“If You Think Things Cannot Possibly Get Worse, Trust Me - They Can.”
Michelle Obama, August 2020
Over the years, I have often heard folks confidently declare that, “it can’t get worse,” and I cringe, step-back and take a deep breath. This declaration leads me to another story.
“A long time ago in a galaxy far, far, away,” well actually we are stuck in our current galaxy, multiverse or not, a galaxy we will never leave! A galaxy that will eventually terminate, consumed, annihilated, scattered as it crashes with our neighbor, the Andromeda Galaxy. In about 4-million years. This story did actually take place here in the Milky Way. Tucson to be more specific, but I needed to jazz up the introduction and toss in a little science.
It was a typical sunny summer day in Tucson. Hot as usual, but a dry heat. Norma was out of town, attending a church conference in Oklahoma for several days. And, I, being a much younger and a confident adult, ensured Norma I was capable of taking care of our preschooler. Together, we had this all figured out. And it begins.
The plan:
Step 1—take Tommy to day care, as usual.
Step 2—go to work.
Step 3—pick said child up after work.
Step 4—go home.
Step 5—feed the child.
Step 6—bathe child.
Step 7—put the child to bed.
Step 8—go to bed.
Step 9—get up, dress, and eat.
Step 10—repeat the previous day’s schedule.
Seemed pretty simple. Everything on the list was what we did every day, anyway. Our home, my work, and day care all existed within a two-mile triangle. Left, right, left, work… right, right, left and home again.
I don’t remember all the details since I am no longer young and my memory plays tricks on me occasionally; actually, I am much older. We had used this preschool for some time now and we knew the staff and felt confident he was well supervised, fed, and entertained. Without going into great detail, the relevant piece of information for the sake of this story is that the pickup time was 6 pm., which was never an issue.
Step 1, not a problem, done.
Step 2, not a problem. I was the Day Manager, of a restaurant that no longer exists (for which I am not to blame), but at the time it was new, clean, and, if I say so myself, a well-run establishment. We opened early and stayed open very late. We essentially had two shifts, the morning crew and evening crew. Each shift included 6 servers, 2 cooks, 1 prep cook, 1 dishwasher, 2 bus boys, and a hostess or two. In addition, a day manager and night manager. The day and night manager shared many of the same responsibilities except for ordering, staffing and scheduling issues handled by the day manager.
So, until this paragraph, all is going well. Busy morning followed by a busy lunch. Everyone performing their task, all is running smoothly. Lunch is over. Cleanup in progress. Prep cook prepping. Delivers received and put away. Dishes, glasses, silverware, pots/pans washed and redistributed for the evening shift. Ice bins filled. Kitchen stocked.
I need to interject a small, but for those in the food service industry, a significant piece of information today is Friday. For the sake of clarity, it probably should be noted that on Friday nights, we were open until 3 in the morning. We were quite popular with the bar crowd once the bars closed at 1 am.! We were open until 3 am. Having been a night manager, I knew the unique challenges working the Friday night shift and the intoxicated clientele we served. As a group, they were well behaved and known to tip very well. But there were exceptions. I cannot count the number of patrons who fell asleep in the bathroom stall. Saying that caused me to experience an unprompted flashback. That could be another story.
Anyway, step 2 and all is well. At least I thought so. I did not know what was in store for me next.
The phone rings. The hostess answers. I see her coming my way. (Never a good sign.) Mr. Maynard, that was, “make up a name” and she is ill and cannot work tonight.
I smile, thank her for the information, and head to the back to check out the schedule. I am still smiling because, being a skilled manager, always had a server on-call. We expect this person to be available to cover in situations like this, and mostly the servers enjoyed getting called on a Friday night because with our location and the bar crowd, tips made coming in worthwhile. I quickly check the schedule and make the call, great “see you at 4:30.”
It is now about 2:00 pm.
The phone rings. The hostess answers. I see her coming my way. (Clearly not a good sign.) Mr. Maynard, that was, “make up another name”, and he is ill and cannot work tonight. Now I was missing a busboy, leaving but one. That is more problematic. Now, technically, we get by with one in a pinch, but that’s not an ideal situation, especially on a Friday night. The night manager could bus a few tables as needed, the hostess could set the cleared tables with napkins and silverware, and servers could clear a table or two if needed. The upside for the servers, one less person to share tips with. Still, with that said, I make some phone calls. “This can’t get much worse.” I think to myself.
