The Bad Mondays - Essay Example

It is hard not to notice especially that at work, there were only ten of us. We work for Johnny Jack's, the deli on 5th Street. So it was quite surprising or should I say astounding when one Monday, we were told about his demise.

It was a fine day, which means that it was not particularly busy and we have some time for ourselves. I remember pushing some chairs, dragging them out of boredom and sheer laziness they make some scraping sounds on the floor. I noted how, Mrs. Dory, an elderly regular and the only customer present, darted me piercing looks for annoying her fine breakfast. I ignored her entirely as I twiddled with some condiments on my hands, sending some caps down the floor in the process. Everyone was doing the same, on the counter Easton was still probably mooning over the past weekend, back at the kitchen the other guys must be asleep out of non-exhaustion, except probably with Marie, who was outside with her sun and reading her book. Needless to say, Tim was absent to cheer everyone up.
Just as Mrs. Dory was rising, perhaps to complain about my behavior, a woman was suddenly at the door. It was nothing much, really, except for the fact that there was only Mrs. Dory and I and the Easton visibly present. I was immediately jolted back from my troubles, out of my tantrums, and, automatically, forced a smile on my face to welcome the newcomer. She was about 40, smallish - frail, if you may - and had the shock of black hair, which, now that I think about it, resembled the mop that framed Tim's head. Anyway, she was making his way towards Easton, clutching a paper with her hand draped on her breast. The counter was close so I overheard her faint words.
"Hello, I am looking for Kyle."
Easton needs no longer usher her in my direction because I was already making my way towards them.
"Good morning ma'am, I am Kyle. Can I help you with something?"
I led her towards a table in the corner. She was silent for a bit even after we have long seated ourselves. The whole affair was starting to make me uncomfortable when she said:
"Tim won't be able to make it today. Are you the manager here?"
"Well, actually, there's no manager. There's only the owner, Mr. Craig who comes here every so often to check on us. But if you have any message for him, I could just tell him or you can go back tomorrow afternoon. He will be here."
She shook her head and slid the paper on the table.
"Tim asked me to give this to you. He, uh… he died last Saturday." As if as an afterthought, she added, "I am his mother." Read More