By
Ted Sweeney worked at Christopher DeSoto's Clown Burger since 1977 – the year that location opened. He had seen several changes in the nine years that he worked as its store manager, obviously the high turnover of teenage and young adult staff, a few menu and pricing changes and at least one store renovation. Unlike many other restaurant managers, Ted was a college graduate, and that background helped him understand human nature and the importance of treating his employees and customers in a fair and ethical manner.
Employee loyalty wasn't always seen as an attribute in the food service industry, sadly. In a competitive business stacked by names such as McDonald's, Burger King, Wendy's, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Pizza Hut and Taco Bell, the bottom line was extremely important, and franchise owners often shuffled their management from one store to another should they get too comfortable at one location. Ted's restaurant always won regional awards for quality, service and cleanliness, his management team always assured that the right people were hired, trained and promoted, and his crew were friendly, accurate, and helpful without being patronizing and pushy.
In March 1986, Ted Sweeney's time at the Washington Avenue Clown Burger was numbered. He was about to be transferred to a new location that was about to open at the Palisades Center shopping mall. That location was one of 10 “new concept” Clown Burgers opening in the United States and Canada : instead of a cafeteria-like setting, the new stores looked and felt like 1950s diners, and wait staff would serve food to tables rather than counters, like at traditional fast-food establishments. Even the ice cream and malt counter was reminiscent of an earlier time, with such retro treats as Tutti Fruiti ice cream and ice cream floats. To see whether consumers would like the new concept stores, Clown Burger tested them in Chicago and Toronto . The stores were a smashing success, so Clown Burger decided to open another eight stores in carefully selected markets, including Los Angeles County . With his record, Clown Burger saw Ted Sweeney as the right man to manage the newfangled location.
“This restaurant's always been my baby,” sadly reflected Sweeney, who put the last of his belongings into a box that once contained French fries. “I was here when it first opened close to 10 years ago, thinking this would be a nice survival job to tide me over until that big Wall Street job came along. Well, that big Wall Street job never did, and maybe it's upsetting when you consider how much money my parents and I spent at Stanford, but at least I've got my ethics and morals. Donald Trump doesn't have that big appeal to me, like I thought he would, considering my education and business savvy.” He gave out an ironic laugh.
“I don't like Donald Trump, either,” said Christopher, taping the box tops together with duct tape. “He seems so slick he makes me sick.”
“Well, he is a showman. He likes his fancy high-rise apartments and gorgeous women. Ivana's a cute one, huh? She kind of reminds me of Zsa Zsa or Eva Gabor, with the blond hair and Middle European accent.”
“Well, she's not my type,” Christopher answered truthfully. “I don't care much for blondes. I prefer redheads, funny to say.”
“To each his own,” smiled Ted, who now cradled the box in his arms. Christopher followed him out of the office, carrying another box containing Ted's belongings.
At Ted's car, a black Buick Park Avenue with grey leather seats, Christopher commented, “Wow! You have a nice car! How much do store managers make a year at Clown Burger?”
“About $40,000 a year.”
“My dad's a fire captain, and he makes $32,000. My mom makes $30,000 as city editor of the Los Angeles Examiner. She just got promoted.” After Ted opened the trunk with his car keys, Christopher put the box inside.
Putting his own box into the trunk, Ted said, “Well, $62,000 a year isn't a bad family income. I know your dad only has a high school diploma, and your mom only has one year of college….”
“She quit college in her grad year to marry dad, so she had only three years.”
“For an el cheapo like our store's owner,” Ted continued, closing the trunk, “managers make pretty good money here. He thinks it's better to overpay slightly than underpay and lose good workers. That's why turnover among managers is very low here.” He slid into the driver's seat of his car, turning on the ignition. “Well, Chris, it was nice working with you all these years. Please stop by my new store anytime.”
“So, who's the new store manager here,” asked Christopher.
“A guy named Larry DeGrassi. I have to warn you that Larry's not the guy I was. He's got a reputation in our market.”
“From what location is he from?”
“ Glendale . He even managed the Carson Street Clown Burger that sold the raw-meat burgers 9 or 10 years ago. God, the man did some very sloppy housekeeping, financial and operational. The victims or their parents sued Carson , and instead of paying the plaintiffs, Larry DeGreasy closed that store down. What a coward.”
Christopher was confused. While he didn't expect anything earth-shattering to happen at his store, he had heard stories about Larry DeGreasy. They were mostly stories about his jet-black hair, which he slicked back with too much Dippity Do, making his hair look as though he dipped it in fry lard. Lately, however, Christopher had also heard stories that Larry DeGreasy had a girlfriend who worked at the Cotton Ball Lounge as a stripper. Worse, that stripper girlfriend was the same age as Christopher, and Larry DeGreasy turned 35 the month before. Why wasn't that girl at school? Didn't she think about her future? By the time she'd turn 35, she'd become unemployable as a stripper and, with an incomplete education and life with a much-older man of questionable moral character, who else would hire her? Even McDonald's, Burger King and Clown Burger would have reservations about bringing her on board circa 2003; by then, virtually all jobs would require at least a high school education, and many would also demand some college education.
Christopher also considered his three-year history with Clown Burger. He joined Clown Burger in December 1982, the month after he turned 14 – the legal minimum age for employment in California – and moved from probationary staff to crew third class in early 1983, to crew second-class in late 1983, then crew first-class and crew chief in 1984, then part-time management in mid-1985. During this time, he went through many managers and crew chiefs. Ted Sweeney was a constant, but there were many other people who managed whenever he wasn't around or he needed a backup, along with a handful of crew chiefs. Lisa Martindale, Paramedic Karen Martindale's little sister and the crew chief who was often Christopher's second-in-command, quit Clown Burger that month to work at Sally Gage's new job, at yet another trendy clothing store. The college student who managed overnight drive-thru shifts took a winter internship with NBC News in Los Angeles and, therefore, was on a leave of absence from Clown Burger. There have been many others, too, who went on to college or so-called real jobs. Each manager he worked with was as good as the last, and he didn't expect any different under Larry DeGreasy.
Or, maybe, he should.
