Ross Lynch Imagines

Breakfast Date?

   It is half past seven and you were going to be late for early shift at work in a matter of seconds. Your shift as waitress at a quaint fifties' diner began at eight, but you were having trouble hailing a taxi cab. Yes, you may be twenty two years old and only working bizarre hour shifts at a diner waiting on people, but it helped have some cash flowing into your bank account. Besides, it was only you living alone in a one-bedroom apartment and the cost of living for one individual was not terrible as a waitress. At least you were not flipping burgers at McDonald's–but anyways, back to the hailing a taxi cab issue.

   Living in the busiest part of town can be a hassle if you are running late for work on a Friday morning. For instance, everyone is rushing around to get to wherever they need to be which means most of public transportation is busy. You were growing nervous as the little minute hand on your watch was ticking away and you were losing time. Yes, you do not have to be at work until eight (which is a half hour away) but the ride to the diner is a ten minute ride and with this traffic it will take much longer.

  "Agh, dammit!" You shouted in annoyance as the ninth taxi you tried fetching today zipped by with traffic. You eyes rolled to the back of your head as you glimpsed at the long line of beeping cars moved slowly along the street.

   You impatiently paced back and forth, trying to come up with a solution. You could walk, but that would take a good thirty minutes and your torn up white converses have seen better days and they might just shrivel at the seams with that far of a trek.

   Suddenly a little yellow cab reeled up to the curb, letting out a businessman who gave the taxi driver a decent tip for the ride. You quickly jogged up to the passenger side of the cab, leaning down to tap your nail of the window. The scruffy man with a stubbly jaw and holes in his flannel rolled down the window for you and craned his neck to look at you.

"May I help you?" He asked politely, flashing a decaying smile.

  "Hi," you said in a rushed tone. "Could I have a ride to Rose's Diner, please? The diner on route fifty-seven."

  "Of course," the man unlocked the car doors and you quickly slid into the backseat.

  The entire ride you were feeling antsy, shaking your legs anxiously out of habit, and constantly glancing at your watch.

  Twenty eight minutes later after all the anticipation, the cab pulled up into Rose's Diner parking lot. You heaved a sigh in relief, tossing the wad of cash you owed to the driver and dashed out of the cab. You whipped open the glass door of the diner, quickly pacing yourself behind the counter and into the kitchen. You zipped inside the waiter/waitress's cubicle, clocking in your card and sighed of relief.

  "Close call, Y/N," your boss told your warningly. "Try not to let that happen again, yes?"

  "I'm so sorry, sir," you gasped. "You see, my alarm was delayed in waking me and the traffic–"

  "I don't need your life story," your boss hushed you. "Just get to work and feed some customers."

  You bobbed your head obediently and quickly shut the door so you could change into the required uniform. A short sleeved pink and white striped dress with a flowing skirt that fans out, with a white, flaring petticoat underneath, with your name stitched on your upper left chest, and a white satin apron with pink trimming. After changing into the retro dress, you gathered your hair into a half up-half down do, then grabbed your notepad and rushed out to begin working.