diner guys

Joe, the owner of the diner sits on his stool at the end of the counter reading the paper. He began the family business years ago after returning home from the Korean war. A black and white photo hangs near the checkout counter, of a young man in an army uniform. On the walls hang two large Mexican hats, still wrapped in plastic. There are what look like number paintings hung up high. Too high to ever get dusted; they don't look like they have ever gotten moved, there was no clean edge around them.

Most of the waitresses are related to Joe and have been there forever. Those who aren't family stayed for years. His sons handle the kitchen and the fast paced cooking. The chefs are the top of the pecking order. Order up, and the waitresses had better be ready to deliver the over sized plates of food,or the cooks might get unpleasant. They ran that place like a fine tuned line in a factory.

The town is busy during fishing season. The diner, in the center is the hub. The river across the street is there for fishermen. Fly fishermen standing in water up to their waists flick their fishing rods gracefully, hardly making sounds,except for ripples in the water. The guys who stand on the bridge above, hang over the side, dangle their fishing pole lines about 20 feet down into the river. A cooler beside them, and a pail for their catches.

A fisherman comes in for his big breakfast. Mary, Joe's wife waits on him and suggests the Joe D. special. Eggs, sausage and home fries with onions, coffee included. He pays up, leaves a tip and asks for directions. "Could you tell me where the best fishing spot on the river is?" Reggie,Hank and Steve stop talking about the usual stuff, sports or town politics, spin around on their stools ready to help. Answering questions about how to get somewhere is a favorite pastime. Who's best at giving directions, who knows the back roads, shortcuts, and roads with no potholes.

The diner, used to be a small place. It looked like an airstream trailer,shiny and silver. Later a couple rooms were added and the outside changed to stained brown wood. Now there are tables and booths where people sit away from the loud talk. The lines are longer, but the regulars still linger on their stools for hours, push their empty cups closer to the edge of the counter and wait for a waitress to come by. Along with another refill, they get the quick witted remarks from the waitresses,who after years of dealing with these guys roll their eyes and wait for the next line that they already know by heart.