The next day, all the part-time and full-time managers assembled in the meeting room in the basement of Clown Burger. Larry DeGreasy stood in front of the table – and he was exactly what Ted Sweeney said: that greasy slicked-back black hair, which made him look something like an Elvis impersonator in a fast food manager's uniform. DeGreasy also had a smug air about him.
“I want this Clown Burger to be the Clown Burger of the ‘90s,” he began. “Ted Sweeney, the world's perfect manager, doesn't know how to run this restaurant: he wastes money on crew, practically giving promotions away. He even lets customers wait and wait on their orders, and customers today have little time in their hands for this.” He turned to Hannah Stoker, who was the opening weekday manager of Clown Burger: “What's that about hiring mostly American workers?”
Hannah said directly, “American workers are more likely to understand orders in the English language. Besides, many of them are returning to the workplace after spending a few years taking care of their kids at home, as I did. And they're legally working here.”
“How much do you pay American workers per hour, on average?”
“About $7 an hour. Los Angeles County 's not a cheap place in which to live. Many of my workers are single moms who would be living in poverty if not for us. We have to consider their well-being, and the well-being of their kids.”
“As of right now,” spoke her new boss, “I will be reducing adult workers' salaries from $7 to $4.50 an hour, even among those who have been here since the store opened. Should they screw up on anything, they will be replaced with Mexican workers, who will start on $3 an hour.”
Hannah stood up. “How could you do something like that, Larry? These women have bills to pay and kids to support,” she argued. “And, $3 an hour for foreigners? That's not only illegal, but discriminatory. The minimum wage in this state is roughly $4 an hour.”
“Well, they could learn to save money and start shopping at the Salvation Army. Besides, foreigners could do a better job for less money.”
“That is beyond arrogant,” cried Hannah. “How could you save money on $4.50 an hour? Rents in this town are close to $400 a month. That may not seem like a lot of money to you, but to these workers, that's a significant chunk of their weekly wages.”
After the meeting ended about 15 minutes later, Hannah and Christopher ushered Larry DeGreasy into the office for a private chat. Christopher was to begin his shift in an hour.
“You're talking about a $100 to $200 pay deduction for each full-time worker,” continued Hannah, her voice louder than before. “Who are you trying to impress here?”
“Your Clown Burger under Sweeney was a money pit,” countered Larry DeGreasy. “Last year, your precious little restaurant lost nearly $50,000, largely due to labor costs and Sweeney's over-ordering of food and other supplies.”
“That's why this restaurant rated among the top Clown Burgers in this country, nine years running,” said Hannah. “You didn't answer my question.”
“I don't have to,” mumbled DeGreasy, his head tilted to the floor.
Christopher DeSoto shouted, “Yes, you do. You're a manager here. You need to act like an adult here.”
“You don't know what you're talking about,” DeGreasy mumbled some more.
“To hell, I don't,” snapped his teenaged manager. “What other stunts are you trying to pull here? Replacing your American workers with Mexicans and paying them less than the minimum wage, huh? I have nothing against Mexicans, but they're too often getting used as cheap labor. The government will nail you big-time if one of them gets hurt because they can't understand orders in the English language.”
“Nobody's complained about the way I run things, yet.”
“Because you've talked them out of complaining, or told them they'd be fired if they did? Many of these workers here are either teenagers or uneducated, but they're not stupid.”
Larry DeGreasy gave each of his managers a dirty look. He said, “If you people cause any problems for me, I'll make sure you'll be fired. And, when I fire people, I'll either give them a bad reference or no reference at all, so nobody'll want them anywhere else, no matter how good they are.”
Hannah Stoker countered, “And, if you do fire us, we'll sue you to the highest court in the country. Mark my words.”
“You can't hurt me,” laughed DeGreasy, “I'm the best manager in the Clown Burger Los Angeles County system. The owner knows that, I know that, my management teams knew that, and my crew knew that. You know, I've worked for this company for close to 15 years, and I've been in management for 13 of those years. I know what I'm doing here.”
“Prove it,” said Hannah, before she walked out the office door. Christopher followed.
Hannah Stoker worked a morning shift at Clown Burger the following Friday morning. Martin, who cleaned grills, vats and other equipment, overnights five days a week, stepped into the manager's office after his shift. “I need to talk to you,” he requested.
“Sure,” smiled Hannah, who wrote payroll onto the store's Lotus 1-2-3 system. “Please sit down.”
The maintenance man sat on a chair in front of Hannah, oblivious to his greasy uniform – whoever said that maintenance was nice, clean job was a liar. “Larry has been here for only a week,” he began, “and, already, I don't feel appreciated for anything I do. I always get that old ‘this is not done, that is not done, pick it up' crap. But what pisses me off is that I've just gotten my paycheck yesterday morning, and not only does my paycheck read that I make $7 an hour – I used to make $11.50 – but I'm missing two days of work.” He presented Hannah his pay stub and, sure enough, Martin was missing several hours of work.
Hannah, who did payroll, knew that Martin rarely if ever called in sick, was a hard worker, and made serious attempts to complete his tasks satisfactorily. After all, Hannah began her time at Clown Burger as maintenance in 1983, working with Martin closely. Mike didn't mind the arrangement, since Hannah didn't have a roving eye for other men and concentrated on her work; she grew up in a strict Pentecostal family that, among other things, valued hard work and disdained extramarital affairs. Mike Stoker grew up in the same conservative Protestant faith, and in the 1970s, was the lone Protestant in the A-shift at Station 51. Roy DeSoto said he wasn't Catholic only because he wasn't religious, but he was raised in an European Spanish-Mexican Catholic household, and received both Communion and Confirmation before he reached his teens; he became agnostic when he was 16, and married Joanne in a civil ceremony. John Gage's father was a Scottish-Canadian Catholic priest before he gave up that calling to marry a Native American woman in the early 1940s and settled into a life in teaching and farming before he died in a grain wagon accident in 1961, when John was in his mid-teens. Both Hank Stanley and Chet Kelly were Irish Catholics, while Marco Lopez was a lapsed Catholic of Hispanic descent.
