A Life On College Hill

by Lawrence F. Dooling

  “It was two eggs, over easy, with hash browns, and toast. I’m in one of his classes, and if he didn’t get breakfast, he was going to flunk me.”

  “You know how to cook?” he impatiently repeated.

  “I’ve been working in restaurants since I was fourteen. It’s not rocket science.”

  I probably shouldn’t have added the last part.

  Chet asked, “What else can you cook besides eggs?”

  “I don’t know how you make the chili, but I think I can cook anything that goes on the grill.”

  He looked at me as if I had been holding out on him. “You know how to work the cash register?”

  “I’m an accounting major. A cash register is a calculator with a couple of extra buttons. I’ve seen you do it a thousand times.”

  “What else can you do that I don’t know about?”

  “If you stop spilling chili sauce on the bank statement, I can balance your checkbook.”

  It didn’t take X-ray vision to see the wheels turning in Chet’s head.

  The next day I was sitting in Professor Murry’s Senior Marketing class. I was filled with the usual anxiety and paranoia. My case study paper was due back, and I knew when I turned it in that it was not my best work. It wasn’t just because of the headaches. I was typing it at one-thirty in the morning, and my thrift shop typewriter was acting up. A couple of the keys were sticking, and all my erasures were tearing the paper. I was down to my last two sheets and still had three pages to type. To make matters worse, I hadn’t read the required two chapters in the textbook. It wasn’t for lack of trying.

  Monday had been a typical day. I was up at six and did my sit-ups and push-ups. Breakfast was a pop tart with two aspirin. If my toaster was working, the pop tart would have tasted so much better. By seven I was at work. After cooking breakfast for the Professor, I worked until ten-thirty. I punched out and had to hustle up to campus for an eleven o’clock class. There was little time for lunch because I had to study for my afternoon classes. After classes were over, it was back to work from five until eight.

  In addition to two more aspirin, my dinner consisted of half a hamburger and a few fries that someone left on their plate. It didn’t look like it had been touched, and I hated to throw it away. Besides, there wasn’t any food in my apartment.

  Meghan and I were at the library until ten-thirty. I didn’t get as much studying done as I would’ve liked because she was in a really good mood. All that smiling made it difficult to concentrate.

  I walked her home, then arrived at my apartment about eleven. Other homework occupied me until midnight, and then I started reading my Senior Marketing book. Somewhere in the first chapter it all turned grey, and I fell asleep.

  All in all, it had been a typical Monday. Unfortunately, on Tuesday I wasn’t prepared. It never failed that I’d be called on in class when I wasn’t ready. Professor Murry handed back our papers, and I hesitated to look for my grade. To my great surprise, I found a large red A on the first page. On the last page there was a note.

  My breakfast was far better than this paper. Consider the grade your gratuity.

  There was only a week left before finals and Christmas break. Chet had me working at the grill every day. I think I cooked everything on the menu a dozen times. It seemed as though I may have bussed my last table because he hired two part-timers to take my place. My paycheck also doubled in size. Chet pulled me aside one day at the end of my shift.

  “I know you’ve met my wife, Dolores. She’s an attractive woman, don’t you think?”

  Now there was a question only a fool would answer. I wouldn’t say yes because I didn’t want him to think I’d been checking out his wife. That might not go over well. If she wasn’t attractive, I couldn’t tell him his wife was ugly.

  The thing is, I had been checking out his wife. She was very attractive for a townie. I know that sounds harsh. It’s just that it wasn’t difficult to tell who was born in Central Valley and who moved here because of the college.

  I gulped and said, “Chet, who am I to judge your wife? But I wouldn’t disagree with your opinion of her.”

  Chet replied, “That’s an outstanding answer! You just may be as smart as I’m beginning to think you are.”

  “Randy, I’ve owned this business for ten years, and I haven’t had a vacation in the last five. My wife has given me an ultimatum. Either I take her to Florida, for a week, or she’s going to find a man who will. She’ll do it!”

