I look at the sign in the window. "CLOSED". Another night of making pizzas and "serving fun" at Shakey's has come to its end. It must be about 1 AM. The two beers and joint I had, while closing up, are taking their gradual effect on me.
I shake my head, my black hair held firm by the sweat
and oil build-up of working with a hat.
I hate those red Shakey's hats. Excessive hat wearing
can lead to premature balding---that's what Daryl, the
resident ex-biker beautician-want-to-be, says.
I wonder if he will ever get his beautician's license.
Or will he end up nowhere, wasting away working at
Shakey's? Who cares.
Shit, I do not want to go bald.
I remove the key from the keyhole and place it into one
of my seemingly bottomless coat pockets. I check to see
if the door is locked. It is. I check to make sure I did
not put the key into the pocket with a hole. Key is still
there. Again I make mental note that the pocket with the
hole is the left pocket.
Turning, I look out into the night across the street at
the pet store. It sure is nice out tonight. I undo the
belt of my four buck army surplus trench coat, exposing the
pizza sauce stained red and white striped shirt I am
wearing.
It really is comfortable tonight, I can faintly smell
the ocean odors in the air. It is not like last Friday
when I nearly froze my ass off walking home.
God, last Friday seems so distant.
Last Friday, that is when I met her.
That was when Sam walked into my legends.
I was in the walk-in, the cold storage room, puffing on
a joint of some bunk weed. When I heard the front door
close. Terri was in the back, taking a break and eating
her customary late night salad in the office.
I rubbed out the half-smoked joint, placed it next to
the sliced pepperoni, and went out front to serve the
customers---whoever they might be.
There were four. They were standing near the register,
staring at the posted menu, trying to figure out what we
had to offer and what they wanted.
I took that fifteen step walk to the far end of the
counter. The closer I got the more they became visually
defined. Two couples. Stopping for that last group
gathering before they split into their respective pairs, I
assumed.
"Can I help you," I asked.
"What's this chick 'n' chips," the shagged haircut man
asked, apparently caught up in the current trend of stylish
cuts for men as we move away from the butch, the Ivy League,
and the "just let it grow" cuts.
"Uh, That's chicken and potatoes deep fried in a
pressure cooker," God knows how many times I had answered
that question, "but the cooker has been turned off for the
evening," thank God.
"So, no more chicken," the spokesman asked.
A most intelligent deduction, I sarcastically thought
to myself as I responded, "Correct."
I looked over at the two female members of the party.
It was hard to distinguish what they looked like because
the dining area was so dimly lit.
"Can we have a pizza half of one thing 'n' half another,"
queried the bearded partner.
"Yes," I wished they would hurry up so I could get back
to doing nothing. I pushed the "help" button, as the
females started to migrate towards the bar end of the
counter.
Terri came out and I motioned to the movie projector.
"Have you decided," I asked, returning my attention to
the group spokesman.
"Yeah, half mushrooms and anchovies, and the other half
the Shakey's Special."
God, I hate anchovies. Why did they order a pizza with
anchovies. Not only do they stink, they make your hands
stink. Not even bleach cleanses the odor from your hands.
Then again, who was I to judge the peculiar palates of others. Me, the one who
eats dried squid. I guess anchovies are some sort of
ethnic thing, something you are born with.
Terri started the over-spliced silent film and then
proceeded to direct her attention to the foursome, at the
bar, waiting to order liquid refreshments.
The pizza crust nearly missed the make-up board in my
casual not-so-graceful toss. It slid, on the corn meal,
across the make-up board. Precariously hanging on the
edge, on the verge of taking the dive to the floor, before
I rescued it. I brushed on the thick sauce. Some of it
splattered onto my apron and shirt, joining the existing
stains. Then the measured amount of cheese, spread
carefully close to the edges of the crust---leaving the
required half inch of exposed crust, naked of sauce,
cheese, and toppings. I remembered what the district
manager had said about waste. How if every employee at
this parlor was to waste one cup of cheese a day,
multiplied by the days in a week they worked, by the weeks
in a month, by the months in a year, by all the Shakey's
Pizza Parlors in the universe, it would equal some
ungodly amount of money. Somewhere close to the national
debt, or something like that. Somewhat like the question
regarding the two trains leaving from different towns
(usually Chicago and New York, as no one in California ever
takes the train---not the serious traveler) at different
rates of speed, when would they collide---meaningless
information you carry with for a lifetime. Things you
think about in your mental loneliness.