“Who in the hell played around with my payroll,” Hannah grumbled. She noticed that someone had tampered with the password on her payroll system, and that all of the adult workers' wages were reduced – some, by as much as 50 per cent. Hannah's wages fell from $15 to $9.75 an hour, which put a frown on Hannah's normally smiling, friendly face. After all, she and Mike had numerous bills to pay: credit cards, electric, water, cable, phone, their 1986 Chrysler LeBaron coupe (because they celebrated Mike's promotion to Station 51 captain, certification as a paramedic, and receiving a college degree as a part-time student), and renovations on their 30-year-old bungalow. What was more, Lisa and Susan recently received their drivers' licenses and family car insurance rates doubled as a result. The Stokers were in debt, but they were at least paying more than the minimum each month. With Hannah's pay deduction, however, how could they, especially with Lisa and Susan approaching college age?
Martin continued, “I have a son at UCLA, studying medicine. I don't know how to tell my kid that I couldn't afford to send him back to school next year. He's a bright kid with a big future ahead of him. I don't want him to end up like me because his old man couldn't afford him a college education.”
“Neither do I,” assured Hannah, her eyes looking into Martin's, exhibiting her native honesty, but her honesty didn't mean she couldn't be underhanded with a person like DeGreasy, who already showed his callous, arrogant nature during that meeting a few days ago. Her workers had to come first. Hannah typed into the computer the full-time employees' old wages. After calculating Martin's old wages and hours worked, she wrote him a check for the difference: $300. “Here is the paycheck for the difference,” she smiled. “I agree, what DeGreasy's doing is wrong, but I hope your son the best in the future. I would suggest, though, that he applies for any scholarship that UCLA offers. It is a terrific state college with a lot of great scholarships and bursaries for its students. With your situation, I don't see why he wouldn't get one.”
Martin looks down to his paycheck. “Thank you,” smiled Martin. “Dave's already applied for a few bursaries and scholarships, but these things take time. We still have to pay for college in case he doesn't get them.” Martin was a B+ student in high school, but couldn't attend college because his father couldn't afford the tuition. “If push comes to shove with that Larry fellow, I might have to quit this job. I can't live on $7 an hour, not with bills to pay and the way that man's been treating his workers. It's not worth it.”
Later that morning, Larry DeGreasy cried loudly, “Hannah, in the office, now!”
Hannah Stoker had been setting up the salad bar in the restaurant lobby, along with Emily Stanley, her weekday crew chief. “Look at this Jell-o,” complained Emily, showing her boss and friend the tub of red gelatin.
“Good grief,” sighed Hannah. She noticed the Jell-o was dry and unappetizing-looking at the top, and two black flies laid dead – not a good sign. Hannah and Emily also threw out the iceberg and romaine lettuce because their leaves and stems turned brown, and replaced all the salad dressings because they developed a stomach-turning film at the top. The croutons became soft and chewy, and so did the bacon bits and mixed nuts. The parmesan and feta cheeses turned soft, discolored and rancid-smelling. What customer with the right mind would want to eat stuff like these?
“STOKER, GET YOUR ASS IN THE OFFICE – NOW!”
“I hate that man,” said Emily, who now threw the browned radishes into the garbage. “Just something about him doesn't sit right with me.” She replaced the old radishes with fresh ones.
“I just hope he's fired.” Hannah walked into the “employees only” area, carrying the unappetizing Jell-o with her.
In the office, Larry DeGreasy sat behind his desk, looking down. “What's the big deal about putting my workers' wages back up,” he asked.
“I work in payroll, don't I,” cried Hannah, closing the door behind her. “I have to deal with their complaints every time their paychecks don't come out right. Besides, our owner thinks it's practically criminal to shove down their wages just like that. I spoke to him about it this morning, before you came in.”
Larry DeGreasy still looked down. Without giving eye contact to Hannah, he said, “Around here, I'm the boss. I decide what's best for this restaurant, what I pay my workers, who gets the raises and promotions, who stays and who goes – and you'll be out the door if you don't start doing your job my way.”
“Excuse me,” countered his morning manager. “I've been working in management here for the last two and a half years, and was the youngest head of Universal Studios' secretarial pool before I got married 20 years ago. I have gotten nothing but outstanding and excellent ratings here because I work my ass off here ….”
“Don't give me your self-righteous rhetoric, okay?” Then, DeGreasy commented, his eyes darting angrily at Hannah, “That Irish prick wasn't that great a manager. I am.”
“If you are such a great manager, like Sweeney was,” argued Hannah, “then, why did your old Clown Burger cause a food poisoning outbreak back in '76? You were a store manager there, weren't you?”
“Yeah,” DeGreasy looked down.
“In the end, ten people died after eating undercooked burgers there, including a two-year-old girl. You could make people very sick by serving ground beef that's not been fully cooked. Do you want the same thing to happen here?”
“I've always known that you can't trust firemen's wives,” said DeGreasy, now playing Tetris on the computer. “They and their fire-eating ersatz doctors always stirring shit with those real doctors and the Health Department.”
Hannah Stoker's face turned red with anger. “These so-called fire-eating ersatz doctors have done a lot for this county,” she snapped. “A lot more people would have died or developed permanent injuries if it wasn't for them. Some of my best friends are wives of those ersatz doctors, and they don't pretend to be MDs. They just lessen the pain or treat a heart attack until the patient's taken to the hospital. And, they don't expect fame or glory for all the good things they do for people.” She slammed the container containing the rancid Jell-o onto his desk, in front of DeGreasy: “This Jell-o's been served to our customers for five days, in room temperature and it's turned into a graveyard for a couple of black flies. You know what black flies do? Feed off human and animal waste, and even lay eggs on dead people and animals, producing maggots. Really disgusting, if you ask me.”
“You talk too much.”
“No, I don't,” countered Hannah. “We've already had three customer complaints about this one. As a customer myself, I'm inclined to side with our guests. The customer's always right, you know.”
“You're so naïve,” said DeGreasy. “Customers always have something to complain about. They think you're Dr. Joyce Brothers or Dear Abby.”
“They also pay our bills. Without customers, we're nothing. The restaurant shuts down, people will be out of work, and that does nothing for our economy.”
For the first time, DeGreasy had nothing to say.
For the next month, Hannah Stoker and Christopher DeSoto watched Larry DeGrassi, or DeGreasy, like a hawk.
