After The Work

It was 1998. Everyone had the song “Closing Time” by Semisonic stuck in their head. Everyone at college believed they would pay back their loans one day. I knew a guy named Steve who attended the same local college as myself and worked at a Papa John’s pizza. This was before we knew that the Papa John himself was a phony; his origin story was just a load of garbage about his pulling himself up by his bootstraps. The workers at Papa John’s were fed this story and frankly were impressed as employees listened about “one of our own” started his own chain. What was deleted from the story was the steady influx of start up cash from dad.

Don’t get me wrong, the job was good for a college kid like Steve. There was also a certain pride in making the perfect pizza, from kneeing out the dough to making the crust just right, ingredient placement, and the cheese. If one could make many perfect pizzas fast, respect was won–especially during a rush.

The other highlight was talking to customers. On days Steve felt social, he would chat with customers, try and get phone numbers from women all while ringing up the till. Steve was under a lot of pressure from school, his parents, and generally was wound up a little tight in those days. In the kitchen, however, he could heal. There were no papers to write there, no parents to placate, just pizza and bullshitting with your fellow crew. There is a culture in the kitchen, a comradery born of late night rushes together, near poverty pay, and weed.

It was also an odd boiling pot of people from different walks of life that converged upon that Papa Johns. There was the store manager Tony, middle aged Italian guy who was built like Chris Farley, and like Chris, the largest cocaine addict Steve had ever seen. He had a way of making everyone feel either like a built-tough guy or a pretty girl with his charm and compliments. A natural leader, he got a rush out of making sales quotas and pumping everyone up. Wonder where he got the energy?

The assistant manager, on the other hand, was a thin man with a chiseled face and steel blue eyes. Unfortunately for him, his face was chiseled into the mixture of Gollum from Lord of the Rings and Patrick Bateman’s smile and psychotic eyes. He was like a shark from Jaws, his eyes were only alive when he was biting others in conversation with dark thoughts and ideas. His name was Nate and he definitely looked like someone who had been arrested before for a “misunderstanding” with a woman.

The scary thing is that Nate and Tony would leave together often and come back in a better mood than ever. It started small, Steve noted, the occasional “manager’s meeting” in Tony’s truck. They would return laughing about new ideas for the store. It was a scene when they came from the back of the store and walk-in, slapping each other’s backs as they strolled into a busy kitchen. Tony would let us have our perks, it is why no one complained as they worked and the managers snorted their paychecks up their nose. A pizza here, a day off there goes a long way for a college kid like Steve who has little cash and many papers to write.

There was also a tiny office in the middle of the kitchen. It a spartan affair inside; four walls, three of which was two way glass so you could see the workers toil while you bumped lines in private. It just so happened to be where the money was kept, where those with the key could borrow if they liked, even use a rolled twenty bill as a coke straw if needed.

There was also James, a bible school student who was the definition of a good looking, mild mannered, honest, well intended evangelical who used every conversation to bring up Jesus, as if we were his practice flock. His real heart and charm would occasionally shine through his preaching, revealing a pretty cool guy. Eventually Steve would shout in the kitchen, “What does Jesus think about sausage, James? He was fully man, after all?” James would laugh because he wasn’t a dick, but was self aware enough that he could see the irony of his preaching in Papa Johns constantly.

Then there was Rick…that guy was a legend. He was in his mid twenties, so he had seen some life already compared to the other workers, who were 17-22 years old in general. He was the fastest worker on the line, never complained, and had set hours to work due to the ankle monitor he wore. He was cool to talk to, tough, and gave you respect if you showed him respect and kindness–kind of a getto John Cena. With him in the store we had a real man who could lead a gang tackle of a would-be robber, kick his ass, then smoke a cigarette with his foot on the robber’s neck.

Rick was a legend for another reason-no one had ever seen anyone play Mortal Combat like him. He didn’t button smash, but had choreographed sequences he would use to dominate those he invited to his place after work. He would light up a fat joint (even with his ankle monitor on, he dared break the law), sit in front of the game system, hand out controllers, and proceed to hand out ass-beatings at the hands of any character he wanted. It was like all the anger and violence he had experienced was funneled into that game. Thank God for Mortal Combat.