I heard the door open. Another customer, I had thought
to myself. Looking towards the door, I saw her. The
outside street lights shone through the open door
outlining her female form.
"Dammit," I cursed as my train of thought was broken.
The images of last week quickly fade, replaced by the
sudden rush of pain. The pain of hitting my foot on the
sprinkler abruptly interrupted my memory visitation.
I grab onto the patio post. Pain, especially in my
little toe. How I hate that, being temporarily immobilized.
"Goddamit," I cursed as I hobble pass Jay's Fish 'n'
Chips. Slowly the pain subsides and my strides return to
being even and measured. Paying special attention to
assure never to step in the same cement square of sidewalk
with the same foot. One of the mental games to down play
the boredom encountered on this long walk home.
Sure is quiet. I never noticed how quiet it was this
late at night along my route home. It amazes me, I have
walked this same route five nights a week for the past
seven months and just now I notice the near silence.
The buzzing of the street lights overhead fade in and
out as I walk along Grand. Each of the lamps so evenly
spaced along each side of the recently paved avenue.
I gaze down the four lane street, the lights creating a
watery mirage on the new asphalt. A vision of steamy
imagery rising from the new shiny black surface.
I get closer to Oak Park, sometimes referred to as 18th.
Depending on which side of the street you were standing on
you could be either in Arroyo Grande or Grover City.
I pass Sonic Cable TV, which reminds me I should pay my
bill soon. I do not want to get my cable disconnected for
non-payment. Definitely do not want to miss the ritual
viewing of Monty Python's Flying Circus followed by the
International Animation Film Festival, or whatever it is
called. PBS is probably cable tv's only redeeming factor.
I wonder when the traffic lights are going to be
operating at the Oak Park intersection. So much road
construction. I could never understand why road
construction was always planned for the rainy season.
The sky tonight was clear. Like last week, but absent
of the few scattered clouds and the brisk ocean breeze.
The kind that rushes the scent of salt and seaweed through
your sinuses. The kind that brings a color to the edges of
your ears, your cheek and the tip of your nose. No,
tonight was just heavy with the late autumn cold air.
Heavy with the cold feeling of being alone.
My feet are getting cold. My sloppy mopping left me
with two very soggy tennis shoes. The chill creeps up my
legs, sending shivers up my spine to the base of my neck,
then up the back of the skull. The sensations just
beneath the skin.
Look over at Sir Doby's, still open---not too many cars
in their lot. Maybe someday I will stop in and eat
there---a sandwich, not their pizza. Food takes a totally
different appetizing affect when you are familiar with its
preparation in the "fast food" environment. I had promised
myself never to eat a pizza made by anyone else.
I wonder if she is at the beach? Was it all a put on?
Maybe I should go and see...maybe not. I have to open
tomorrow and my ass will be dragging if I do not get
enough sleep tonight. Been spending too many nights up
late after work trying to cram in the studying I should
have been doing this whole term.
Only if I have had rich parents, I would not have to
work at Shakey's. I could have the folks put me through
college. I could have been out this Friday night, like the
typical college student, spending their money.
I blew it this Thanksgiving vacation. Instead of
studying and cranking out the papers, I just kicked back
and wasted time. If I had rich parents I could have even
paid someone to do my papers, a practice I had heard about.
There actually were ads in the school paper. Even ads on
obtaining diplomas without having to go to school.
I stop. I stand at the dividing line, the great line of
division. One more step and I am in Grover City. If I
straddle it I would be in both cities at the same
time---then if I ever became a suspect of a criminal act
that occurred tonight and was confronted with the question,
"Where were you on the night of December 3rd, approximately
1:30 AM?"
My most obvious response would be, "Arroyo Grande and
Grover City."
These are some more of the things I think about while
walking home from work, stoned and depressed.
That hill looks so long. It took longer that night.
That night she came into my universe.
The double couple had just sat down to watch the cut-up
silent films of Laurel and Hardy. I started on their
pizza, taking great care to prevent too much contact with
the anchovies. Damn, those little fish were disgusting.
The door closed as she walked towards the counter. It
was a race to see if I could get the pizza into the oven
before she got to the register. I won.
She started talking, but I could not hear what she was
saying over the exhaust fans above the pizza oven.
"Just a sec," I said as I wiped the fishy oil on the red
apron I wore, "What was that?"