For several years beginning in 1984, longtime Clown Burger employees expected Hannah's promotion to assistant manager – one rank beneath Ted Sweeney and, now DeGreasy. Hannah was shocked to discover that she didn't get the job, but DeGreasy's friend, Bob McBride.
Like DeGreasy, Bob wasn't a man of strong moral character. Beginning in 1969, he was in and out of jail for a number of sex offenses, including exposing himself to a group of ninth- and tenth-graders in 1973. Lately, Bob frequented underground stores that sold child and teen pornography, and left these stores with a brown manila envelope containing VHS and Beta tapes depicting heterosexual sex between adults and teen girls. Bob also bought magazines bearing such titles as Young Love , Pussies Galore and Nymphs, etc. and even left them in areas of his apartment where his seven-year-old daughter could find them. How a person of his morals was able to get a job at a place that employed teen girls, nobody knew for sure.
“Do you know what kind of man DeGrassi hired for the job,” announced Christopher as he drove Hannah home from work, the Friday before Memorial Day. Christopher had finished high school in February – he earned all the credits necessary for graduation in June – so he worked full-time for the rest of the school year.
“That name Bob McBride sounds familiar,” cried Hannah. “Wasn't he the dirt bag who exposed his privates to a group of teenaged girls 12 or so years ago? I would have killed him for that.”
“It's those liberal judges in this state,” resigned Christopher. “They're the same bleeding hearts who gave Larry, Daryl and Daryl only 15 years each at San Quentin. Five counts of armed robbery, five counts of locking people in walk-in freezers, and that's all they get. They'll be out in 2001, learning nothing in prison except how to commit more armed robberies, killing someone this time. Screw early parole, if they get it for being model prisoners.”
Hannah grimaced, “McBride must have been released from jail for being the model prisoner. You'd think that parole officers, lawyers and judges would have good heads on their shoulders with their wonderful college degrees and high SAT scores, but no. How could they be stupid enough to release dirt bags like him? He might now get his cheap thrills from buying child porn, fondling underage girls in school washrooms, and publishing low-budget smut with naked 12-year-olds in them. What does he really want to be? Hugh Hefner.”
“I don't think that Hefner would stoop this low,” judged Christopher, stopping his car to wait for a train to pass on Mullholland Street . “ Playboy may be all about sex, but it doesn't publish photos of naked girls under 18 – at least, I don't think so. Hefner would not be living at the Playboy Mansion , but spending time at San Quentin with our fast food robber friends.”
Chris turned left on Elm Street , then located Hannah's house on the right-hand side. Sure enough, Hannah's house was undergoing renovations, with a second floor added to the original structure. Turning on the driveway, stopping in front of three stacks of bricks, Chris let Hannah out of his car. “Take it easy, Hannah,” he said. “I'll see you on Tuesday.”
“I need the holiday,” said his co-worker. “Mike and I are going to Lake Tahoe with the girls to do some camping. Did you hear that Lisa's just been accepted into UCLA on a women's basketball scholarship?”
“That's great,” said Chris. Noticing Mike Stoker on the driveway, he waved to him from his car. Mike waved back before re-entering the house. “I have to work Monday morning, so my long weekend's a write-off. Dad has to do the whole Memorial Day weekend this year, and mom's going away to her mother's place in Florida . I'll be off tomorrow, so I have to drive her to the airport. Her flight leaves at around 8 a.m.” He remembered something about his sister Jennifer: “Jen got her driver's license yesterday.”
Hannah smirked, “The roads have gotten even less safe.” She waved bye before entering the house. Mike watched a rerun of Hogan's Heroes on the TV set, eating a roast beef sandwich with mustard and pickles and washing it down with Sprite. Hannah announced, “I didn't get the promotion.” She closed the door behind her.
“So, who did, honey?”
“Some guy named Bob McBride.”
“What were these people thinking,” cried Mike Stoker, who put his sandwich on the plate, which laid on the end table underneath the table lamp. “Bob McBride is a convicted pedophile, an animal who laid his paws on our Lisa and Susan when they were working at that hoagie shop two years ago.” He looked to the floor, shaking his head with disbelief: “That disgusting pig should be in jail, not working with kids who don't know the difference between love and lust. I hate people like that.”
“Try telling my boss that,” replied Hannah, who put her purse on the front accent table.
“I know the story about that fake Elvis. Roy told me everything.”
“He takes his work home by dipping his hair in fry grease!” Hannah laughed heartily.
“Not attractive,” smiled her husband. “He also screws strippers who are practically young enough to be his daughters. Is that man certifiably mad?”
“I've only worked with him for a month, and already I don't have good things to say about him.”
“He's that bad?”
“Smug, arrogant, ugly, and possibly a white-collar crook.” Hannah entered the living room, sitting on the sofa. “He calls all paramedics ‘fire-eating ersatz doctors'.”
“What have paramedics ever done to him,” demanded Mike, without raising his voice. “They make a difference between life and death for so many people. Should that man say those words to Johnny and Roy, they'd make hamburgers out of him – and Johnny and Roy aren't violent people. I've known these guys for close to 20 years.”
Hannah gave side laughs to the antics of Colonel Klink and other Hogan's Heroes denizens. On the bottom of the screen, block letters announced “ The Twilight Zone next on Channel 9.” During the commercials for McDonald's McDLT hamburgers and Doritos, she said, “The man's threatened to fire me if I don't do things his way, and I have my morals. I'll simply not cheat my workers or serve food that we wouldn't even feed our cats.” All of the Stokers' Manx/domestic shorthair mix cats strode into the living room, jumping next to Hannah: fat but lovable black and white Tom, vocal black cat Dan, and placid, slender black and white Peter. Lisa named the cats after network news anchors Tom Brokaw, Dan Rather and Peter Jennings after she took them home from the animal shelter two years earlier, when they were still kittens. Hannah responded by stroking their fur but Tom, who felt left out, spread his hefty body out on her lap: “Tom, you're a heavy one.”
