East Of Eden

May 13, 2008 at 3:58 PM | Posted in Riding In Cars With Pizza | Leave a comment
  I first started working at Scooters in the Spring of 98…..So I’ve been there for ten years.  Ten years?  Wow.  It’s really hard to believe that it’s been that long.
  When I first started, I was driving part time, and that was right at the time when they were getting ready to open their second store.  The two partners, Scott and Scott.  The first Scott is Bunny’s husband, let’s call him the Big L.  (Big Lebowski.)  The other Scott…let’s call him psycho-Scott.  They had had another manager, a friend of theirs, but he left to move to Arizona.  I would find out more about that deal later.
  The Big L was busy working on opening the other store (O’Fallon), and Psycho Scott was running the existing location (St Peters).  It was Bunny who finally came to me and asked me if I would come to work for them full time, as a manager.  I would go to St Peters and work with Psycho Scott.  It would be a while before O’Fallon was up and running.
  I already had a job, a decent job (I thought).  I was working at Papa Johns.  I had decent money and good benefits–benefits I needed.  Scooter’s had insurance, because they had it for about 4 or 5 different people.  But they "needed" me… so I went.
  And I remember…
  Both Scotts, as well as Bunny, had worked for me in the past, and I worked for Bunny for a while.  The Scotts had both worked for Steak Out, and that was the impetus for their idea.  They began planning it and so forth while they worked part time driving for me.  Psycho Scott was a lazy fuck.  They talked about all their great plans, their vision.  They had a group of all their friends from back in the day–before I arrived on the scene–who would come to work for them.  Nothing but the best.
  I remarked to the Big L that I sure would like to be included…can I come too, maybe?  He kind of brushed me off.  The indication was that it would only be his bestest, closest, coolest friends, those who strove for excellence.  It would be an elite club.  And they’d never have to deal with Domino’s again.  I was slightly miffed, and a little hurt to not be included.  I wasn’t good enough.
  Later, their reality was that they didn’t have all the friends following them that they thought they did.  Not ones that could be relied on, anyway.  They had Tim as a cook, Rick as a driver and part time cook, Potter as a driver, and a few miscellaneous knuckleheads that I don’t remember.  Oh, and Angie!  How could I forget big-tittied Angie?  What a sweetheart.
  These were all people they knew from the old days, the golden era of ….delivery, I guess.  They had a few drivers, but no one who could really be a manager.  Bunny thought of me, and I slid right in.  Either I was good enough after all…
  Or they had lowered their standards.
  I didn’t see the Big L much; he was busy opening O’Fallon.  I worked with Psycho Scott, and it soon became apparent that he was indeed Psycho.  I’m not going to go into details or examples–there are too many.  But even he knew how he was.  Angie at one time said to him, he needed to get a steady girlfriend or something like that.  He answered, "I don’t want to subject anyone to my personality."
  He was a lousy manager, but a good cook.  He taught me to cook on the grill.  But he was impossible to work for.  The proof of that is all the people that left him, including his good friend Tim.  Tim was his friend, and couldn’t stand to work with him, so he moved to Arizona.  One by one, in fact, everyone left him, and came to work for The Big L, or just outright quit. 
  Psycho Scott’s whole attitude was that I was lucky to have a job.  Bunny tried to straighten him out on that, get it through his thick head that, no, I didn’t–I left a good job to come here.  But he held slave-owner ideas about management.  You do what I say, or else.  I am right, no matter what.  This carried over into his customer service attitude as well…He’s a bigger dick than I am.
  And you KNOW how I am–
  Okay, a couple of examples, as they came to me.  He would say one thing, and then completely change his mind later.  When teaching me to cook, he said that he had talked to a famous, great chef who said that cooking on the grill is one of the easiest kinds of cooking:  you throw the meat on, get to the temp you want, and take it off.
  The next week he chastised me.  "It seems like all you are doing is throwing the meat on the grill, waiting a little while, and then taking it off."  What else, exactly, am I supposed to do, bonehead?
  He had me working alot, about 60 hours a week or more, getting overtime.  He wanted to "immerse" me in the concept of cooking on the grill.  The wife calls and says the AC in the house stopped working, it broke.  It was July.  Both Psycho Scott and I were working–but he was just supervising me, cutting meat slowly, and just generally jacking around. 
  It was hot, I had a two year old at home.  I needed to go take care of the AC.  "Well, what if I say you can’t go?  I mean, this is your job.  You have to work.  Work comes first."
  "It’s hot.  I have a baby at home and no AC.  There’s a heat emergency.  And my family always comes before work.  Always.  When I get this taken care of, I’ll call you."  He was all pissed about it, because I didn’t knuckle under.  He thought his logic was fool-proof……because he’s a fool.  I went home and checked out the AC–tried various things.  I had to call a guy.  He came out, and had to replace the fan motor in the compressor (the outside unit).  The AC worked again.  It was now about 4 or 5 pm.  I called Psycho Scott, told him it was fixed, and I could come back in.
  Apparently he had had some time to think about it.  He said, "I’ve been working you alot lately.  Go ahead and take the rest of the day off.  Come back tomorrow."  Well.  That was unexpected.
  We didn’t have a fryer, so we did fries in the oven, the same one for potatoes.  We had–okay, this is the stupidest thing, but it’s an indicator of how he was.  He said–and I am fucking quoting WORD FOR WORD what he said:  "You can do this the way you want, but I put the fry pans down here when I’m not using them."  He indicated a lower shelf.  Well, that’s new to me.  We had been putting them on top of the oven, which was about chest high.  I was going to continue doing that.
  The very next day he yelled at me about it.  "I told you to put the fry pans down here!"
  "No you didn’t."
  "Are you calling me a liar?  I distinctly remember saying–"
  "This is what you said.  You said, "I can do it the way I want to, but you put them here.’  So I’m doing it the way I want to."
  He huffed.  "Well I want you to put them down here."
  "When I put them down there I burn my legs on them.  I’m going to keep putting them on top of the oven because it makes sense."
  He walked away, didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.  Of course, he rarely talked much anyway.  It’s a fine line between taciturn and dull.
  He did manage to find a way to get rid of me.  I had a lot of food on the grill–still learning to take care of everything–and a NY strip got away from me.  I handled all the rest of it, but this one steak got burned to piss on one side.  He berated me, I was no fucking good, he would rather stay and cook all the time rather than trust me with the grill.  And he proved this by cutting my schedule.  From six days and 60 hours down to one day.
  That mother fucker.  Because no one can ever make a mistake.  Cook something wrong–how about cooking another one?  How about the fact that I was still learning, and not doing a bad job?  I had several hundred dollars worth of food on the grill, and that was my one fuck up? 
  I’ve seen how Psycho Scott would do it.  We start getting busy, and he just takes orders, but doesn’t put anything on the grill.  Just let them stack up.  Then, when he thinks he has all of them, ranging from a minute old to almost half an hour old–THEN he would start cooking them, and get them all off the grill at once.  In case you don’t know anything about restaurants or delivery, that is a stupid fucking way to do it.  It leads to pissed off customers, and he would ignore them or be rude to them.  He can take care of customers like that, but I can’t be trusted with the grill?  –Like I would send out the steak I burned.

  I called the Big L.  That very week, I went to work with him in O’Fallon.
  And later I found out, when I talked to Bunny, that this is why Psycho Scott’s good friend Tim left…And moved as far away as possible.


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