"Do you have any chicory coffee," she asked, with a
slight hint of an accent. Unfamiliar to my ears, but not
Southern Californian.
"No," wondering what the hell that was, "What's that?"
"Ground root of chicory mixed with coffee," she explained.
Still not knowing what "chicory" was, but obviously some
sort of vegetation.
As she spoke, I became lost in her subtle facial
features.
She had incredibly beautiful blue-green eyes.
Her almost blonde hair, slightly unkempt, flowed in waves
just past her shoulders. As she step closer to the counter,
the light exposed a touch of red in a few strands. I could
not take my gaze away from her eyes.
Eyes, the portals to one's soul. The window to one's
being. You could tell a lot about a person, if you looked
directly into their eyes. You would also allow them to
see into you.
Then it hit me, she had been here before asking the same
question.
"You came in here before asking that same question," I
asked before I realize that my words could possibly be
interpreted negatively.
"No," she replied.
She stared deep into me. My soul seemed exposed. I
felt as if my heart was the "sacrificial lamb". Why did I
get the sudden rush of emotion? Who was this person? Was
she here before, or was the gentle cannabis buzz distorting
my memory? Why was her quest for chicory coffee so
familiar to my ears? Was it some sort of a deja vu
experience, someone I knew in a previous reincarnation?
Or was I just bullshitting myself?
Whatever it was, I felt so vulnerable to those eyes.
Her eyes.
She smiled.
"We don't have any, what's that, chicory coffee," trying my best to keep the conversation going, not wanting her to leave, "but there's some plain ol' coffee,"
She kept on smiling. Those eyes.
"I was getting ready to toss it, as we're closing soon,"
what a lie, but anything to keep the conversation going,
"if you want some, it's free...on me."
"Sure, thanks."
Damn, those eyes. They pierced straight to my heart.
Who was this person? I felt the blood pumping, rushing its
way through my cardiovascular system. I tried hard to
think, but it was too hard to think within the emotional
reaction I was experiencing. Was it being exaggerated by
the physical reaction? Or was the physical reaction being
exaggerated by the emotional rush? Which came first and
which was affecting the other, I did not know the answers. Did it matter?
Maybe it never really matters. Maybe we just put too
much emphasis in trying to explain the cause and effect,
only to lost the true meaning. The true experience.
I got her the coffee. Glancing over at the movie
watchers, who appeared to be already working on their
third pitcher of beer.
It was still an hour before closing, which meant I still
had at least that plus 45 minutes before I would see the
outside of the building. The questions started shooting
through my head about how do I get the other customers to
leave so I could start closing up procedures early; how do
I prevent anymore new customers from wandering; and how
does a cup of coffee last for almost two hours?
How do I?
Suddenly I found myself back in the office at the
circuit breakers. Off went the lights outside. Off went
the big Shakey's Pizza sign. Off went the temptation for
potential customers to enter.
I almost forgot about the pizza in the oven. If it
burns I would have to make another one. I would have to
give them a "customer relations" pitcher of brew. They
would be here longer. My pace quickened.
Terri stopped me before I got out from the food prep
area.
"What's goin' on?"
"You figure it out. Gotta get the pizza outta the
oven," was my only reply. I dashed out to rescue the
pizza from cremation.
With knife in hand, the pizza did not stand a chance,
as I accurately cut it into its 12 individual slices. My
samurai forefathers would have been proud. I was, but
there was no time to stand and gloat over my instinctive
pizza cutting perfection.
Terri stuck her head out of the back, "I'll get the
chairs."
There was a Cheshire Cat grin on her face. She had
figured it out. She was a smart girl.
She started putting up the chairs in the front of the
dining area, "You owe me."
The plastic sign at the front window now read "CLOSED"
to the outside world. Terri's IQ rapidly approached genius
in my mind. No longer did she owe me that fifteen bucks
she borrowed over a month ago. At the rate she was going I
owed her fifteen.
"Thanks," I mouthed as Terri passed on her way to the
back room. I delivered the pizza to the foursome drenched
in their beer, watching the same episode of Laurel and
Hardy for the third time.
"You closing," they asked, close to being in unison.
I was amazed how four inebriated minds thought alike.
"Soon, but no rush," lying again, followed by a
truthful, "Just don't want any stragglers walking in."
They understood. So, I gave them a pitcher on the
house. Hoping it would help chase the pizza down quicker.