“Hey, cat,” joked Mike, “have you ever heard of Weight Watchers?” Tom the cat looked at Mike intensely with his big wide eyes, still stretched out on Hannah's lap. Dan meowed because Hannah stopped stroking his head, while Peter jumped off the couch to stand in front of the TV set, wondering why the images were now in black and white and why Rod Serling, who had been dead for over 10 years, was still alive and talking in front of the camera. Then, Peter disappeared, walking to the litter box planted in the corner of the washroom. “I took the cats to the vet today. Tom's been put on a special weight loss diet, but he still insists on eating Dan and Peter's food. I guess our little fatso wants to be fat.” Tom meowed at Mike: I like being fat. All that diet food the vet's given me will only be a big waste of money, mark my words.
“Are the cats healthy otherwise?”
“They're still young. Peter's been throwing up his food, so he's been put on a diet for cats with sensitive digestive systems. Other than that, the cats are healthy.”
“That's good,” said Hannah, who felt better after Tom slid off her lap to chase Dan around the main floor, tiring himself at times because of his excessive weight. “I don't want to pay more than I have to. That slimy manager of mine tried to reduce my salary, and the salaries of my workers.”
Mike snapped, “That's crazy! I know that a healthy bottom line is very important, but cutting people's salaries isn't the way to do it. What's next? Your bosses replace you with illegal immigrants, so they could get away with paying them less than the minimum wage. Or, if that new assistant boss had his way, he'd hire teenagers to do adult work for less money, and teenagers don't have the experience and good judgment for a lot of things out there. They'd even let him have his way with them.”
“That's what I'm worried about.”
Christopher worked his Memorial Day shift at Clown Burger three days later. He had to open the dining room at 7 a.m., removing doors signs that read, “Drive thru only at this restaurant from 12 a.m. to 7 a.m.” Starting that summer, all 24-hour Clown Burgers would keep both their drive-thru and dining rooms open around the clock, but with all the rowdy and sometimes horny drunks and potheads who'd stagger into the store during the wee hours, Chris didn't think it was a good idea. Just recently, an overnight cashier had acid thrown on her face by an irate customer, who didn't like waiting more than two minutes for his order. Roy and his new, young partner, an engaging and joking but competent African-American named Desmond Tuttle, treated the victim, who had to undergo reconstructive plastic surgery to restore most of her appearance at Rampart General Hospital . Even Dr. Kelly Brackett thought the person responsible for her injuries needed time in jail, and used swearwords to express his feelings against the act.
Logging onto his computer in the office, Christopher noticed that someone removed the injured cashier from the payroll – and the schedule. “That DeGreasy's done something illegal again,” he mumbled, as he looked into the cashier's file, slid into a folder labeled “terminated workers.” The woman's folder read:
Name: Williams, Brenda Elizabeth
Address: 14-2 Canada Drive , Carson City , California 90721
Telephone No.: (622) 555-7777
Date of Birth: March 8, 1958, Montreal , Quebec , Canada ; naturalized U. S. citizen since 1974
Reason for Termination: Failed to report back to work when requested; claims permanent injuries for incident of May 12, 1986.
Informed Worker? No
Christopher scurried into the file folder, looking for Brenda's employee file. Her file raised no red flags: Hired in 1981 after leaving an abusive marriage, she was never an absenteeism or job performance concern, and her merit raises were among the highest among the full-time workers at this Clown Burger. She was a first-class employee, and often filled in for crew chiefs whenever they were away. After DeGreasy arrived at her Clown Burger, however, poor Brenda fell from first-class to second-class employee merely because she was overweight, and DeGreasy altered her night-end tills so it would look as though she lost $10, $20 or, at one point, $50 – and she had to pay up from her own meager earnings. By the time of that nasty acid attack, Brenda had already walked off her shifts twice in tears, and that night seriously considered quitting her job without giving notice after DeGreasy called her “fat cow” and said, “Why do you need a raise for, anyway? So you could eat more?” Brenda studied part-time at California State University to become a social worker, and needed that raise to take care of her two children, aged seven and five.
Christopher had to wait until 8 a.m. before Larry DeGreasy arrived for his eight-hour shift – late again, considering that managers were supposed to arrive 15 minutes prior to their shifts. Christopher cried, “What's the big idea letting Brenda go without letting her know?”
“The fat cow walked off the job twice because she couldn't handle the pressure.”
“She was on the job for five years,” argued his young part-time manager, “and she never walked off the job or caused problems before you came along. I have a feeling that you're behind her being so unhappy with the job lately.”
“She's crazy.”
“No, she's not,” continued Christopher. “Brenda passed the bi-annual physical and mental health exams with flying colors. She's certainly not crazy – she only had an asshole for a husband who got drunk and beat her up whenever she showed any sign of independence. One day, she had enough, and she and her babies left Vancouver to live here. She married a Canadian, moved back to Canada since she was born there, and then she moved back to the States after she left him. That man was obviously capable of killing her and the kids.”
“Those battered wives usually ask for it….”
Christopher DeSoto raised his voice. “They asked for it,” he shouted. “You mentality's as stuck in the ‘50s as your greasy hair!”
“To hell, it is.”
Christopher opened the door. “My parents have been married for nearly 20 years,” he said. “Maybe they get into the usual disagreements like all married couples do, but my dad never raised his fist at my mom for any reason. He never even tried to control where she went or how she spent her money – if he tried, my grandmother would have gotten involved. My grandmother's not the kind who'd take shit from anybody, especially when it involves her kids.” He got into a tangent. “You should know that firing a person for getting hurt and filing a worker's compensation claim is illegal in this state. If somebody reports you, it'll not only be your ass, but the owner's.”
“You are such a goody-goody,” laughed DeGreasy. “Rules are meant to be broken.”
“Not when it involves the well-being of other people.”
Christopher returned to work, feeling defeated. After all, he sided with Brenda because her only job infraction was getting hurt – and it wasn't even her fault. What kind of jerk would throw acid on someone merely because he had to wait for an order? Why would this person, to put it in polite terms, be in a hurry at 2 o'clock in the morning? He was probably late for some big, late-night house party, or on his way to a drug deal. There were freaks that came out at night. They stopped by Clown Burger's drive-thru for quick munchies or something.
Christopher worked another two hours before a slim man entered the restaurant. Judging from his face alone, he looked about 30, but his short, receding grey hair made him look at least 10 years older. His nondescript features made him look something like Pee-Wee Herman, but the teenaged girls in the restaurant still noticed him.
