A Night to Remember at the Diner
Living in Oregon, I worked late shifts at a small diner by a rarely traveled road. One fateful night, a customer named Nolan changed everything.
I lived in the state of Oregon, on the northwest coast of the United States. I used to work in a small diner that stayed open late, located by a rarely traveled road. I was 29 years old and often worked the closing shift, which ended at 2:00 a.m. This hour was quite late, given the sparse population in the area. However, thanks to its proximity to the road, there were usually at least one or two customers until closing time.
I grew up in the South, and upon moving here, I noticed that people were quite different. In the South, hospitality and conversation are paramount, while here in Oregon, people are friendly but not overly sociable. The atmosphere tends to be more reserved. I worked as a waitress in the South and can attest that customers there were much more talkative. Here, people seem to prefer to keep their personal space.
As closing time approached, the kitchen accepted orders until 2:00 a.m. Although the diner advertised that it closed at that hour, it was generally considered inappropriate for anyone to come in and order something so late. However, that night, that’s exactly what happened. There were only two employees in the diner: me and the chef. It was around 1:50 a.m. when a burly man walked in. He wore faded jeans, a dark t-shirt tucked into a leather jacket, and sported a thick mustache along with dark glasses.
I asked him if he preferred to sit at the counter or at a table, and he chose a table. He kept smiling, so I smiled back. I handed him a menu and informed him that the kitchen would close in 10 minutes. He glanced at the menu for a moment and then ordered a black coffee and French toast, introducing himself as "Nolan." Fortunately, his order was simple enough. I went into the kitchen and relayed the order to the chef, who still looked surprised, to which I responded, “I know.”
When I returned to the dining area, Nolan gestured for me to come closer. He started chatting with me, which was unusual at that hour. He asked if I was from around here and began complaining about the potholes on the road. I replied that it was common due to the winter frost, a trivial conversation. I mentioned that I was from here, but he seemed to press a bit too hard about exactly where. I gave him a vague answer, as I never disclose my exact whereabouts.
He said he had recently moved to the city. As he spoke, I analyzed his body language and overall demeanor; he seemed a bit nerdy, and this could have been his way of flirting, but it didn't bother me, as I was used to that kind of behavior in the South.
As he was the last customer of the night, the chef personally came out to place his food on the counter. I went to pick it up and take it to Nolan. At that point, he already had his coffee and toast, and everything else was ready for closing. I cleaned the counters and tables, keeping a bit of distance from Nolan because I was tired of talking; my social energy had depleted, and I was ready to go home.
When he finally finished his meal, I approached to present him with the bill before he could ask for it, politely hinting that we were closing and wanted to head home. He paid with a credit card and then left. The chef would be the one to close up, so after cleaning Nolan's table and gathering my belongings, I said goodbye to the chef and headed to my car.
In the parking lot, there were three cars: mine, the chef's, and a third one I didn't recognize. It was an old silver car, like a 2005 Toyota or Audi. I couldn't tell if the windows were tinted or if it was just too dark to see inside, but I couldn't determine if anyone was in the vehicle. It was parked on the dirt closest to the road. I wondered if it was Nolan's car.
I got into my car and started driving home. The trip from the diner to my house takes about 20 minutes. I was on the road when a beeping sound went off on my dashboard, and a tire pressure warning appeared. I began to panic; I didn't know how to change a tire and had never called my roadside assistance. The pressure in the rear passenger tire was dropping rapidly, from 20 to 10, and I felt not only the steering wheel shaking but the entire car moving.
I had to pull over to the side of the road. I quickly got out to check the tire, and it was completely flat. Suddenly, as if headlights were switched on, a car approached, illuminating the roadside and stopping beside me. I quickly got back into my car and locked the door. I didn't know what to do when I heard a soft knock on my window. I looked up and saw Nolan, the man from the diner, smiling at me; he was now wearing gloves.
Nolan said through the window, “Cathy, is that you? Are you okay?” He laughed as if it were a coincidence. I felt a knot in my stomach; I immediately knew he had done this on purpose. He gestured for me to roll down the window. I lowered it just enough to talk. He asked if I needed help. I told him I had a flat tire. He pretended not to understand and asked which tire it was. I said it was the rear passenger side, and he began to walk to the other side. At that moment, I dialed 911 on my phone.
I kept the phone in my lap as Nolan returned to my side. He sat next to the window with his unsettling smile and told me he knew how to change a tire. He asked me to get out of the car, but I replied that I was waiting for my boyfriend to come help me. Throughout this conversation, I could hear the operator from 911 speaking on the phone, but it wasn’t loud enough for Nolan to hear.
I tried to explain my situation to the operator without Nolan noticing. I told her I wasn’t sure how I had gotten a flat tire, but I was waiting for my boyfriend to come help me change it. I thanked her for her help, sir. He stood there for a second, his expression much less friendly, and then he moved away from the window. I seized that opportunity to speak very quietly on the phone, telling her that this man had slashed my tire and was trying to get me out of the car.
The operator asked for my location, and I quickly opened the map on my phone and told her the name of the road where I had stopped. The deafening sound of glass shattering to my left made me scream as shards fell onto my legs. I screamed that I was on the phone with the police. “It’s the police!” while showing her my phone screen. He looked at my screen and then reached inside the car. I screamed again, expecting him to grab me or try to suffocate me, but instead, he grabbed my phone and hurled it towards the road. Then he ran back to his car and sped away down the dark road. I heard the screech of his tires as he made a sharp turn and then vanished into the night.
I wanted to go retrieve my phone, but without a flashlight in the car, I couldn’t venture out into complete darkness. The only light came from my vehicle. I had no choice but to wait and pray that Nolan, or whatever his name was, wouldn’t return. I was incredibly grateful that I had managed to tell the 911 operator my location in time. I heard the unmistakable sound of police sirens in the distance and started crying tears of relief as I realized they were getting closer.
I got out of my car and began waving my arms in the air until I saw the flashing lights diverting from the road onto this street. Shortly after, a second police car appeared, followed by a third. During this time, we found my phone, which was completely destroyed. I described the man and his car and pointed out which direction he had gone. One of the officers headed in that direction while also broadcasting an alert over the radio. Honestly, they were the kindest police officers I had ever met. They changed my tire, and one of them even escorted me home, following behind the lead officer. They told me they would review the diner’s surveillance footage and keep me updated on any developments.
A week later, I received a call from one of the officers, informing me that the investigation was still ongoing. According to the surveillance footage, that was the last I heard about it. I don’t believe they ever caught him. Unfortunately, I never returned to work at that diner after that night, as I didn’t want to risk that man finding me again