by Tom Rinkes

Created on: April 22, 2008   Last Updated: June 11, 2008

Green Peas and Socrates

Everyone knew John McKimm. Everyone hated John McKimm. Everyone in the place had worked for him at least once in their life. John never fired anyone, he just had it down to a look, and you didn't come back. Even his waitress, Maggie, worked a full year before she "disappointed" him. She served him his usual on Veterans Day-spam sandwich, instant mashed potatoes, peas and a tall glass of water. He said he did this to remind himself of WWII, and the bitter days and nights he spent in Belgium. But the truth is it was like he was-cheap. The food service business was a cutthroat one, and he was the best. Low wages, long cold hours at the line, and cheating employees would be his legacy if and when his day came. They say only the good die young, which meant he would live to be a hundred.

The middle table for four was never used between five and six each day. There wasn't a reserved sign on it; no need, it was generally understood who owned it. To his left sat the Martins, Gwen and Ray, owners of a small trucking company that hauled McKimm's produce. They were your typical middle class couple with Ray wearing his work uniform, because Friday meetings with his mechanics and the shop steward always took longer that expected. Gwen wore her pretty blue-and-white flowered dress with heels and her hair done to a tee. Fridays at the Willows Diner was their date night, but tonight she drove herself because of her special errand.

To his right was Amos Phillips, owner of a large farm that supplied the plant. "Honest Amos" was his nickname and he lived up to it whenever he could, except when it came to McKimm. Amos sat and pondered while rearranging the pens in his bib overalls why anyone could be so mean. McKimm was a shrewd businessman, and he consistently gave him a hard time about his. The tomatoes were too ripe or the lettuce too moist or the onions too strong and his prices too high. It was a game to get the prices down, but sometimes he beat John at it. Their greetings were cordial at best, a "Hello, John and a Hello, Amos." Someday, Amos thought, someday.

Behind was twice-divorced Elsa Lancaster, who laid imaginary cross hairs on the old man's back from time to time, and with good reason. She was the town beauty in her day and a natural one at that, with flowing blonde hair, hazel eyes and lips that could launch ships. She'd known McKimm a long time but he's never going to marry me, she thought. He's lied to me all these years, yet it's a nice

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