“He's our new manager, Bob McBride,” whispered one of the girls, a blonde-haired bimbo with big waves tied back in a ponytail. “He's cute.”
“Cute,” cried Candice Early-Packard. “If he colored his hair black, he'd look like Pee-Wee Herman – and that's gross.”
“Don't tell me you still have a crush on Don Johnson. Miami Vice is so last year.”
“I also like Tom Brokaw.”
“Brokaw's old, Candice.”
“At least, he doesn't look like Pee-Wee Herman.”
Bob gave the blonde a slap on her bum. “Hello, sexy,” he smiled leeringly.
“Hi, good-looking,” the blonde replied. “I've given Larry my summer schedule. My old man wants me to go to summer camp, but I don't want to this year. I want to be here for the summer, with all you guys.”
The blonde's equally pretty brunette friend said, in a flirty fashion, “Chris makes me work so hard, with all this greasiness going into my hair – ugh, gross.”
If grease is such a bad thing, then why are you working here , thought Christopher, who felt that working in fast food was good preparation for the realities of the adult world. Perhaps most of his workers won't flip burgers for the rest of their lives, but they'd at least learn about the value of hard work. Hard work also involved dealing with things they don't like, including grease. So, Chris strode into the counter area and, after Bob gave him a dirty look and disappeared into the manager's office, he spoke to the teenaged girls: “Girls, we have lots to do here and little time to do them. Candice, you're on dining room duty – get the broom and dustpan, dish rags and sanitizer bottle. Lara, you're on stock-up – time to get all the condiments stocked before the lunch rush. Julie-Lynne, fill the shake and soft-serve machines and take out back-up tubs of chocolate, peach, French vanilla and butter pecan ice cream. I'll be on counter and drive-thru duty in the meantime.”
Memorial Day proved a slow day at Clown Burger. Christopher DeSoto only had to deal with a few dining room customers and perhaps a small line-up of cars, including the Stokers, who drove home from Lake Tahoe and wanted to check up on the store. (Hannah's face, arms and legs showed reddish welts – the telltale sign that she had an allergic reaction to mosquito bites.) Chris wanted to check up on his employees: he had to send Candice home early that day because business was slow. He noticed that Lara and Julie-Lynne went AWOL on him. So, after his lunch staff Mike and Amanda reported for grill and counter duty, respectively, Chris announced that he would look around for the missing counter girls. He checked the dining room washrooms and maintenance closet. No Lara or Julie-Lynne. Chris knew that Lara and Julie-Lynne snuck in the corral on every shift to smoke their Virginia Slims. He walked outside in the smoldering late-spring heat and strong late morning sun, checking to see if his missing employees took their unofficial break there.
They didn't.
Inside the restaurant, Chris decided to go to the back room. The crew room was empty, and so were the staff washrooms. At least one of the girls was supposed to walk into the supply area to fetch some ice cream, so he slid into the area. His ears picked up some moaning and other noises that belonged in the bedroom, not the storage area at a fast-food restaurant. Chris followed the direction of the noise and, lo and behold, he discovered his teenaged workers, stripped down to their birthday suits. Bob McBride was there, too, also unclothed. Group sex , thought Chris, who knew that Lara and Julie-Lynne were under 18 and, therefore, too young under state law to have sexual consent. When he noticed McBride putting his hands between his naked teen bimbos' thighs, the girls writhing in delight, Christopher DeSoto ran away, disgusted. Finding the men's staff washroom, he raced to the toilet, kneeled in front of it and threw up violently. He also flushed the toilet many times, trying to drown out the noisy orgasmic noises from the stock room – he knew that McBride, that disgusting pig, jammed himself inside those girls.
The DeSotos held a backyard barbecue that night. Roy, who turned on the gas in his grill, asked John Gage, “Is the fire running yet?”
“Looks good,” smiled his former paramedic partner. “What's on the menu tonight?”
“The usual,” said Roy DeSoto, who stood up and nodded at the blue flame coming from the grill. “Hamburgers and steaks and Joanne's famous tri-color rotini salad – Italian girls always make the best pasta – and Marco Lopez's wonderful Mexican fried ice cream tortillas. Marco's wife just had her third child last week, but Marco's here for his sister's funeral.”
“I'm sorry,” sighed John. He waved at Marco Lopez, who was in the DeSoto's swimming pool with his toddler daughter Anna-Maria, who was a beautiful little girl with her dark blonde hair, dark eyes, long eyelashes, and exotic features. Chet Kelly was also in the pool, treading water in the deep end and teaching six-year-old Matthew how to jump into deep water – Matthew was already a proficient swimmer, able to do the front crawl for two widths. Jennifer, dressed in a black one-piece bathing suit, lounged on the pool deck. Sally Gage flashed her breasts to the DeSotos' next-door neighbors over the wooden fence: “Look at these, you homos!” The DeSotos' new neighbors were a gay couple – a stunningly handsome blond teacher who lived with his lover, an art gallery owner.
“Sally Gage, this is not the Cotton Ball Lounge,” shouted her uncle. “Cover yourself up, now!”
Sally lifted her maillot top back up. “That next door neighbor of Roy 's is really cute,” she announced. “Any girl in L.A. would want him. Too bad he's having his pool party with all the boys he met at the gay bar.” Sally told Jennifer, lying on her stomach, “The best looking guys are either married or gay.”
“Brian Saxberg's a real cutie, but he doesn't notice chicks. Maybe that's just as well. What happened to you and Tim?”
“Tim and I went Splits Ville. Uncle Johnny caught him using crack in our own house, and told me not to see him anymore. That sucks – I'm going to UCLA in September to take pre-med, and my own uncle tells me who to date?”
“Chris is going to junior college to take firefighting. I hope to go to Northwestern or Michigan State to take journalism in '88. I'll need Bs to get in.”
Christopher, now dressed in a pair of brightly colored swim shorts, joined the girls. Seated on the edge of the pool, he said, “Nice going, Sally. Now, Saxberg and his fag wife will sell that place and move to San Francisco .”
“Chris, Brian is a nice guy,” cried Jennifer. “Gay men are some of the nicest people you'd ever want to meet. He's my physics teacher, and physics is usually a boring subject.”
“Saxberg's a great teacher,” agreed Christopher. “I'll take back the fag remark.”
