The Bagen Diner

Art and Finance and Toast

Photo by Leti Kugler on Unsplash

The Bagen Diner is hanging on like a middleweight with graying temples who is still getting beat up to pay child support arrearage on seven kids.

An owner ago featured shrimp scampi, and the sign still said rimp sca under the handmade banner that said Under New Ownerrship.

Lucy Dalevin is the only constant on the staff going back to 1997.

She has a writing MFA and a birthmark on the back of her leg that looks like Muhammad Ali in the right light, and in the wrong light, like something she should have removed.

Her second week on the job,the day of Bill Clinton’s second inauguration, a trucker sat in her section and tipped her 100 bucks on two eggs over, link sausage burnt, and one slice of wheat toast, one slice of white.

She’d have remembered the guy and the order had he only tipped her ten percent.

Lucy doesn’t talk about her degree much, especially to the truckers who routinely asked her to marry them.

Lucy was gonna quit in ‘99, try to do something else, but two things happened:

A customer asked for a blowjob out loud.Tim Posenhacki, a rookie pitcher for the Quad City River Bandits, knocked the guy out with an aluminum napkin dispenser from across the dining room.

Tim Posenhacki liked his chicken unbreaded. It came to the Bagen Diner breaded and frozen, and Lucy was the only server willing to pull the breading off for him before bringing it to his table. She couldn’t quit.

Also, the 100 dollar tip man returned.

The 100 dollar tip man was one presentable trucker. Not a handsome man necessarily, but carried himself well, his clothes were clean, and he smelled nice.

His second time in, he got the same order.

When the cook said he wouldn’t split toast types, Lucy marched into the kitchen and toasted the bread herself.

When Wayne, the owner at the time, told her that next time he would charge her for a whole loaf, she left 2 bucks next to the toaster.

The presentable trucker, not privy to the little backstage drama, pressed money in her hand as he walked out and said pleasantly, not creepily, “see ya next year.” 

The man tipped her 1000 to the penny over the amount of his meal.

Lucy finished community college and started taking some online courses at the University of Iowa.

Wayne sold his lousy diner to another lousy owner and the place went even further into the yawning abyss of malfunctioning deep fryers, cracked plates and prep cooks snorting meth off the fence rail around the dumpster.

Lucy was close to completing undergrad. 

There was no reason to leave the Bagen Diner and take on something more challenging.

Plus there was the idea, the concept, of seeing the man with the mix and match toast again.

Her brain played Wallyball with thoughts of him being wealthy and eccentric and doing that in diners all over America, or of her being the only one.

Truth be told, her dream date was probably Jane Goodall, but this man was intriguing, polite like a diamond was sharp, and generous. She had to consider the possibility.

It was near the end of Lucy’s shift when he came in again.

As she poured his coffee, she mentioned she’d be graduating from the University of Iowa.

His eyebrow raised and he smiled.

“I never graduated from college,”he said. “What’s your name?”

Lucy told the man her full name and asked his.

“Walter,” he said with a look telling her firmly that it was all he would divulge.

Walter ate his meal leaving, for the first time, a crust of white toast on the plate.

It wasn’t something Lucy would ever make a mental note of, but for Walter she did.

When he left, he pressed money into her hand.

Solely by the thickness of the stack she knew it was a massive tip.

“I have the feeling this is going to be too much.”

Walter seemed to freeze.

He rocked on his heels and gave a slight, but very pointed shake of his head.

“Best of luck with your studies,” he said. “Hope to see you again.”

The tip was 1500.

Lucy rang the bill in the register, shoved the tip money in the waistband of her nylons, and watched Walter get into an astonishingly beautiful blue custom Peterbilt rig.

An email from the University of Iowa Financial Services Department greeted her Monday morning.

A matter of urgent attention.

She had qualified for a graduate scholarship.

Interesting, having never expressed a desire to attend graduate school.

In the financial office they informed her she had been the sole recipient of the Breedlove Trucking, Incorporated Endowment.

Lucy ran a finger through a deep, store-bought-red curl.

“How many years has Breedlove Trucking offered a graduate endowment at the University of Iowa?”

“You are,” the financial services officer said, “the first recipient.”

Lucy entered the Writing MFA program.

She searched the Breedlove Trucking website for a Walter. There were none in any positions of authority.

Lucy Dalevin has had her poetry and short stories published in dozens of literary magazines, most of whom don’t pay anything, and if they do it’s not much more than the price of two Hefty Hungering Breakfasts and a large chocolate shake at the Bagen Diner.

Tim Posenhacki blew out his elbow throwing baseballs and one napkin dispenser. He’s now a coach for the RiverBandits and still hates breaded chicken.

One day, the health department or common sense is gonna shut down the Bagen Diner. 

Until then, Lucy Dalevin is going to work six nights a week to pay the bills, work on the Passable American Novel on her day off, and wait another year or two or three to see Walter (or whatever his name is) so at the very least she can thank him for his generosity or maybe get in that beautiful blue truck and go on an adventure she never would have chosen.

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