  For a split second, I thought Chet was going to ask me to take his wife to Florida. What he actually had in mind was just as far-fetched.

  “Come back from Christmas break a week early and run the restaurant for me. It shouldn’t be busy because the college will still be on break. Let me take my wife to Florida, and I’ll give you a five-hundred-dollar cash bonus. Your Uncle Sam doesn’t need to know anything about it.”

  I was only planning to go to my parents’ house for a couple of days, so getting back early wasn’t a problem. Running the restaurant for a week was a scary proposition. For five-hundred-dollars, I’d face the fear.

  As soon as my shift was over, I raced up to campus and found Meghan in the student union.

  “You are not going to believe this! Chet is taking Dolores to Florida. He’s giving me a five-hundred-dollar bonus to run the grill for the last week of break. It shouldn’t be too difficult, there won’t be anyone in town.”

  Meghan looked at me and smiled. “Oh, Randy, you’re going to be plenty busy. There’s a basketball tournament that week, and I’m going to send everyone down to Chet’s to eat.”

  Top of the Fourth Inning

  It was good to be with the family for Christmas. However, it did not take long to remember why I stayed at school all summer. Being a God-fearing Christian, my mother was determined to prevent another grandchild born out of wedlock. Ricky and Vicky were not yet married, so they were not allowed to sleep together. When they moved into our house, Vicky decided she and Ricky Jr. would take over my room.

  I never understood why I had to give my room to Ricky’s girlfriend. If anyone should have slept on the sofa, it was Ricky. My parents had been through enough, so I didn’t argue the point. Honestly, my parents were afraid of Vicky. Whenever she didn’t get her way there were veiled threats about needing more child support. Worse than that was the fear she’d leave and take their grandson with her. Whatever Vicky wanted, Vicky got. It just fueled my determination to get away.

  It was fun watching an excited three-year-old opening presents on Christmas morning, but once the presents were unwrapped, I was ready to go. I packed up and headed back to Central Valley the next day. Looking to pick up some hours, I stopped by Chet’s to see if he needed me to work. I actually missed the place and my regular customers the few days I was gone.

  Chet was surprised to see me. “I thought you were going home for Christmas.”

  “I am home.”

  I surprised myself as much as Chet with that reply. The words just rolled off my tongue. It was a sudden realization that Central Valley finally felt like home.

  Chet threw an apron at me, handed over the spatula, and walked back into the kitchen. He left me to finish the half dozen orders he had been preparing. I was finally beginning to feel comfortable standing in front of Chet’s mistress. Customers often complimented me on my cooking. Being good at something was a novel experience for me.

  There was still plenty of room for improvement in the two weeks before Chet left for Florida. It was easy to cook one meal at a time. Juggling six orders at once required a lot more concentration. I had to cook with my back to the customers. Remembering to turn around and see if someone was waiting to order was essential. Chet never forgot an order no matter how many customers were in the restaurant. I had not yet developed that skill. If I was going to get anything right, I had to write everything down.

 
My headaches had eased up considerably. Not having to study or concentrate on the blackboard seemed to help. Unfortunately, my GPA reflected how poorly I did on my final exams. I needed to think about something other than school for a while.

  Working was actually a relief. I was at the grill every day, and Chet was leaving me alone for longer periods of time. He didn’t seem nervous about leaving me in charge. I wished I didn’t feel nervous about him leaving for Florida. Soon enough I found myself listening to Chet’s last-minute instructions.

  “I ordered everything you should need for the week. If you run low on anything, you have to call the supply house a day ahead of time. There’s enough chili made to last you two weeks. You won’t run out, but if you do, just take it off the menu.”

  I could hear Dolores honking the car horn and yelling they would miss their flight. Chet was having a hard time leaving as he finally realized that his livelihood was in my hands.

  “Get out of here and enjoy your vacation. If you stall much longer, Dolores will give your airline ticket to some other guy,” I said.