“Good,” smiled his sister. She turned to the Stokers, who stood with the Stanleys at the garden gate: “Hi, guys!”
Christopher stood up and raced to the Stokers and the Stanleys. “Hi, Chris,” greeted Hank Stanley, who handed him a bowl containing macaroni salad. “Emily wanted to make her famous creamy macaroni salad for your little potluck barbecue.” Chris handed the bowl to Uncle Lloyd, who had just joined the crowd.
“Emily made this delicious little salad for the Firefighters' Spouses Auxiliary potluck last Christmas,” remembered Uncle Lloyd. “I usually hate macaroni salads, but Emily's a fine cook.” He took it to the patio, where Johnny and Roy were now frying hamburgers. Joanne, who flew home from Florida that afternoon, carried out cold cans of soda pop.
Hannah handed another glass dish containing food. “Green bean casserole,” she smiled.
“And for dessert,” announced Angela Stanley, “I've made some lemon chiffon pie.” She carried it to the picnic table. Since it was now 8:30 p.m., the patio lights had just turned on and the sun was about to set. Angela and Susan wasted no time greeting Jennifer and Sally, who they hugged.
Higgins, who slid out of the house, grabbed a cooked steak from the platter and ran into the pool area. “Higgins,” shouted Roy , lifting his pitchfork like he wanted to pierce the dog, “come back here with our dinner, you dumb dog!”
“Forget it, Roy ,” said John, shaking his head at Higgins' latest antic. Higgins himself enjoyed his dinner on the pool deck, greasing up the interlocking blocks. He stopped eating to greet Kelly and Dixie McCall Brackett, who had recently married after many years of on-and-off courtship.
“Dix and I have some wonderful news,” announced Kelly Brackett, during dinner. “We will be soon become parents of an adopted baby girl!”
The other dinner guests clapped and cheered. They knew that Dixie was in her fifties and could no longer conceive her own children – she had menopause two years before. Joe Early, who retired last fall, also attended the party, along with Meanie Jeannie, her husband Dr. John Packard, and twins Cheryl and Candice. They merely smiled instead – Meanie Jeannie didn't get along with Nurse Dixie, but liked Dr. Brackett. Only Joe clapped, then stood up to raise his can of Minute Maid orange soda: “Here's a toast to Rampart's newest parents!” The other guests raised their cans or glasses to the Bracketts. Kelly and Dixie embraced, and then kissed, before sitting down.
After the semi-potluck dinner ended, the fireworks show began several blocks away. Since the DeSoto house had a good view of Canyon Park , where the fireworks took place, the partygoers stayed home to watch the show. From Jennifer's ghetto blaster, she played such recent hits as the Club Nouveau version of Lean on Me , We Built this City (On Rock n' Roll) , West End Girls and the techno version of Peter Gunn. Her brother took Hannah Stoker aside for a private chat.
“Bob McBride is exactly what we've feared all along,” he said. “Just this afternoon, I went into the storage area of our restaurant, and I saw him having sex with two of our part-timers.”
“Who were those girls,” asked Hannah Stoker.
“Lara Marshall and Julie-Lynne Brookes.”
“Oh, God have mercy.” Hannah buried her head behind her arms, as though she'd cry. “These girls are 15 years old!”
“I felt sick the moment I saw that dirt bag put his dirty hands inside them,” continued Christopher. “I wish I did something more than run to the toilet and puke my guts out.”
Hannah lifted her head up, facing Christopher. “You did all you could, considering that DeGrassi's not Sweeney.”
Christopher said, “I don't think I did all I could in that situation. What McBride did was bad, but DeGreasy obviously harbored that dirt bag, that sleaze bucket, just because they are buddies. Birds of a feather flock together, they say.”
“Christopher,” advised Hannah, “we have to do something about Larry and Bob very carefully. If they fire us, nobody in town will touch us with a 10-foot pole, and I have bills to pay and a family to support.”
“I'm thinking seriously about quitting this job,” said her fellow manager. “I wanted to quit after getting robbed last year, but Sweeney turned down my resignation.”
“Because Sweeney didn't want to lose you,” Hannah remembered. “You were too good a manager, and Sweeney knew that. If it wasn't for you, those robbers would have killed those kids.”
“The real hero here was Candice. She told her twin to do what they said, and that was stuffing the money into bags and giving them to the robbers, no questions asked. I didn't resist them, either, because I knew I'd get my head blown off if I did.”
After the fireworks display ended, most of the partygoers went home. The Stokers and the Gages remained at the DeSotos, assembling in the living room for an impromptu meeting. Meanie Jeannie and her daughters also stayed, looking concerned.
“My babies work at Clown Burger, as you know,” said Meanie Jeannie. “I thank you for saving their lives last year, Chris. I am deeply concerned about the current management team, which I've witnessed isn't doing its job. I'm a hospital administrator, and I've just brought in an anti-harassment policy. I even consider bringing Playboy to work a form of harassment, which could result in loss of hospital privileges for doctors and nurses, and immediate dismissal for non-medical staff.”
“Don't call us babies,” sighed Cheryl. “Candice and I will be 16 in December.”
“As far as I'm concerned, you're still my babies – I endured nine months of feeling not one, but two sets of feet kicking me,” said her mother. “As I wanted to say, men like Larry DeGrassi and Bob McBride wouldn't last under me. Why those fast-food workers are second-class citizens here? Where are their rights as workers?”
Roy DeSoto, who stood next to the bay window, cried, “Those slime balls think they could get away with it, just because their victims are teenagers.”
John Gage, who held Sally's hand out of concern while they sat on the couch, added, “They think these kids would be too scared to tell their parents, teachers or other adults, thinking they'd be punished if they did. Just yesterday, I had to treat a 16-year-old girl whose dad beat her up just because she told him her boss hit on her at work. That's no way to handle something that might not be the girl's fault.”
“People love to blame the victim,” interjected Sally. “That's no way to handle matters. Sexual harassment has little to do with sexual attraction, but plenty to do with power. When you're dealing with girls who are 14, 15, 16, or even 17 years old, there are plenty of filth bags who think they could take advantage of them any way they want because they're too young or too stupid to cry to authorities. Attitudes need to change now.”
