by Modest Alchemist

Created on: November 14, 2008

The Oasis Diner, as it was so appropriately named, set only a parking lot away from old US 40 only a county to the west of Central Indiana. It hid away in no-man's-land between the city of Indianapolis, and the newly developed Metropolis of Plainfield. It was easily lost amongst the shady used car dealerships along the way to and from each town. Yet still, it did well for itself.

It was an old 50's stainless steel diner. The kind you only see in small towns and syndicated TV shows. It had concrete out in front of the entrance with the newly installed wheel chair access ramp to update it to modern times. The porch like entrance leaked when it rained. Water would dangerously run too close to the electric neon "Yes we're open" sign for comfort. It smelled a little musty and there was a cold draft in the winter months. In the main area, there was a tiled checkerboard of pastel greens and pinks. The room consisted of red-brown booth seats for two, each with a huge pane window, and larger family-sized booths at each end. Then there were the counter seats with spinning attached bar stools of the same red-brown color. The room reached around the right side to provide for additional family seating ultimately forming a large "L" shape around the concealed kitchen, basement access and the grill up front where the cook, dressed in blue jeans, a white t-shirt and a baseball cap imprinted with the diner's coffee cup logo would make your food to order.

The kitchen was a mess as if it had been mopped with the same water each night for years. Smells wafted out of it as the staff would go in and out retrieving drink orders and steam cooked side dishes, which were a history of every item on the menu being made from scratch each morning before they opened. The same things for 20 years. The sinks were piled high with dishes from the morning rush which started just before sun-up.

In the basement, amongst the dry stock, and the soda pumps, was a tiny office. It was in all sorts of disarray with papers, timesheets, forms you know office things. In a raggedy old chair behind the steel and fake wood desk, sat an old man trying to make sense of it all. He was about average height, and a little jolly in the belly region. His hair was true white and absent in the middle. He wore black slacks, a white button down shirt, and a watch despite the recent advances in cell phone technology. This old man wasn't much for change. Since he bought the place in '84, he hadn't changed a thing.

Every

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