"More coffee," I asked her, hoping two cups would last
longer.
"No, thanks," she replied.
I could sense the void grow inside me. I was looking
at a short fuse with no time to spare. My emotional rush
was being sucked out of me. I could hear my heart beg her
to stay.
Even in the dim light I was entranced by her eyes; her
smile; her seemingly mystic aura.
"Closing?"
"No. No rush. Just trying to make it easier to shut
down," desperately searching for words to maintain the
conversation, "What's your name?"
"Sam."
"Sam?"
"It's short for Sigrid Anne Murray."
It took me a minute, then I got it, "I'm SunKi."
"What?"
"Soon Gkee," trying phonetics.
"SunKi?"
She got it on the second try, but it did not matter.
Her eyes got it right the first time.
"What kind of name is that?"
"It's Korean," mentally I canceled the thought of
telling her my friends call me "Bump". The words had been
intercepted and never made it to my lips. Then again if
her vision was good, she would be able to read the badge.
She smiled. Maybe she read it.
"I'm going to make myself a small pizza, want some," I
thought maybe some pizza might assist in keeping her here.
Was I being obvious? I thought so. If I could keep her
here long enough to get at least a phone number, that
would be enough. Rome was not built in one night. Anyway,
I was not looking for the "one niter". I desperately
needed the fulfillment of a long term romance.
"Sure."
"What do you want on it," I could feel a small victory.
She accepted the invitation to stay a little longer.
"Whatever," a woman of few words.
With those eyes, my ears did not need to hear much.
I felt as if she could hear my soul. It was as if there
was a hidden conversation going on, I did not understand
it. My mind was so cluttered with thought, it was not
important to analyze what was going on. Just experience
it, I kept telling myself.
I wondered if I was making a fool of myself. How much
of a fool was I making of myself? How much of a fool
could I make of myself?
"Back in a sec," I was off to make the pizza, confused
on how to do the money drawer and deposit it in the sage
like it should be done...without non-employees in the
building. Do I ask her to step outside and wait the
thirty minutes while I count that day's revenue? Sure, I
could ask her politely to stand outside and eat the pizza
while I insure the security of the money drop into the
floor safe. Who was I kidding? It was too late for the
manager to stop by and I definitely was not concerned about
being robbed. Hell, if she was to have tied me up and
gagged me, which was a kinky thought in itself, and made
off with all the loot and a pizza---well, it was far from
my mind at that moment.
I just wanted to know more of this person, this Sam.
Shrimp, bell peppers, and onions on a thick crust. My
favorite. Some more shrimp. Into the oven it went.
I went into the back room to find that Terri had
already commenced with the mandatory clean up work. The
dishes, pans, and utensils sitting, drying. The food prep
area cleaned. She was mopping the floor. She had her own
plan.
"You do the floors out front," she paused, exhaling
the last of her cigarette into the exhaust air system.
The dreaded floors, that was apparently what I owed her.
"Okay," there was not going to be any argument from me.
"As soon as they leave," I was sure Terri was referring
to the couples, "I'm gone. Who's your friend?"
"Sam," I said as if talking about someone I had known
for awhile---at least prior to that night.
How was I going to do the floors, the money count,
close this place, and learn more about Sam?
I stepped out front to get the pizza out of the oven.
All right, the party had left. The pizza pan , the empty
pitchers and mugs placed at the end of the counter. The
projector was silenced.
There went Terri.
Again went the knife, cutting the small pizza into six
slices that were deformed and not equal in size.
"Here ya go," I placed the pizza with Sam on my way to
lock the front door.
"Aren't you going to have any?"
I made it to the front door and back, "In a little bit,"
and off to get the money drawer back to the office.
Off went the oven. Next to it was its bucket of
cleaning solution, a mixture of water, bleach, and salt.
Terri must have put it there. She was a very considerate
and smart girl, considering that was actually one of her
closing duties. Another part of what she meant when she
had said I owed her.
The oven got its quickest cleaning.
I wiped down the front area, doing my rendition of the
"white tornado". Mr. Clean. I was all the commercial
cleaning characters, moving at blinding speed, moving like
the Keystone Cops in our severely cut-up silent films.
Being thankful that I was the one opening in the morning.
It did not have to be spotless, it only had to be
acceptable in my eye---which could have been the state it
was in before I wiped it down.
I grabbed the money drawer, back to the office. I
prayed there would be no errors tonight. For once, God,
let this be the perfect night, let the count go smoothly.
