Nancy had half a mind to go out to table number 75 and scold that little boy for not telling anyone about the apple juice he spilled all over the floor. She knew that if she did though it would mean the end of her job at the diner. She'd already been reprimanded twice in the last month about "unhealthy" interactions with customers. One more blow-up and she'd surely be looking for a new place to work.
The morning of the fall, Nancy had a brief conversation with her daughter on her way to the diner. Her daughter had called to make sure that everything was alright.
"What's gotten into you lately?"
Nancy had been very offish the night before at her grandson's birthday party. In year's past she would've been the most engaged person in the room -making sure that everyone had enough cake to eat and handing out little prize bags as the kids left the house. Not this time though. This time Nancy spent the night lingering in the corners, trying her best to blend into the background. At one point during the party she excused herself to the restroom. Twenty minutes later her daughter found her upstairs in the guest bedroom watching Jeopardy. Everything was not alright with Nancy.
Most troubling to Nancy was the fact that she just didn't care anymore. She could tell that things were out of whack, but she had no desire to right the ship. Her life was nothing more than a fake storefront on the set of an old western movie. One step through the doorway and you knew something was awry.
As she sat in her idling car near the back of the diner's parking lot, Nancy didn't know how to answer her daughter. The very question implied that there was something that had gotten into her. "That's just it", she thought to herself, "nothing has gotten into me because there's no place to put it."
Nancy didn't know how to tell anyone that she was broken.