  It occurred to me, after Chet had gone, that I should have told him about the basketball tournament. I didn’t say anything because I was afraid it might make him cancel his trip. I also didn’t want him stocking up on inventory in case no one came down from campus.

  The tournament began Sunday night, but I didn’t expect much business until Monday. My biggest concern was my help. At any given time, Chet employed three or four part-time workers to bus tables and wash dishes.

  Everyone had their own reasons for working. Most were students looking to pick up some spending money. A couple of hours a week were all they were looking to work. It was a matter of life and death for me. I needed at least forty hours a week to survive. Chet always gave me the schedule first, to let me pick the hours I wanted. He knew that come hell or high water I would show up. The other employees picked what remained after I had finished with the schedule.

  Now that I was working at the grill, it was a scramble getting the schedule filled out. Two of the part-timers would split most of the bussing workload for the week I was running the restaurant. I couldn’t get by without them.

  Timmy was eighteen and a high school dropout. I often worked with him when our shifts overlapped. He was a stoner and usually came in smelling like he had just smoked a joint. I told him I’d give him an extra twenty dollars if he didn’t get high all week. It’s amazing the loyalty twenty dollars can buy. He probably figured he’d get twice as high the next week.

  Scott was another local who was also a Central Valley business student. He was a good worker but was often late for work. I told him he could take his pick of any of my textbooks if he showed up on time all week.

  With my workforce properly motivated, I was ready to do battle. I was in at six on Sunday morning to do all the prep work. Chet had ordered uniforms for me before he left for Florida, and this was my first opportunity to wear one. He even had my name embroidered on the shirts. It sounds weird, but it made me feel more like a real cook.

  A fierce headache was impeding my progress that morning. I didn’t know if it was caused by the tension of being on my own or a leftover from the concussion. It made me question whether I was going to make it through the day.

  There was a line at the door when I opened at seven. The early customers were always townies. I assumed the locals came in early, so they didn’t have to eat with the college kids who usually arrived midmorning.

  It would be a long day even if Meghan didn’t send anyone down from the tournament. Our posted hours on Sunday were seven a.m. to six p.m. I had to be in an hour before we opened and had an hour of cleaning and set-up after the last customer left. I was looking at a thirteen-hour day, and Sunday was the short day. We were open seven to seven the rest of the week.

  The inaugural basketball tournament was to be a big moneymaker for the athletic department. It would last from the Sunday night tipoff to the Saturday afternoon championship. The school recruited members of fraternities and sororities to work as ushers and ticket takers and for cleanup. They could earn money for their group depending on how many volunteers they provided. The school counted on plenty of students being back early from Christmas break.

  Meghan would be cheering whenever the Central Valley Titans were playing and had to do some volunteer hours when they were idle. That Sunday I was surprised to see her, and her dad, walk into the restaurant at noon.

  Mr. Mallory took one look at me and laughed out loud. He asked, “Randal, is that another scar on your face? What on earth have you done to . . . ”

  A suddenly seething Meghan interrupted his laughter. In a voice dripping with contempt, she scolded, “Daddy, don’t you dare say another word!”

  His facial expression made it obvious that Nick Mallory was unaccustomed to being addressed in that tone of voice. I doubt if anyone, other than Mrs. Mallory, ever dared speak to him in that manner. Out of stunned disbelief or love for his daughter, he didn’t finish his question.

  It was difficult to blame her dad for the comment. The scar was still red and raw. It was obviously more noticeable than I had hoped. I was expecting him to say something, but I wasn’t expecting him to find it so hilarious. I suppose it was just one more flaw in my badly flawed character.

  A solitary tear seemed suspended from Meghan’s embarrassed cheek. She brushed the tear aside and managed a sad smile. I acted as if the terse exchange had not taken place. Never show that it hurts!

  Returning her smile, I inquired, “What can I get for you, ma’am?”