My prayer was answered.
I heard the movement of a chair. She was leaving?
I looked up, there she was.
"Pizza's almost gone," she stood there with the pizza,
smiling.
"That's okay, I wasn't all that hungry," mainly because
I had already eaten a pizza earlier that evening, "Just
'bout done here. Go 'head and finish it."
"Can I have some Coke?"
"Sure, just a sec," I opened the floor sage and dropped
all the necessary items. One swift twist of the wrist and
it was locked.
I grabbed the push broom as we walked out to the bar
area. Taking a quick visual check, making sure I would
not have to return. I allowed myself a luxury, I skipped
the mopping. Just needed to be sure I swept the front
area good, or somewhat close to "good". It was on a
"pass/fail" grading and I was the professor. I would feel
no guilt, not tonight.
"So, are you a Poly student," I asked, trying to find
out more about this mysterious person.
"Nope."
"So, you're name is Sam and you don't go to Poly," I
summed up all I knew about this mystery person, then added,
"and you have beautiful eyes."
I could not believe I said that. Me, the ultra-nervous
person, being so casual. I noticed that most of the
nervousness was gone. The pressure had past, miraculously
she was still here...a cup of coffee, a small pizza, and a
Coke later.
She smiled, "You think so?"
I handed her the mug of Coke, "Yes."
"Thanks."
Was that for the Coke or the compliment?
Now for the floors, but first I had to draw my
customary mug of the Michelob Classic Dark. The first
gulp felt good, cooling on its way down. A second gulp.
The broom was in action.
"What do you do>"
"Not much of anything," then came her life story. She
was from Florida, in search of her ex-husband.
My soul felt the wind rush against it on its way down
this roller coaster ride of emotions. In search of her
"ex"? I was almost thrown on that turn. My heart clasping
in desperation, hoping to survive this internal emotional
tidal wave.
"Ex-husband?"
"Yes. Murray is my maiden name. Ramsey is my married
name," she paused to sip the Coke, "He left me in June and
I know he's in the area. He has relatives here."
She took another sip.
She was married, I thought to myself. He ex-husband,
she is not married anymore, my mind rationalized. She was
looking for him, my heart responded.
The roller coaster was coming to the abrupt end of the
ride. I felt that the time to get off was near. What an
experience. Any longer and I would have sent myself over
the edge. I had put myself through an emotional ringer,
why?
For two beautiful eyes. They were still beautiful.
My sweeping done. I emptied the dust pan. I watched
dirt covered pizza toppings, pieces of crust, dust, and my
heart fall into the trash.
"More Coke," I asked in politeness.
"No, thanks."
I finished my beer, then remembered that flattened
joint next to the pepperoni.
"Just a sec," I said as I disappeared into the back
room to retrieve the incriminating evidence in the walk-in. What the hell, I thought as I re-lit it, returning to the front.
"Well, I'm done," I said in between tokes. I had to
ask, "Where're you heading?"
"To the beach, I guess."
"It's past one, what's at the beach?"
Then came more of her mystery, "That's where I stay."
"What?" I became even more confused. The puzzle pieces
were not falling into place.
"I have no place. I stay up all night at the beach.
It's safer there and I sleep during the day."
"I don't understand," I had no clue. Some puzzle
pieces seemed to be missing. My mind cluttered with
fragments of her life, blurred by each inhale from the
joint. She took the joint from me. Where were my manners,
I had not even offered.
"My stuff is in a locker at the Greyhound station.
She inhaled.
The Greyhound station was in San Luis Obispo, fifteen
minutes by freeway north. More pieces of her life, yet
none were fitting neatly together. The picture in my mind
was incomplete. If I could just get the corners and the
edges, then maybe things would start falling into place.
"Are you telling me you're a---," I paused, "--a
homeless person?"
"I guess you can call me that."
"You're too clean," I said in disbelief. She was.
She did not look even close to being a homeless individual.
She even looked younger than me. Too young to have been
married.
Locking the door I notice Terri's powder blue Pinto pull out of the parking lot. I wave. I think she is waving back, but not sure as I cannot see very well into the maze of shadows and silhouettes in her car. She turns right on Grand and heads towards the intersection. Right tail light blinking the car turns again at Elm and disappears between the Exxon station and Santa Barbara Savings. Gone. Wondering when she is going to pay me back the 15 bucks I loaned her.