A few others worked there as well, many came as soon as they left. Maybe some could see through Tony’s smooth words. Steve ate them up, given his shit childhood, which is why he stuck around until he was made a shift lead. Around that same time, we discovered our resident psycho Nate not only had a living girlfriend, but she was about to begin working in our kitchen.

Her name was Sara, a shy blonde 18 year old who lived at home with her sick mother. Sara herself had health issues growing up–she had a scar on her chest from when she had a heart procedure as a child. She didn’t hide it, but wore it like a badge it seemed. Or she liked to show off her ample breasts–or both, no complaints or judgment here. She was as good natured as Nate was psychotic. She ate up every one of his words, even when everyone else could see the bullshit.

There was light hazing for new hires, usually Tony would roast everyone when he introduced them to a new person. It was the funniest time, made everyone want to put up with bad pay, rude people, and bathroom duty. Some new “meat” would be given a pizza suit–yes, you read that correctly. They would then wander out the door towards the main road of a busy little college town. People were happy to share their opinion of the pizza suit as they drove by. Some even shared their drinks or garbage out the window, hurled at the pizza man with a “HAW HAW”, usually out of dad’s Lexus window.

Other duties included direct marketing–yes, it is as tedious and humiliating as it sounds. Like a Witness for the Gospel of Coupons, Tony had college kids go door to door around the big holidays and hand out fliers. Or you could take three kids and canvas the entire college student parking. Other times, there were trips to the nice neighborhoods to solicit orders and cash in on the opportunism.

Steve and Sara had begun chatting it up and discovered some chemistry. They both would steal glances at each other and found excuses to work side by side. Steve thought she smelled as sweet as her personality, but Steve was given to sentimentality, so he indulged in feelings for Nate’s lady. Ordinarily, Steve was a date one girl type of person, and wouldn’t mess with someone who was taken, but flirting with her seemed fair game as Nate and Sara were not planning to marry so who knew? Whether it was the hormones or the rationalization, Steve spent time with “forbidden toppings”, but only at work and nothing physical. Nate appeared to be preoccupied anyway.

A couple weeks later and Steve sees Tony and Nate wander to the back of the store, so he followed them, sharing jokes with them as they walked. Then Nate and Tony stopped and Tony said, “It’s just us two Steve. Gonna head out to the truck.” Steve asked to go, maybe cut him into the party. He had suspicions, but up to that point, no one really knew for sure they were snorting coke all the time.

This time, however, Nate looked at Tony and said, “Ya know, we got the new thing, maybe he can have some of that?” Tony looked at Steve paused. Maybe there was a kind heart to the core and wanted to spare another soul the trouble of drugs, or maybe Tony didn’t want to split their dope three ways. He looked at him and said, “No Steve, you don’t want any part of this.” “What is it?” Steve asked, and Nate laughed manically. “IT’S CRACK, DUDE-HEHEHEHE”. They had apparently upgraded to the concentrated version of their favorite drug, coke and have been “burning” through it for the last week.

Steve may have tried a bump of coke, but crack? He used to call people “crack-heads” when they acted crazy or irrational. He wouldn’t do crack. Too far. Steve backed away and joked good naturally, “more for you guys” and went back to work. One week later Steve was made day shift manager, more pay but worked openings where he was alone for a couple hours before one or two more kids would come in as the almighty schedule sheet would say.

Steve didn’t care about that. He got some good pot from Rick and would arrive at the store first, keep the door locked, turn on the oven and fan, and blaze a joint to start the day. Baptized that pizza oven in the Holy breath of Saint Mary Jane. Steve was paranoid at first, but realized his bosses smoked crack, what could they possibly say.

A few weeks later and Steve was opening the store. They had just opened when Nate came dancing into the store like Gene Kelly in his street clothes. Literally. He would stride up to a support beam and swing around it like he was “Singing in the Rain”, humming some NIN song from Broken. He danced his way into the mini office in the middle of the store and closed the door. He came back out a few minutes later with a grin on his face and a glee in his eye as he danced his way back out of the Papa Johns.