It is now about 3:00 pm.
The phone rings. The hostess answers. I see her coming my way. (Okay, this is bad as I need to pick up my son by 6 or else they charge by minute.) Mr. Maynard, that was, “make up another name”, and he is “ill” and cannot work tonight. The other bus boy is calling in sick? Hard to believe that would happen on a Friday night. Really, can it get any worse? Start calling everyone in the Rolodex. Check with the manager at the other store! What is plan-B? Hostess bus tables? Servers bus their own station? Dishwasher will have to move plates, glasses, and silverware to servers’ stations. Night manager will be busy tonight! “This can’t get much worse.” I say to myself.
It is now about 4:00 pm.
Night manager hopefully will arrive by 5:00 pm. at the latest! Better call him, give him a heads-up.
The phone rings.
The hostess answers. I see her coming my way. (Okay, this has moved beyond bad to…, what do you think?) the server is now running late because of a car issue! Remember, it is Friday night! The room starts will start to fill by 5:00 pm. and by 5:30 pm. there will be a waiting list with folk waiting outside the lobby area. Fortunately, and I use that term loosely, I have a solid group of servers, all experienced and know the system well. For now, when the second hostess arrives and I assign her to cover the counter-seating, have the other hostess “close” one section, have the dishwasher empty the trays the servers have filled, and told the cooking staff to slow the pace, a tad. “This can’t get much worse.” I say to whomever is standing nearby.
It is now after 5:00 pm., and by now (on a normal day) I have picked Tommy up.
The night manager has arrived and is out front. I continue to make calls and look through applications to see if someone would like to start a new career tonight. Call the other store again. Running out of options and ideas. And I will have to leave soon! Leave with a partial staff on the floor!
The building, once it fills, will remain full, with a waiting list, until about 9:30 pm. when it may slow down giving staff, normally, time for breaks and restocking.
The owner arrives at about 5:30 pm, which complicates matters. He likes to be on site with the night manager meeting and greeting customers, cutting the cakes (he has a thing about getting exactly 12 perfectly sliced, slices per cake), clearing tables and seating tables quickly (a little too quickly), and increasing the level of tension by several degrees. Today, I give him phone duty - find me busboys and a waitress! That’ll keep him busy. BUT, I have to get my little boy, now! And I do.
Finally, move to step 3, 5:56 pm., picking up Tommy. He’s the last child out. Head home? Nope, back to the restaurant!
So, not wanting to leave the shop in a mess, I returned to help the Night Manager and his make-shift crew. Put Tommy at a two-top booth closest to the kitchen where I and my staff can monitor him, one less table to cover, gave him a soda, French fries and condiments for dinner (what a great dad), and returned to get a status update. Good news the waitress has arrived, the owner has commandeered his son to bus tables, and he could contact the night porter to come in early. Not an ideal situation. This will work! Tomorrow, I look for new busboys.
Now, Step 4 head home. That was the worse day I could recall in a long, long time. I was still stressed out but glad to be heading home.
I take a breath, say to myself, “Thank goodness that day is done. The worst is behind me and Tommy and I can go home and relax!”
It is now about 7 pm.
But, I was wrong.
I am a prime example of a homebody. Not really much of a traveler, although over the years I have improved and become more comfortable traveling. Today, with all the chaos and work related stress was ready to be home. Would talk to Norma a bit later and could share little about the day’s events and, perhaps, how it impacted picking up Tommy.
Home.
We exited the car, unlocked the door, and entered the living room. But something did not seem quite right; just a feeling. Why is it light here? Did we forget to turn off our bedroom lights? As we continued, we noticed little things out of place; off; not quite right. We walked into the kitchen and found the big clue; they had broken the back door window out and the door was standing wide open. Someone had burglarized us; again!
Looked at Tommy. He was doing okay. When this happened before, he cried because strangers (bad people) went through his things, stole his favorite clothes, and all of his savings. Unfortunately, he knew all too well what we were going to find.
Quickly checked to be sure intruders were gone. They were.
Found a pillowcase in the hallway.
Did I say it couldn’t get worse? Well, now truly things cannot get worse! What to do?
Stay here tonight with the back door window removed, allowing anyone easy access should they return or someone else wanting in?
I still would have to open the restaurant in the morning.
Contact law enforcement?
When could I repair the door?
Could I repair the door?
Did a quick inventory, making a mental list of stolen items.
Needed to get Tommy to his grandparents because they were going to watch him tomorrow, Saturday.
