy to ride or play.

[lanzandpine]

David wasn't quite sure whether these were his sins weighing on him or the milkshake. Either way, he had a decent meal, and felt quite satisfied.

He looked at the time on his phone. It's definitely been quite a decent bit of time now, but he barely felt it — the law of time is malleable and inexplicable. Just another strange nature of this world of ours. At the very least, we can find certainty in cheesy, American pop-culture diners and their food. David opened the packet of cream and poured it in with two sticks of sugar, his stirring followed by clinking of the spoon. A sip, a sigh, a smile — all was good. He sat at the counter for a while longer, simmering in the atmosphere of the establishment, a passive vessel for all of the greasy smells, dated music and chatter. For a moment, he wondered if this is the Dao he heard so much about.

Fears and worries laid within him deeply, a part of his constant condition, yet for now, they seemed to be nothing but a passing storm. The sun will always come out, peeking through the clouds. The taste of diner coffee served as a small reminder that maybe, just maybe, everything will be fine.

"Although everything has been fine for a while." He wasn't worried at all, no, but even such small, daily joys should be taken into account, shouldn't they? Omelets, milkshakes, a good chat, nice weather. He took another sip of the coffee and fiddled around with his phone, with no goal in particular. A Nevada February. David thought of Valentine's, snow, cozy nights and quick days.

His mind passively wandered to the thought of Amelia. A prolonged hum bordering on a sigh escaped his lips. Amelia must have been engaged in such daily joys, too. He wouldn't mind having a sibling. Amelia, sister, Amelia, sister. A sip of the coffee.

"Alright," — he spoke out, to no one in particular — "time to get going." He gave Manuel a short glance, a friendly smile and a nod, as if trying to wish him all the best with the diner shenanigans. He picked his walking poles up, let out a yawn and stretched, and slowly, leisurely left the diner. David felt as if the sun was greeting him with open arms, and perhaps so was this world.

[David Whitehead walked off to stare at books in The Photonegative Girl.]

[LYourLocalAutist]

Manuel hadn't realized how much time had actually passed until he'd taken the time to actually look up at one of the gaudy-colored clocks which lined the diner's walls, whereupon his eyes widened. His shift was almost over?? Just like that? He'd really been lost in the sauce (of service worker locked-in mindsets). Manuel had to consider for a moment whether he was really making a mountain out of a molehill with his thoughts about his job in all areas, even in time "wasted", seemingly. Just about half an hour had passed in his internal clock, made up of chatting to school friends, fetching them their foods and drinks and taking their extra money (which he would count later (crap, later was now, wasn't it?))

So, he returned to the front one last time, in time to catch a smile from whatshisface one more time. He was still slightly embarrassed he'd failed to remember his name all session... but frankly, he was too happy to care at the moment, as well as too happy to try to put up any kind of front. He smiled back and nodded back, thankful for the man's seeming placidity and simple enjoyment of the food and service this establishment provided among the chaos of, well, everything else. Come back soon, whatsyourface. Your patronage is appreciated.

Finally, looked like Miss Drakenberg-Wet and the small version of her were beginning to pack up. Grin still plastered on his face, he made his way over to the table to acquire the girl's payment for the meal... and his own bit of extra money which he was thankful for not having to count, at least. As the process occurred, he smiled up at her and spoke, his tone jovial and slightly joking despite the statement's contents.

"You beeeetter not tell."

He'd probably be fine with her telling at this point. Okay, just maybe. If any pics of him in that bow tie ended up on Insta, he'd crash out. But that was a worry for a later shift. A later shift, shit, that's right. Manuel had a job now, he remarked as he gave Emma a wave goodbye and made his way back (to the back) one last time to get his casual clothes back on and head home from his first day of it.

A job, he thought as he clocked out and greeted the sun with a grin. What a concept!

[Manuel "Mañana" Hernández continued in21st Century Liability]

[Deblod100]

Emma made sure that she got her helmet ready and gave the mini helmet to Riley. The two would get to the restroom to use it before getting back on the road. But not before Manuel went to process the transaction of the breakfast meal being paid with Emma's trusty credit card and the tip that he also got.

"You beeeetter not tell."

Emma assumed that Manuel was going to kick her ass if she snitched.

Bitch, she was no snitch. She wasn't a narc. Narcs don't make it long in Las Vegas. In New York, Emma heard that narcs would get gunned down in Times Square by the Russians.

After paying, Emma and Riley went into the girl's restroom to relive themselves, before the former gave a wave to Manuel, before she left with Riley.

"You got a full stomach now?" Emma asked Riley, walking over to her motorcycle. "Thank you for breakfast, Emma." Riley replied and thanked her.

"Yeah, it was no biggie. Just try not to complain for a little bit. We still have other places to go." Emma mentioned to her little sister, making sure that she got in front of Emma when sitting down at the motorcycle. Emma adjusted her glasses, before she put her hands on the handlebars. After raising up the kickstand, she started the throttle of her bike. It peeled around the parking lot, exiting the Shakes 'n' Bakes diner. Emma went onto the road, heading off elsewhere with Riley in tow.

((Emma Drakenberg-West continued elsewhere...)