Young Writers Society

*NOTE: This is an idea for a speech I have to do in English class, it's based on my actual experience. Do you think it works? Is it funny or interesting at all? I appreciate feedback, thanks.

Over March break, I took a two day first aid course. No big deal, whatever. But on the first day, I didn’t have anything to bring for lunch. So my mom sent me off with some money, and since she was friends with my instructor, Silke, she asked her to take me somewhere come lunch time. Before the course started, Silke, an odd but endearing little woman, gave me directions to a diner nearby. It was the only restaurant within walking distance. She told me she loved the place and that they had good food, so I took her word for it, and at lunch I set out.

It wasn’t a very long walk, just a few minutes. As I got closer to the diner, I realized it was much smaller than I had anticipated. It was a little red building not much larger than a trailer. And the roof dipped in towards the center. I decided not to judge it based on appearances though, I mean Silke did recommend it to me, so it couldn’t be all that bad.

I had some difficulty finding the entrance, but eventually I did, as it was the only door I could find. It looked like the kitchen entrance to me, but there was a little paper sign outside with the hours listed so I gave it a try. And then another try, and then another try. The door was stuck. I kept turning the knob but nothing was happening. After a few moments, I heard a voice inside ask “did you lock the door?” before a man, I can only assume was the owner opened it for me.

I came inside, rather awkwardly and glanced around for a menu. There weren’t any posted so I looked to the man to see if he would offer me one. He didn’t, he just looked back. We stood there in silence for what seemed like an hour, an eon, an eternity. Finally he reached behind the cash and pulled out an orange plastic menu and handed it to me. Menu in hand I took a seat at the bar, the only seating. And then I almost fell off the stool which was evidently broken as the seat kept rocking back and forth.

That was when I really glanced around the restaurant. It was very small, without a separate kitchen. There was a narrow walkway between the wall and the bar, and behind the bar was the kitchen area with a few fridges, a grill, a sink, a shelf with some dishes on it, and an oven for bread. Behind the kitchen was a narrow hallway with some old browned freezers in it. The ceiling was low with some fluorescent lights, and the floor was tile. Every tile on the floor was cracked or chipped and I couldn’t identify what colour they were supposed to be they were so filthy. I was horrified. It was only 12! How could they get so dirty before 12?

There were only two other customers. To my right sat a man in his fifties with sleeve tattoos and a Harley Davidson t-shirt. He was just finishing his meal. After some awkward eye contact with him I turned around and didn’t look his way again. Another man entered shortly after me and sat on the far left. After a few moments the biker got up, paid and left. The owner gave him change.

I continued my inspection, one of the windows was plasticed, and in front of it sat the most disgusting high chair I’d ever seen, the straps which used to be white now green with mold. On top of the freezers in back sat some loaves of homemade bread. There wasn’t anything between them and the dingy freezers, they were just sitting on top. On the counter sat an open container labelled “Cottage Cheese” with a knife sticking out of it, but there was no cottage cheese inside. It was filled with what I can only assume to be margarine or butter. But why was it in a cottage cheese container? Why? On the shelf next to the dishes were some pretty crusty looking canisters which I can only hope didn’t contain food.

There were only two people working, I couldn’t identify their nationality but they were dressed all in green. The woman was tending to the bread, while the man was cooking for another customer. He came over to take my order and I asked for a club sandwich and a bottle of water. There was a bit of a language barrier, he didn’t seem to understand what I meant by a bottle of water, but eventually he understood and gave me one.

I watched as he put the bread for my sandwich in the toaster, store-bought bread (I guess they don’t make their own whole wheat bread?) and start cooking somethings on the grill. He was wearing a little hat but no hairnet and a few strands of hair fell into his face. I also noticed he didn’t wear gloves. What really disturbed me however, was that in the entire time I had been there, he hadn’t washed his hands. Not once. This man who had opened the door, handed me a menu, touched raw meats, gave a customer change, and wiped something with a rag was now using his bare, unwashed hands to assemble my sandwich. I was horrified. Horrified.

I was texting Makayla for moral support, which she was oh so helpful in providing me with, saying things like. You’re fine, calm down, and so? Makayla I will not calm down this wasn’t sanitary! I really wanted to leave but then I’d have to walk back by myself and skip lunch, neither of which sounded very appealing especially since the owner was standing right there and was making what I had ordered. Just when I had just about summoned the courage to walk out, Silke came in. She sat and waited with me, all the while saying how she liked this place and the food was good. I smiled and nodded at her but internally I was screaming, “What is wrong with you? Why would anyone willingly eat here?”.

Finally my food was done, I paid and left (it was 10 dollars for a sandwich and a bottle of water) and Silke and I walked back together. Once back in the classroom I stared down at my sandwich and willed myself to eat it. “You have to Rebekah,” I told myself, “Silke’s right here and she’s watching. And you can’t not eat and then pass out in First Aid class!”. I could only eat half of it, not because it was too much, because it really was quite small, but because that’s all I could force myself to eat. It didn’t actually taste all that bad, now don’t get me wrong, it didn’t taste good, but it was better than I had expected. I spent the next night throwing up. The food literally made me sick. Needless to say I will not return there, except in my nightmares.