Diner Baby [H.S] Harry Styles

Chapter 1 - Hours

Minutes can feel like hours whilst one hour can feel like 8. Night shifts. I've never been a fan but I somehow always get put on them. I feel like it is because my creep of a boss likes spending alone time with me, and during night shifts only one waitress and one cook need to be on. Greg does all the cooking, and when he's not on shift, his son, Josh, works instead. I love working with Josh, he's actually my age and we have things in common, like hating this job but really needing the money. Tonight, I'm on with Greg.

I just stare at the door, waiting for someone to walk through to give me something to do for the next hour or so. It doesn't need to be anyone interesting, I can make them interesting in my head. Usually when I serve someone and the Diner is quiet I'll try create a conversation with them to learn about them. I ask things like what brought them through here, what they do for a living, what family they had back home and most importantly, I always ask them their name. I have a notepad hidden behind the bar which I write in once each customer is left. I write their name, guess their age (then their actual age if they tell me) and the answer to all the questions I asked them. Sometimes, they aren't interested and don't play along,  then I just make up all the answers in my head. I can make them interesting that way.

Only Josh knows about this notepad. Sometimes I let him in on what I write, and sometimes I even take ideas from him on what to ask certain people or what to guess about them. I would never tell Greg. I can't tell if he'd get mad about me using my time at work for something like this, or if he'd want to join in like Josh does, and that's the last thing I want. He'd probably just only comment on their looks, never about the actual person.

Pretty much every girl that walks through this door, he'll have something to say. And since he's my boss, I then have to pretend he's funny, I just nod and smile.

"Hey, Eden!" Greg shouts through the window between the bar and kitchen, waking me up. I lift my head up off the bar and turn round to him, trying to look more awake, as if I wasn't falling asleep on bar just now. "I've got a joke for you, ready?" He continues without waiting for a response, "Is google male or female?" I can already see where this is going, I cross my arms, raising one brow as I wait for him to carry on. "Female, because it doesn't let you finish a sentence before making a suggestion." He bursts out in laughter, laughing way harder than he should be.

I realise I'm glaring at him, and if I want to keep my job and for this job to stay easy, I need to laugh. I don't laugh as hard as he does, that would obviously be fake, instead I let out a slight chuckle.

"Good one, Greg!" I say, before turning back round to face the door again, praying and praying to see a new face. It takes a lot for me to not like someone. And I mean a lot. I can deal with rude or annoying people. But sexist men. Greg is a bigoted, self-centred, selfish man. The worst type. Usually I'd just ignore these type of guys, but when he's your boss and you can't afford to be unemployed, you learn to deal with it.

I've been here for 2 years. Probably a year and 6 months longer than I planned but that's life.

Just as I feel my eye lids start to drop, I hear the bell chime that goes off every time the door opens. That bell is a life-saver, the amount of times it's woken me up so that customers don't walk in and see me drooling all over the bar.