Friday Fiction: Labor Day

             I’m linking up this week with Write On Edge. Their prompt challenged us to use local items or industries as a focal point to develop our setting. I thought a Dunkin’ Donuts on a road that leads to Cape Cod would be perfect for painting a certain picture. I’ve written most of the dialogue phonetically, except in cases where I didn’t think the phonetically spelled word would be understood by the reader. For example, Danny and Debby would pronounce the word “we’re” as “weyah”. Below is a video called “Shit Boston Guys Say” that very accurately (and humorously) portrays the way a lot of young men from the Boston area sound. It’s full of strong language, so if that offends you, you may want to skip it.

Labor Day Weekend

            “Occupational hazid,” Debbie muttered as  she smoothed her uniform shirt over her muffin top. Ignoring the unflattering reflection in the plate glass window, she unlocked the front door to the Cranberry Highway Dunkin’ Donuts.

            It was Labor Day weekend and the store would be crowded with people on their way to the Cape for the next couple of days. Debbie’s feet and back would be killing her by Sunday afternoon. But by Tuesday the traffic would slow down and if the warm weather held on long enough, Debbie might get a visit to the beach herself.

            Danny Sullivan came in as he had everyday for the last two years. Debbie had his large regular iced ready before Danny reached the counter.

            “Youra life savah Debbie,” he said pulling his wallet out. “What ah you gonna do if I come in and ohdah one of them fancy flavahed lattes?”

            “I’ll probably have a haht-attack if that evah happens Danny.”

            “That’s fresh Debbie. I’ll staht goin’ to that Stahbucks if you keep that up.”

            “Right. You’ll nevah go to Stahbuck’s Danny. You’d hafta cross the bridge.”

 “True. Tourist oughtta hafta learn to drive in a rotary befoh they lettem go down the Cape.”

            “Damn right Danny,” she said with a grin. “You should run foh govenah.”

            He laughed, took off his Red Sox cap and nervously ran his hand through his sandy hair. His summer wiffle was starting to grow out and his hair stood up in awkwardly even spikes around his head.

            “Listen Debbie, you doin’ anything tomorrow night?”

            “Probably just soakin’ my feet? Why do you ask?”

            “Me and my brothah are gettin’ a bunch of people togethah. We’re gettin’ some lobstahs and steamahs. You should stop by. It’s gonna be pissah.”

            “Sounds like fun. What can I bring.”

            “We could always use moh beeh.”

            “I’ll stop at the packy on my way ovah.”

            “Great! I’ll see you then.”

            “See you then Danny.”

            He picked up his coffee and walked out the door.

            “About friggin’ time Danny Sullivan,” Debby said as she watched his truck pull away.