Deal with my anger and “why me” attitude!
To be honest, I am, after the fact, not even be sure of all the thoughts that undoubtedly flashed through my mind! All this in a matter of moments.
Okay, breathe, relax, first - let’s make sure Tommy is really okay. While he did not cry this time, he was clearly upset some stranger had ransacked his room. Let’s work on a plan, including putting his room back together; tomorrow.
We called Nana and Papa to inform them of the burglary and worked out the details regarding the fact Tommy would now spend the night at their house (originally I was to drop him off Saturday morning to stay while I was at work). Searched for the items he wanted to take with him and got clothes together that he would need for tomorrow. So the plan:
Take Tommy to Nana and Papa’s,
Pick up some dinner on the way,
Drop him off,
Return home and call the police.
Papa would come and spend the night (really, like we would guard the homestead should they return, lol),
Take another quick inventory,
Communicate with Norma,
Wait for the police,
Ponder how to repair door,
Wait for the police, still…
Blame myself for not making the back-door burglar proof.
Okay, we have a plan, so we pack up and headed to Nana and Papa’s house.
It is now about 8 pm.
Things cannot possibly get any worse!
I hate being wrong! Again!
Back to the car, we are both exhausted, needing some dinner and chill time. Must get Tommy to Nana and Papa’s and bed soon. I need to get back to the house, now open to additional intruders seeking to afflict more damage to an already unpleasant situation. I also needed to call and report this to the police.
Over the years, we have had our home broken into on five different occasions. (Actually, I think seven is the actual number, but who would believe that?) Plus, someone stole my dirt bike from our patio when we were first married. It’s not like we had anything of great value, especially after the first burglary. The first time around, they got a black & white TV, jewelry and several weapons. We were a poor, young married couple just starting out in life, living week to week. You know the good old days. Someone must have had our name in their Rolodex. Either the first or perhaps second time around, the Officer told us that these petty crooks would often return in a year, after you had replaced everything. That was just about how often we experience thief. Clearly I digress.
Headed across town, we decided on some hot dogs/chili dogs with fries (yes, more fries) and sodas. We stopped at the Der Wienerschnitzel restaurant. The restaurant was (and still is) on Alvernon Way South of 22nd Street. The ones that used to be shaped with an A-frame style roof. The one that sponsored the Wiener Nationals, the de facto national dachshund racing championship series for the United States. Too much info? Two hot dogs with ketchup only, three chili dogs with onions, two small fries and two large sodas. Comfort food!
On to Nana’s house.
We caught the red light at the Alvernon Way and 22nd Street intersection. Now we owned a 1969 Ford Mustang Fastback that until this moment was working just fine. No known issues, dependable. Turn the key and started every time. Purred like a kitten.
It is now about 9 pm. give-or-take.
It stalls! It would not start! Sounds like it would turn over! Again, it would NOT start! And, for those wondering, I am not mechanically inclined! I once did a tune-up on my 1964 Chevy Malibu 283 HP, bored out to a 301 HP (previously owned by a police officer), 4 on the floor and red! It required my dad and a mechanic two days to get is running again. That was the last time I tried that!
Well, now truly things cannot get worse!
Recap:
Horrible day at work!
Barely picked up my son on time!
Home burglarized!
Home currently standing wide-open!
Exhausted and hungry, son in his car seat!
Recently purchased food sitting in the front seat!
Getting cold!
Stuck, stalled, and sitting at a red light. Dead.
Tommy’s dad is now perhaps cranky and certainly exasperated? I must add, though, that Tommy seemed to handle this “adventure” much better than I!
Side bar: the first generation of the mobile phone—referred to as the Zero Generation arrived April 3, 1973. The First Generation in play in the United States arrived from Tokyo in October 1983. They released the first flip phone by Motorola (the StarTAC) in January 1996. So those out there thinking, “no big deal, just call for help.” During this time, making a call would have required a phone booth. Where would I? Could I find a phone booth? So now, what?
I would not own my first Flip phone for, hum, another twenty-five years.
Surely it can’t get any worse!
I am now staring at a few options. Nearby there is a bank, (no longer there), with an empty parking lot. All I had to do was push the stalled auto up a slight slope and steer the vehicle into the lot. Felt very exposed sitting at the intersection. Streets were empty. I get out with the door open, turn the steering wheel and aim toward the bank’s entrance.
