This is another short one about when I worked for Shakey’s Pizza in Phoenix. It was actually my first day with them.
Just a quick fill-in: I was actually hired to manage the Shakey’s on Central Avenue in Phoenix because I was a good softball player. I ain’t lying!
The district manager for Shakey’s coached and played in a game against my team in a preseason match, and I evidently impressed him—or maybe he just needed a center fielder… or a pizza store manager. In any case, after the game he asked if I’d be interested in playing on his softball team. The league we were in was an industrial league, so I told him that would only be possible if I was employed by Shakey’s. He said, no problem, I’ll give you a job. Cutting to the chase, I was hired on the spot as manager of Shakey’s on Central Avenue. I’d never even been in a Shakey’s Pizza Parlor!
But here’s what happened: we had our first game on Monday, the same day I officially took over as manager of the Shakey’s. I’d worked during the day then went to the game. Afterwards, Tom, the manager of another Shakey’s in Phoenix, my three-year old son, Billy, and I went to my Shakey’s to have a pizza and a couple of beers. Monday nights were extremely slow, so we were the only ones in the place until about the time we finished our pizza.
We were just chatting and finishing our beers, when a couple of teenage boys and a girl came in. I noticed that they were giving my assistant manager a hard time at the counter, but didn’t think anything of it. Central Avenue was a rough part of town—things were sometimes not so pleasant.
The three went to the salad bar, and after a minute or so, Howard, my assistant, went over and spoke to them. The three teens laughed and elbowed each other, then went back to their business at the salad bar. Howard marched over to where Tom, Billy and I were sitting.
Howard was angry as he said to me, “They only paid for one salad, and they’re all eating off the salad bar.”
Well, by golly, we weren’t going to tolerate that nonsense! I watched as the three hoodlums went to a table. Back then, Shakey’s used picnic tables set end to end in about four rows—kind of a mess hall setup—and the trio took a seat pretty much right in the middle of the dining room.
I got up and sauntered over to them, not noticing that Billy was shadowing me. When I got to the table, they were all chowing down on a salad that was overflowing the bowl onto the table. I got the distinct impression they might have been smoking some of that whacky tobacky I’d heard was plentiful in this part of town. They were tearing into the salad like wild animals, and giggling around every bite.
I said, “Excuse me, but if you all want to eat salad, you’re all going to have to pay for a salad bar.”
One of the boys looked up and said, “Who the hell are you?” I suddenly realized I had my softball uniform on, rather than the goofy getup Shakey’s required their employees—even managers—to wear.
I didn’t see where that really mattered, so I answered, “I’m the manager!”
I could tell that impressed them by the way they looked at each other, all wide-eyed and amazed. The girl said, “Ooooo, he’s the manager.” They all went to giggling and slapping at each other.
That was it. “Okay,” I said. “You three need to leave.”
“What?” they said in unison. “You’re gonna throw us out?” One of the boys whined.
I said, “Yep. We don’t need people like you in here.” That made the girl mad for some reason.
“People like us?” she yelled, jumping up and getting way too close to me. I backed up. She continued, stepping toward me again, “What the hell do you mean, people like us?” Then she took a swing at me. Whoah! I thought, grabbing her forearm before her fist hit my jaw. Her bloodshot eyes were ablaze as she swung with the other fist. I grabbed it with my other hand, and then heard Billy standing a few feet behind me yell, “Fight!”
I looked around and said, “Billy! Go over where Tom is!” I looked at Tom and he hadn’t left his chair. He was grinning broadly, obviously enjoying the show. I looked back to the girl; I still had hold of her arms, and she was struggling mightily to get loose; I saw one of the boys stand up and watched as he drew back and popped me right in the nose. Oh, boy! They obviously didn’t know me very well!
No need for details, but I yelled at Howard to call the cops, watched as he grabbed the phone from its place by the counter, then proceeded to toss three teenagers around the room for about fifteen or twenty minutes. I did not fail to notice that Billy had not heeded my command to go over where Tom was, and Tom was still sitting in his chair, grinning.
With Howards assistance—he’d open the front door when I told him to—I was able to throw one of the boys and the girl out onto the sidewalk. Each time I’d get one out, Howard would lock the door. Neither of them tried very hard to get back in. As I was dragging the last of the salad thieves toward the door, the police showed up, screeching to a halt right in front of the door, lights flashing and sirens whooping. I stood there holding the boy by the collar as he panted and tried to get lose. Billy ran up beside me, and with eyes as big as a salad bowl (sorry), he shouted, “One-Adam-12! One-Adam-12! Disturbance at Shakey’s!”* I looked down at his wide-eyed, smiling face and he was looking up at me with what could only be described as pure adulation, as he said, “That was cool, Dad!”
*Many of you might not know the meaning of what Billy said. There was a show on TV back then called “Adam-12”, about a couple of policemen working a beat together in Los Angeles. When they would receive a call to respond to an incident, the dispatcher would always say something to the effect of, “One-Adam-12, disturbance at 1200 Main St.”
And again, me and dates: Billy might have been close to four at the time this happened.
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Marbles In My Pocket ~ The Official Blog of Charles L. Mashburn ~ Poems, Short Stories, and random thoughts from the author of "Be Still... and know that I am God" 
Sherry said
my hero!