“It’s A Wet One Out There, Bob!”

I opened my eyes that morning to a suffocating gray haze.

I had gone out the night before to a local bar with a few of my friends, nothing crazy. It was a Friday night and we were all itching for some kind of escape, and a few drinks seemed like just the cure. I made it home a little later than I should have considering my shift the next day at Cherribeez started earlier than usual, but those nights just happen sometimes. My friends and I had chatted with the bartender for a while, and he told us about the storm rolling in the following morning. The foggy memory sloshed around in my brain as I tried to make sense of the darkness permeating my room while my alarm clock blared. After contemplating the evils of capitalism for a moment, I decided that it was time to get up and shower if I was hoping to keep my job. Once the shower steam had done all it could to ease my headache, I put on my uniform and walked out the door into the light rain.

My car hummed to life and I switched on my headlights, despite it being just before 10 o’clock in the morning. I took a deep breath and made a mental note to keep to the speed limit on the winding roads that I took to Cherribeez. Cops always made good use of the hiding places afforded by the sharp turns, and I was sure they would take advantage of this blanket of fog for their camouflage. As I pulled out of my driveway, I realized this wouldn’t be necessary – the fog was so thick I couldn’t see farther than the beam of my headlights. I certainly wouldn’t be speeding, and at this point I just hoped I would make it to my shift on time.

The fog thinned some as I drove up the hill near my house, and I counted my blessings that there weren’t any other cars on the road with me. I was cruising comfortably at just 5 below the limit when I approached the narrow causeway over the lake. If I hadn’t driven this road numerous times before, I would have had no idea I was surrounded by water. The fog closed in on the road, and I began crawling along, hunched over my steering wheel, white-knuckling it.

This fog felt different to me. Living around lakes, I was no stranger to a hazy day but this fog was so thick and dark it looked more like smoke. Driving at just 10 mph, I watched the clock on my dashboard creep closer to my shift time. I was mentally preparing myself for the lecture I would be getting from my manager when I rolled down my windows to wipe down my side-view mirror. Through my open window I heard a sharp howl, and I startled so badly I ended up honking my horn. I then heard a chorus of police sirens, joined by at least two more howls in response. Were the howls getting closer, or was I just getting paranoid? I rolled the window shut as quickly as I could manage and finally made it off the causeway and back up into the trees surrounding the road. I wanted to get out of there ASAP, and this fog was seriously harshing my already nonexistent mellow.

I eventually pulled off the road into the Cherribeez parking lot ten minutes after the start of my shift. I had only been working there for about two months at this point but I knew that my manager was a stickler for tardiness. I took another deep breath and prepared myself for my dash from the parking lot to the Cherribeez’ back door, the howls I had heard on the causeway still echoing through my head. I reached to the door and found it locked, cursing my manager for forgetting to unlock the side door leading to the supply room that he was well aware the employees used to enter. I jogged to the front entrance, regretting my last two or three gin and tonics from the night before. The front door was locked as well, and I spun around to realize that my car was the only one in the parking lot.

I booked it back to my car, the rain frizzing my freshly-washed hair, and sat in the driver’s seat with my windows up and doors locked. I would wait ten more minutes, and then I was driving home and getting back into bed. I had never personally experienced my manager missing a shift, and I don’t think even the seasoned employees had ever witnessed such a spectacle. The worry dripped down my spine and I turned on the radio for some distraction. My usual stations simply buzzed with white noise, which struck me as bizarre. Are radio signals affected by weather? I made a mental note to look it up once I got onto the Cherribeez WiFi. I flipped through the empty radio stations until I landed on one with actual voices – the local news.

“It’s a wet one out there, Bob! We’re expecting at least six inches of rain over the next 24 hours, with gusts up to 69 miles per hour. A tornado watch is in effect for the entire county, so stay tuned in to hear any and all updates. We haven’t had a tornado in the region for over 20 years, but it looks like that’s going to change today.” The radio then began picking up static, so I switched it off and plugged my phone in to listen to a podcast instead, anxiety rippling through me. The rain was picking up already, and I was praying that my manager wouldn’t show up in my ten-minute time frame so I could head home before things got worse.