PUSH! Repeat…. PUSH! With measured success.
S l o w l y, so s l o w l y, we move several inches.
All I had to do was wait ten years, and Tommy could help. This will take a while.
Finally, I catch a break! Some kind stranger pulled up behind, jumped out and pushed me and the car into the lot! Waved good bye and quickly returned to his car, sitting at the intersection, and away he went. Thanks, I YELLED, but doubt he actually heard my exhausted voice.
Tried once again to start the car, no luck.
So, next part of this well-planned plan. We walk. I’m thinking we are still a mile, mile-and-half or so away.
Picture this:
Small, sleepy child.
Bag of hot dogs and fries, not so hot now.
Two large drinks.
Bag of clothes for little one.
Headed north on Alvernon Way at 10:00 pm, give or take.
We walked perhaps one-quarter of the way, when.
Tommy has been a trouper, long day, way past his bedtime (and mine), hungry, and having dealt with someone breaking into our house, a non-working auto, and now a long walk. I think I “broke him”. He was exhausted and reached the end of his rope, so to speak. He literally cannot walk another step.
Picture this:
Some guy, walking late at night along Alvernon Way, carrying a child, a bag of hot dogs and fries, a bag of clothes, and two large drinks. Some are thinking, choose, the food or the kid. Decide.
“It can’t get any worse!” I share with no one in particular. Then…
It rained! A light rain, enough to add to our adventure.
This really is a true story.
Surely, it can’t get any worse.
True confession time—I never told this story to Norma, she never knew at the time what was happening. I mean, really, what could she have done? And, as noted early in this story that “being a much younger and a confident adult ensured Norma I could quite take care of our preschooler.” Piece of cake!
I wish she was there then!
It was a light rain. Just enough to get the bag wet, making it more difficult to carry. I walked as if in a daze. I do not know how long, time wise, we walked. We arrived at Nana and Papa’s home, but they were not there! Where are they? Come on world! We lived in a world without today’s convenience of a mobile/cell phone, so there was no way to contact them.
On the front porch, there were two chairs where we sat and ate cold food, watery drinks, and stale fries. It was delicious.
Nana and Papa soon returned home after looking for us. Finally, we were inside drying off and I could put Tommy in bed for the night. The crazy journey was still not over and now it is about 11:00 pm and I need to open the restaurant at 5:30 am.
It had been determined that Papa would spend the night at my open and unsafe house. First, we returned to my stranded car and tried to start it. No go. Headed home with no additional issues. Prepared a space for Papa to sleep and then called the police. I now sat, dozing off-and-on, waiting… and they arrived, now after midnight.
It was not actually a police officer, rather a Community Service Officer (volunteer) who spent his night answering calls, collecting information and documenting various incidents. Done!
It is now way past midnight.
Set my alarm and fell asleep concerned that someone was going to see the broken window in the house.
Paranoid; absolutely!
Side Bar: As an avid reader, I have often noticed that they design stories where the first three-fourths of the book moved along by providing details and a well thought out, and interesting plot lines. (Introduction, Rise, Climax, Falling action, and Resolution) But, once they hit the story’s climax and resolution, the author quickly wrapped it up. All the problems that were carefully constructed; the carefully crafted character development and their motivation, the details; then suddenly a jarring, abrupt ending.
So, here we are:
Alarm went off.
Made it to work and opened the store.
Fulfilled my supervisory responsibilities.
Worked through lunch rush.
Left early.
Papa picked me up and took me back to my car.
IT STARTED!
Yes, you read that correctly; it started! (And never again did it leave me stranded at an intersection.)
Went to Home Depot and purchased a piece of plywood.
Went home.
Attached said plywood to the back door with large bolts. (No one ever broke through that door again. In the future, they choose the window.)
Not pretty but effective.
Worked on putting the house back together, noting what other items were missing.
Picked up Tommy.
Grabbed a bit to eat - hamburger, sodas and fries.
Went home. Waited for Norma
THE END
Epilogue:
As noted earlier, Norma knew parts of this story, but until now, not the entire story. And, although she found parts of the story appalling/shocking/dreadful/hilarious - I noticed she was occasionally stifling a laugh. Looking back must admit there is a thread of ludicrousness to savor.
It is also true when I stated that, over time, I have often heard folks declare that, “it can’t get worse,” and I cringe, step-back and take a deep breath. Now I insist they not make such a declaration.
A final thought, as you might guess, Norma never left me alone with our son.
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