twisted ✔️ (being edited)

6 | creepy dan

four days later

Fridays are always the busiest at Jackie's Shackie. Customers in and out all day, either in parties of ten or more (and not tipping), couples on dates or celebrating their anniversaries, or lonely souls ordering just a simple black coffee. Besides the specials and soup-of-the-day, I'm always asked about the unusual name of the diner—as we don't serve food in an actual shack—and instead of telling them my boss is a narcissistic, controlling, dimwitted bitch, I just say it's because café, restaurant, or diner doesn't rhyme with Jackie.

"What time do you get off?" Kal asks as he pulls into the parking lot. "And don't you dare say you'll walk home."

"Seven," I remind him, tugging my black shirt into my jeans before clipping on my misspelled nametag. The printer broke when I was hired, so it says Cod instead of Codi. All the jokes I've heard from people ordering cod... it never gets old, or funny. "Thank you for giving me a ride again. I promise to make up for it when my stupid car gets fixed."

"Don't worry about it." He shakes his head. "That's what friends are for, to give rides when the other has a shitty ass car."

"Haha, very funny," I joke with an eyeroll. I hug Kal before jumping out and heading inside. "See you later!" I wave as he drives off. Back in the kitchen, I clock in and look over by the counter. "Hi, Jerry."

"Oh! Hey, Codfish!" Jerry greets with my nickname, waving the large knife in his hand. He was the first to joke about my nametag, but I don't get annoyed when he calls me that. He's like family. Ever since I started working here four years ago, he's done nothing but be nice and look out for me. "Avoid table six, babe. Creepy Dan is here—again." He continues cutting raw chicken. "For fourth time today. What, he nowhere else to go?"  He asks in his thick accent.

Creepy Dan. He showed up about a year ago. My first mistake was volunteering to take his order. Being desperate for extra tips didn't help, and it seemed harmless at the time. Before I could even ask what he wanted to drink, he immediately grabbed my hand and babbled on about how beautiful he thought I was and how he would love to have me his new "muse" and "model" for his new photography class—which I still assume is fake—he was hosting. It was like that for an hour. Constantly reaching for my hand and me pulling it back; trying to touch my face and me stepping away; asking invasive questions like 'how old are you? you look like you're still in high school' and 'do you live around here?' and 'what time do you get off?'—all of which I never answered. When I worked other sections, he'd repeatedly call me over or stare at me for minutes straight. I timed it once; he stared at me for three minutes and forty-seven seconds without breaking eye contact. One time I wasn't his server, and he threw the biggest shit-fit scene and Jackie actually did call the cops that time, but they didn't do anything. Since he wasn't causing any actual problems—besides making me uncomfortable, but I guess that doesn't count—we couldn't press charges, technically. I think they just didn't want to put up with the drama . Creepy Dan doesn't go crazy anymore when someone waits him, but sometimes I'm unfortunate to work table six. I still feel his creepy eyes on me when I'm working.

Susana comes barging in the kitchen and throws a plate of fish and fries on the counter. Or I should say half a plate. "In what universe do people think that you can send you food back half-eaten and expect something new?!" She shakes her head, angry, and shouts, "No! Nope. I ain't putting up with that bullshit. I made them leave."

"You go, babe," Jerry jokes, giving her a thumbs up. "Lose those tips."

She rolls her eyes. "Fuck off," She snaps, whipping his behind with a wet rag before snickering to herself. "You sure know how to push by buttons, Jerald."