EAT, DRINK AND MAKE MERRY
Call'em Sloppy Joes or Loose Meat Sandwiches, who cares as long as - it's meat.
Bertha Trowbridge stood behind the counter at 'Wiley's One Stop Truck Stop'. She surveyed the crowd. Most decent truckers kept right on going past this seedy hole in the wall and proceeded to the next stop, closer to the city.
Big Bertha smiled as she took a ten from a large burly man who from the smell of him, hadn't bathed in a month or more. Although she carried over 400 pounds on her five foot four frame, she was fastidiously clean. Her long blond hair shimmered, even in the dim lights of the diner. She often overheard comments that if she would just lose two thirds of her bulk, she would be stunning.
Yet Big Bertha had two habits that would keep her from ever attempting to set that goal for herself. She loved to eat - especially fried foods; meat sandwiches being a mainstay of her diet. And she loved to drink; hard whiskey mixed with soda early on in the evenings, progressing to straight shots before oblivion took her over.
A typical evening meal, eaten around midnight, as that was when she would get home from work, consisted of three or four one pound burgers, French fries and a pie or cake for desert. Generally before passing out just before dawn, she would finish at least a fifth of sour mash.
All day long at the diner, she would stuff her face with pastries and donuts, washing it down with soda between customers.
"Time to start closing down, Berth." Wiley shouted from the kitchen.
Looking up at the clock she saw it was already a quarter of eleven. Scanning the room once more, she settled on the man in the corner booth. She had been flirting with him and several others earlier, but knew she must now make a decision. She pulled his ticket from her apron and walked toward his table, pausing long enough to staple an extra sheet of paper to the bill.
The little man hung back, waiting for the other departing customers to leave first. When he finally stood in front of the cash register, he asked, "A good time you say?"
"The best you'll ever remember." Bertha replied with a smile.
"So how do we work this out?"
"Drive your truck to the rest area on the other side of town." Bertha looked furtively toward the kitchen. "I don't want Wiley to know I'm doing this, it'd mean my job"
"You going to pick me up there?"
"You bet. I don't live far from the stop."
She gave him a description of her car and assured him she would be waiting at the end of the ramp.
"I'll take the back roads, it's faster." She said, her grin warming the features of her face. "I'll even have time to pick up a bottle or two. Name your poison."
Big Bertha arrived at the rest stop fifteen minutes later, a fifth of sour mash and one of gin on the seat beside her. She did not have to stop for it, only had taken it from her well-stocked trunk.
She pulled through the rest area with her lights out and went to the end of the ramp, almost back on the highway. As she waited, she thought about how easy this was. The clientele that visited her diner never cared how big she was. For them, anyone offering free sex was a moment to be taken. Within five minutes, through her rear view mirror, she saw the little man making his way down the ramp.
"You know, I don't even know your name." Bertha said when the man was in the car.
"Tony. Just Tony."