When Steve checked the till in the manager’s office, of course it was empty. Nate had cleaned out the cash drawer in preparation for the greatest crack high he ever had. Steve was left holding the “empty bag” as he was in charge of the till being the shift manager. It’s not like he could tell the manager, they were smoking crack together. Steve remained chill about because if they both are doing crack, then they won’t tell out of paranoia. That was the hope at least.

The next week came and went without any incidents. No one said anything about the money and Nate had called in sick the last few days. Tony came into the store and announced another round of direct marketing. Sara volunteered and looked at Steve. Steve read her expression and said “she will probably need help, I can drive”. Tony was excited to see people volunteer to hand out fliers and get those sweet savings.

What came next was a story of freedom. Steve and Sara drove around the block and dumped all the fliers in a dumpster. It was a beautiful summer day and the road called to the pair. A paid road trip? Sign us up. The pair peeled out of town and towards the beaches of Lake Michigan only a half hour away. The music was turned up, the windows were down, and two people who had been locked away for so long tasted real freedom and intimacy.

They drove down the road, Steve looked and saw how pretty she looked with the summer sun casting down on her face, neck, and down to her scar. The wind whipped her hair around and he realized he had never witnessed something so beautiful. The duo spoke about life, relationships, hope, and failure. They talked about everything from Adam and Eve all the way to zoology. Sara shared Nate was a huge scumbag, but because of her past, she felt he was as good as she could do. He was prone to violence, especially after he got high or was tripping.

Steve and Sara tasted unrequited love that day. No sex, just holding on to one another in quiet desperation. They only shared one kiss when they got to the beach, but it held months of tension and emotion. They had borne their souls to one another, naked souls who just recognized a fellow soul on their way to destiny. Both of them knew that Nate would commit literal crimes if he found out about them, so it was left as it was: A perfect day. They spent four hours driving around and finding respite in one another’s arms.

When they returned, there was no fanfare or Nate waiting at the door. Instead it was Tony, wondering where two of his best, most behaved employees went. Steve fed Tony a line about hitting the east side of town, plenty of nice subdivisions who might need pizza. Sara and Steve shared a look and they both punched out and left.

I wish I could stay Steve and Sara made it and are happily married today. That is just not the case. Nate got arrested for breaking and entering and ended up in prison. He was crashing from a crack high and got desperate. Sara drifted away from the store and ended up getting an office job. Tony quit being a manager one day and the next week the regional manager was down, examining the books. Tony probably got busted for all those “loans” from the till.

James ended up a youth pastor. It was the least surprising development of 1999. I suppose he probably ended up a minister or he went the opposite way and is now a jiggalo. Steve took a job in the biology department where he could study and get paid to do it. After getting paid to spend the day with Sara, he liked the idea of “on the job personal productivity”.

That leaves us with the Legend of Rick. I like to think he is playing Mortal Combat with his kids and a pot smoking wife. Rick was the story of a man who corrected their own course. He had lived and lost, resolving to never compromise himself for others. He did it true to what was inside and not what a program or a church could counsel. Rick lived in the moment. Perhaps if Steve really had took the lesson of Rick to heart, he would have pursued Sara right out of Papa Johns and into life together. Regret can burn a hole in your heart like acid, sinking down into further depths of our heart.

Steve doesn’t regret missing out on cocaine. Nor does he regret working at Papa Johns back then. No one could fold boxes as fast as Steve, after all. Steve does, however, look back from time to time and recognize those moments in life that would have changed everything. I often see that when we regret our past, it is because there were opportunities we could have seized, but we were too interested in our “plans” and “goals” for the future.

A young person in their twenties is in real danger of trading real life for the promise of a life. They often do not look the same, what we expect out of life versus what is actually thrown our way. I don’t regret my own restaurant work, as hard as it was at times. There was real life happening there, a strange convergence of lives that otherwise have no connection besides Papa John’s store number XXX whatever it was out of thousands of pizza places. It is a trip to see that every pizza place has their own slices of life and their own toppings to go with it.