2019-11-29 - Grabbing Grub At The Grizzly Diner

The dinner rush is slowly becoming more of a brisk trot instead of a sprint for those in the diner - most people buying at this hour want to-go, not sit down, and so the register line is busy. Consequently, Gina is NOT handling the register today. No, the purple-haired proprietress is sitting down at the counter, back against it as she leans back, dressed in a tiered peasant skirt in blacks and greys, boots, a deep red top and a short leather jacket, having an occasional sip of milkshake as she reads from her phone. She might be working, considering she's got a small apron on, notepad in her pocket.

Whelp, when you're out of MREs and it's last night was your fourth night of mac 'n' cheese, sometimes you just gotta change it up. Which is what has Tyrone pushing himself in through the door of the Grizzly Den Diner at this hour. He's wearing a green and brown 'forest camo' t-shirt that has USMC across the front of it in stenciled letters, with black track pants as well. His wheelchair clatters agains the door as he enters, making his arrival even more obtrusive. And, with the traffic dying down, it isn't hard for him to find a place to park so he can wait for the counter line to die down a little.

The great thing about the Grizzly is, you CAN go to the front order. Or you can just sit with a menu and call out for a waiter. Sometimes, some waitstaff are even proactive, in hopes of tips or... like Gina, for reasons of boredom. It takes a minute or two after Tyrone is in - that's a V E R Y interesting level of Latest Cool App All The Kids Are Into, but eventually she looks up and around and notices Tyrone sans plate. "Did you order or are you waiting for a glowing review? We don't really get those."

"I was actually just gonna wait for the line to die down a bit. Figured I'd stake my claim to an empty spot in case there was an after-dinner rush. And yeah, I'm aware. I've read a few of your Google reviews," Tyrone responds, smirking a little as he looks over at Gina. "But, if you're up for taking orders without me standing in line, I'd be much obliged. Or I can wait, it's up to you," Tyrone responds casually.

Gina considers it for a moment. Because really she's not exactly the type to rush into doing good deeds. "Yeah, sure, whatever." SHe decides, tucking away her phone, "Pretty bored anyway." She sighs as she pushes herself to sit straight, going to that apron pocket and pulling out a notepad, "Yelp's got more interesting reviews, though. The spelling's more creative." The Grizzly hovers somewhere around 2-3 stars on average, the saving grace always '...but the food's good.' "Watcha want?"

"Yeah, but I kinda like the fact that you guys don't seem to care what the reviwers think," Tyrone quips with a shrug. "I'll have a country fried steak with mashed potatoes and a beer, whatever you've got in bottles. ... do you /have/ beer?" he asks, turning around to move for a menu since he hasn't ever actually looked at that. "No uniforms, either, I take it?"

The idea of uniforms has Gina giving a derisive little snort, "Yeah, right. Like anybody needs that shit to deal with. If somebody wants t-shirts I've got some shit in the back, but I don't really care what they come in wearing as long as it doesn't annoy me." There we go, the entire dress code: don't annoy Gina. "Don't really want the kind of customers who get butthurt over a lack of people fawning over them. It's a diner. We sell food in exchange for cash. If they want joy in their lives they can Marie Kondo their houses. And no, no beer. Couldn't be assed to get a liquor license." Gina says, writing down the order. "Want those potatoes with everything, just butter, gravy?"

"White gravy if you got it. Brown's fine, too, if you don't," Tyrone responds. When Gina dismisses the idea of uniforms, Tyrone can't help but smirk a little. He's a former Marine. Of course he's a fan of uniforms. As Gina continues talking about hthis or that, Tyrone quirks an eyebrow as he listens. "So ... are you like a manager or something?" he asks, since he's not at all familiar with Gina.

"Something." Gina responds, clicking her pen and pushing up and off of her seat and heading towards the kitchen window to put in the order. She grabs herself a mug and pours herself coffee (with caramel sauce) along the way, before returning to the stool. "So, work injury or is it one of those things where you got hit by a truck on the way home or something?" Gina...really just flat-out asks, in the same casual tone she's been speaking in the whole time. Not, apparently, one for tact, though she also doesn't seem to be invested in the answer. A passing curiosity, perhaps, having seen him roll in twice.

There's more smirking on Tyrone's part, and he teeters a hand in the air in front of him. "I /guess/ you could call it a work injury. It was certainly on the job," he answers. But, sensing that Gina maybe isn't one who's gonna just laugh at his jokes, he continues. "I got shot over in Afghanistan. So yeah, at least work-related." He then gestures around the diner a little, sweeping his arm out in gesture. "So do you know what's up with the decorations in here? It's like they got halfway through and changed their mind on stuff."

"Diner got new management about two years ago. Most shit got brought up to code, but. Redecorating would've been a bitch. Threw out a bunch of bears and then couldn't be assed to do the rest." There were... even MORE bears in the diner than now? The place is already incredibly full of bear, bear-shaped things, bear memorabilia, bears upon bears upon bears." And it's true, Gina doesn't laugh. She seems pretty blasé about most things.

"... oh," is all Tyrone responds about the bears. And then, since they're being all conversational, he decides to introduce himself. "I'm Tyrone, by the way." He offers her a smile to go with his greeting as well, before continuing to ask, "So what's your favorite part abgout working here?"

"Gina Castro." And in a town as small as Gray Harbor, a full name's enough to get any local's life story! But then he's asking about her favorite part, and one of her shoulders lifts and falls again in a small shrug, "Not pretending I like people."

"Nice to meet you, Gina. And ... I mean, it ain't none of my business, but I gotta ask ... if you ain't like people, why you servin' 'em food?" Tyrone wonders out loud. "Even though Gray Harbor ain't a big city, there are plenty of jobs you could take and NOT deal with folks on the regular."

Gina... just grins at the question. A small, amused grin. Very conveniently, there's also a waitress hustling over with a plate of food that's dropped off in front of Tyrone, before they hurry away-- still chatting on their cell phone. Because that's apparently allowable here? "I'll let you eat. Later, Tyrone." And as easy as that, Gina pulls out her phone and starts walking away, back to the kitchen area.

When he sees the food coming, Tyrone smiles up at the lady who delivers it. "Tha-," he starts to say, but then she just turns and walks away. He blinks a little, then shrugs and turns back to Gina so he can listen to her answer to his question. And then she gets up and walks away. This causes him to blink some more, cant his head to the side ... and then shrug and get his silverware ready for eating. White folks.