  She was relieved that I seemed unaffected by her dad’s rudeness. As if she was looking for a favor, she asked, “Is it too late for breakfast?”

  “Breakfast is served anytime at Chet’s Grill. Even if it wasn’t, I would make an exception for my favorite customer,” was my happy reply.

  “I’m really hungry,” she said.

  “A Valley Omelet for the lady,” I responded. “What can I get for you, sir?”

  “I was thinking of lunch. If it’s not too difficult for you, could I have a turkey club sandwich?” He said it as if he thought it was beyond my capability.

  “White, wheat, or rye?”

  “Wheat toast would be fine,” he answered. Mr. Mallory then asked, “Randal, where are all the other employees? I don’t see anyone to help.”

  “The busboy is in the kitchen,” I replied.

  “Yes, but where is the owner? Surely he doesn’t leave you here on your own.”

  “Chet’s in Florida for the week.”

  “Who runs his business when he’s gone?”

  My polite smile answered his question.

  “You’re running this restaurant for an entire week?” He laughed at the absurdity of the idea.

  “It’s either that or divorce court for Chet,” I told him and turned away to the grill.

  Meghan explained what was going on while I was putting their orders together. I handed them their plates on a tray, and they took a seat in one of the booths. It appeared that Mr. Mallory was still upset by Meghan’s outburst. There was an icy silence while they ate their meals. I contemplated trying to get a conversation started but was suddenly swamped with lunch orders.

  When they finished, Meghan came over to ask what they owed.

  “Don’t tell Chet, but it’s on the house,” I whispered.

  Meghan gently traced her finger over the name on my new work shirt and then the scar her dad had noticed. She whispered, “Did I ever tell you I love a man in uniform?”

  With a serious look, I answered, “I hope it’s me.”

  She smiled and winked before saying, “I’ll see you after the game.”

  A smile and a wink was almost unfair. While I struggled to recover, I realized my headache had vanished. Mr. Mallory thanked me and said he enjoyed his sandwich. He had me really confused. It was the f
irst time he ever spoke to me in a civil voice, but he looked really angry.

  At six o’clock I closed the doors on my first full day running the grill. It was busy, but I felt like I had handled the challenge. Timmy and I set about cleaning up and prepping for Monday. We were finished by seven, and I walked up to the tournament.

  Central Valley was playing, and Meghan was cheering. I didn’t care much for basketball, but I did enjoy watching Meghan cheer. She looked just as good on a basketball court as she did on the sidelines of a football field. She cheered just as earnestly.

  The alarm clock rang way too early the next morning. I was in at six and had the grill ready for seven. I no sooner unlocked the door when Meghan entered with a mob of sorority sisters and friends.

  Meghan laughed, “Sorry, Randy, the school cafeteria is closed, and you have the closest food to campus.”

  Meghan disappeared into the kitchen while I started writing down customers’ orders. I had never faced such a huge rush and was in way over my head. Meghan returned from the kitchen wearing an apron.

  “You cook and I’ll take the orders,” she said.

  She was a huge help waiting on customers and pouring drinks. I had the first batch of plates ready to be served when she smiled and handed me another page of orders.

  I pleaded with her, “If you want me to get anything done, smile at the customers and not me.”

  The early rush faded, and I dealt with a steady flow of customers throughout the morning. Another swarm descended on the grill at lunch. It was a busload of fans from one of the schools in the tournament.

  One of them said, “A cheerleader told us you serve the best food in town.”

  By five my hands were cramping, and my back was killing me. Cooking for hours on end is not easy. I didn’t know how Chet could do this seven days a week.

  Meghan stopped by while we were cleaning up and then came back to my apartment.

  “Take a rest and let me cook something for you,” she said.

  I had been surrounded by food all day and hardly had time to eat. The only food in my apartment was a can of chicken noodle soup and the makings of a grilled cheese sandwich. I collapsed on the sofa and watched her at the stove.