Around eight-and-a-half minutes after my attempts to get into my place of employment (but hey, who’s counting) a beat-up white sedan screeched into the parking lot, parking across two spaces in front of Cherribeez. I watched my manager jump out of his car and sprint to the front door, fumbling with his keys as he tried to unlock the restaurant a whole 19 minutes after its scheduled opening. I got out of my car and jogged over to meet him. He nearly jumped out of his skin as I approached him and wished him a good morning.

“Oh fu-sorry, damn it, which key is it…. I am at my wit’s end.” He babbled, red-faced. I could tell he was perspiring heavily, but he was so rain-soaked it would have been hard to tell if I didn’t have to regularly work beside him. I saw a quick flash in the sky followed by a low rumble of thunder as my manager finally opened the heavy front door.

I had never seen the restaurant so dark before my manager grappled with the switches in the foyer between the outer and inner front doors. The yellow, green, and red lights hanging above the tables flickered on and illuminated the condensation soaked windows around the perimeter of the dining room.

“I could barely see a foot in front of me on the road today. I haven’t been late to work in five years. You hear that? Five years.” He spat, shaking his head. I agreed that the fog was impressive this morning and listened to him grumble for a few more moments. I then continued across the restaurant to the side room where I put my bag down, dripping my way across the dining room. When I emerged, it appeared that the fog had entirely engulfed the place. Each window was a blank sheet of gray, interrupted only by the heavy raindrops pushed in by the wind gusts and the streaks of lightning that brightened the entire sky every few moments. The rain pelting the roof provided a low hum of white noise behind the pop-hits playlist that perpetually permeated the restaurant.

I knew that it would be a slow day, but considering the weather it seemed likely that at least a few wary travellers would make their way into Cherribeez for some relief from the interstate. Two hours into my shift the place was still a ghost town, so I made use of the time by rolling the silverware and organizing the condiments at the servers’ station. The wind had been picking up all morning, not that I could see the trees swaying outside through the frosty windows. The howling breeze through the entryway told me all I needed to know, which was that my drive home would be a torturous one. With each clap of thunder the lamps hanging over each table trembled and swayed, and I could hear the clean silverware vibrating in their containers.

I then heard an alarm start blaring from my phone in the other room, so I set the napkins down and hurried down the hall to where I had placed my bag.

“NWS TORNADO WARNING in effect from 12:00 pm until 8:00 pm. Find shelter and keep away from windows.” With trembling hands I switched the alarm off and set my phone down, turning back toward the dining room to talk to my manager. I found him frantically gabbering into the phone at the host stand, and as I was waiting for him to stop complaining to whomever was on the other line about his own tardiness that morning, everything went dark.

My manager dropped the phone, which hit the host stand with a clatter. All of the lights in Cherribeez had gone out, and the quiet left behind by the lack of background music was beyond eerie. We both gaped at the empty dining room which was somehow even darker than usual. The rest of the wait staff was in the kitchen, so it was just my manager and me standing in the dim light.

“The generator should kick on soon.” My manager said quietly. Only a few moments later a low, rumbling buzz kicked on and my manager and I stared out into the dining room expectantly.

The tri-colored lamps slowly flickered on, section by section. An especially loud clap of thunder decided it was time to give the place another good shake only a few moments later, causing the lights to go out more suddenly than they had just come back. The place went completely dark again. The only remaining light came from red LED restroom sign and one red lamp closest to the side door that cast a flickering light onto the wooden table below it.

My manager and I continued gaping at the dining room silently. After a few more moments, I realized that beyond a lack of background music, the rain must have petered out, and the unsettling silence hung heavy. The single illuminated red lamp across the dining room swung slowly, squeaking. I watched it carefully. Had the rain stopped all at once, or gradually? Why hadn’t I noticed until just now?

The red lamp then stopped swinging in the center of its parabolic path. Only seconds later, the light bulb shattered, showering the side door and the floor surrounding it with glass.

The rain started pouring down onto the Cherribeez roof once again.