How Unfortunate

Chapter One - Introduction

Eleanor Reid was not the type to be violent towards another human being. Sure, every now and then she got mad, but she did well in restraining herself. She firmly believed that violence could not solve problems.

"Really, darling. Why would you bring me to a diner of all places? Everything about this place is atrocious! Not to mention the fact that our waitress seems to be incompetent."

However, when it came to the woman currently sitting in table 3 with a man Eleanor assumed was her son, she wouldn't nessecarily feel all that bad if someone were to do something like push her infront of a moving vehicle.

"Waitress," she beckoned Eleanor over with long manicured fingers, "These eggs are dry as dust. I demand you take them back to the kitchen and have a new plate made."

In the year that she had worked at Rosie's diner, she had never encountered anybody so incredibly bothersome. She looked at the eggs; they looked perfectly fine. Unfortunately, she was there to serve customers, not argue with them. Or so her boss said, anyway.

Eleanor would never understand people such as the woman in front of her. They were usually rich, and seemed to find enjoyment in making other people suffer. She had trouble dealing with people like that, which is why she had chosen to find employment at the diner. No snotty socialite would ever step foot in a place like Rosie's. Or so she'd thought.

She took the plate from the old woman, and headed back to the kitchen.

"Henry, this old bag seems to think that her eggs are too dry. She demands an entirely new plate." Eleanor set the plate on the counter in front of Henry, the cook. Henry frowned, offended.

"Dry?! These eggs are perfect!" He picked up the plate, and tossed the contents of it in the trash angrily. "Damn picky eaters. If they don't like my food, they shouldn't come here."

Eleanor nodded. Henry was always very sensitive when it came to the food he made; he refused to be sloppy or lazy, and only served what he deemed perfection. Eleanor found that a little odd, considering the fact that they worked in an old, rundown diner, but she could appreciate the fact that he cared about what he did.

"That's what I don't understand, though." She leaned against the counter, "This lady and who I assume is her son look like they should be on a yacht eating caviar and drinking champagne for breakfast, not at a tiny old diner."

Henry shrugged, and flipped some bacon.

"I've worked in this diner for 30 years, and have never had food sent back because it wasn't good enough. Allergies, maybe. Quality, never." He handed Eleanor the new plate of food. "Sometimes I just wish that the customer wasn't always right. Assholes like that deserve nothing."

"Well," Eleanor grinned, "You of all people should know that you should never be rude to the people who are handling your food."

Henry raised an eyebrow, then caught on. He grinned back.

"Pass me that wet dishrag, will you?"

Sometimes being the one to handle the food had it's quirks. Needless to say, when the old woman received her new plate, she said nothing about the dryness of her eggs. That of course, could have been because of the new, special secret ingredient: dirty dish water.

Eleanor always returned home to her lonely apartment at around 5 o'clock.

"Hello there, nobody." She sighed into the darkness, switched a light on, and set her bag on the table. Tonight she didn't feel much like eating. It was too much of an effort. So she went to sleep.

Out of the entirety of the world, Eleanor Reid had absolutely no family. Her parents had died 6 years before in a boating accident. Unfortunately, that was it. She had no other relatives, that she knew of anyway. So, for the five years afterwards, she had lived with a terrible foster family. The minute she turned 18, she left her awful home, and moved to the city away from anybody she'd ever known. Her parents had been more or less wealthy, so she was set to apply for college with part of her inheritance. The rest of the money she put towards a small apartment and savings.

In a terrible sort of way, Eleanor was set. She had a nice little home, an oddly well paying job, she went to a good school. But she wasn't happy at all. Of course, how can one be entirely happy after losing the two most important figures in their life? In a sense, Eleanor was depressed. She may have not shown it outwardly around other people, but it was there.

Sometimes, she would come home some times and collapse, not out of physical exhaustion, but a lack of motivation to stay standing. Other days she wouldn't want to get out of bed at all. She had anxiety issues, and a terrible conscience that kept her up a lot at night. Hell, she would probably lose sleep over wringing that dishrag out over the old woman's eggs. It was all too difficult to deal with.

So, unknown to her co workers and the few friends she had made since moving, Eleanor spent a lot of time in a melancholic state, all alone.