Mike Stoker agreed, “It's not just girls who are getting hurt, it's boys, too. If the law could penalize teachers for sexually molesting their students, it should also penalize employers for doing the same thing. As I've said so many times before, people like McBride should be in jail for the rest of their undeserved lives, not managing a group of teenage girls.”
Christopher suggested, “In the morning, guys, we're going to our owner, Lewis Janssen. He works out of Clown Burger's Western United States head office – since we can't go to DeGreasy for help, we have to go over his head.”
“DeGreasy,” said Hannah. “He couldn't be trusted for the simplest things.”
Uncle Lloyd spoke up. “It's too early to march up to head office and try to get DeGreasy and his pedophile partner out of a job,” he said. “What I'd suggest instead is that all of you who are still working at Clown Burger Washington Avenue begin writing journals on everything you witness while at work. Should your stories show any consistencies, then you could go to head office, or even the local authorities. You don't want to look like nutcases here, especially when you've got something important to say and do.”
“If I were you, I'd listen to Roy 's brother,” said Sally. “He knows what he's talking about here.” Her uncle nodded. So did Meanie Jeannie, who wrapped her arms around her daughters protectively.
For the rest of the spring and into summer, the Clown Burger gang returned home from work to write down everything they witnessed at work. Many consistencies emerged:
Larry DeGreasy arrived at work late, left early, and fudged his time cards to make himself look like he worked the full eight- to ten-hour shift. When owner Lewis Janssen quizzed him about this, DeGreasy always had an alibi.
Several pieces of equipment needed repairs, including two frayed cords and a dangerously defective fan in the walk-in freezer. Roy and Desmond failed DeGreasy's restaurant on those counts during a quarterly inspection, warning him that he would be forced to pay the cost of responding to the emergency should a fire occur. Worse, the Los Angeles County Health Department lowered this Clown Burger's rating from an A to a C for the defective freezer and two reported cases of food poisoning after eating cooked-from-frozen food there. On both counts, he blamed the problems on his maintenance staff – and maintenance had nothing to do with the cords or the fan, merely reported the problems as they occurred. Each time, DeGreasy promised to fix them: “I'll get on with it this week.” He never did – and when the fan did break down in mid-June, Lewis Janssen had a $2,000 repair bill, because DeGreasy let the problem fester until it became big and expensive.
DeGreasy and McBride announced that their restaurant would only receive deliveries every seven days – which was inadequate considering the high business volume of their restaurant. On the days they did get deliveries, there would be so few things ordered that employees started laughing at them: “That's a delivery?” DeGreasy and McBride started “borrowing” supplies from other Clown Burgers, often taking more eggs, lettuce and other raw products than they declared. Ted Sweeney even started banning DeGreasy and McBride from showing their faces around his restaurant after a large number of his frozen food stock and kids' meal toys were found missing, around the Fourth of July.
The teen girls who Bob McBride sexually abused in the stock room received promotions from third class to first-class staff, despite Clown Burger policy that stipulated that all workers followed the normal promotion procedures without skipping a class level. Both Christopher and Hannah protested against the promotions, indicating that both Lara and Julie-Lynne were problem employees: both girls frequently arrived late for work, and Ted Sweeney warned them that any future tardiness would result in dismissal, even if they had a good reason. When DeGreasy and McBride came along, their previous write-ups somehow disappeared, and their frequent lateness went unnoticed. Worse, Lara and Julie-Lynne often lost money in their tills, and they spent their shifts flirting with male crew, managers and customers rather than working. None of these infractions resulted in their being disciplined – and whenever Hannah and Christopher documented them, DeGreasy and his friend removed the sanctions from their files, upsetting not just the formers, but also many crew.
One day, Emily and Hannah took a mid-morning break together. Another employee, a bespectacled if slightly overweight woman named Lorraine Mueller, joined them.
“The place is all politics plus,” lamented Lorraine . “It's all who Larry and Bob like, not who's best for the job.”
“I'm not as happy here as I used to be,” related Emily, drinking her coffee. “My husband, Hank – you know him – tells me there's an opening for short-order cooks at Mickey's Diner on Newell Street . Mickey's could only pay minimum wage, but I hear that they treat workers there very well.”
“I just don't think this is a nice place in which to work anymore,” said Hannah. “When Ted was here, everything was by the book, the place was clean, and everyone was treated fairly. Now, I hear that Bob touches young girls in their privates, and they're always pretty and skinny young girls who he plays around with. They always get the promotions, while they pass over good workers who happen to be fat, ugly, or too old. Neither Bob nor Larry are that good-looking, either.”
“I heard that Brenda got hurt two months ago,” reported Emily. “Christopher told me that one. Larry fired her without letting her know, just because she filed a workers' comp claim. It was her right to apply for compensation under the law.”
Her two co-workers were incensed.
“What the hell does that man think he is,” cried Lorraine . “You don't fire people for getting hurt on the job. That's bullshit!”
“Brenda was one of the best workers here,” added Hannah. “If anything, she wanted what was best for this restaurant and her family. She's had a rough few years because of her ex-husband, but she was putting the pieces back together and going to college, trying to make something out of her life on her own.”
Emily updated her two co-workers: “Brenda's suing Larry for wrongful dismissal and denial of her claim. I hope that El Cheapo Janssen fires Larry for all he's done to screw up this place.”
“Larry's a born manipulator, trying to make himself look good in front of all the bigwigs,” said Hannah. “One of these days, that bootlicker will get what he deserves. I hate bootlickers, making themselves look better than they are so they'd get that promotion.”
“I wonder how he kept that job of his after what happened at Carson 10 years ago.”
“As they say,” concluded Lorraine , “if you don't take care of the problem it'll only get worse.”
By mid-July, the Clown Burger problem only got worse.
After his internship ended at NBC News Los Angeles, the overnight manager returned to Clown Burger. His return, however, was short-lived: the week after the Fourth of July, he suddenly quit.
“I'm not working for those snakes,” he said, before he walked off the job one Thursday morning, never to return. Hannah, who opened that morning, felt sorry for this young man. He certainly deserved a better departure from Clown Burger than that. As it turned out, this young man found himself on Larry's “red” list only because he went on an official leave of absence; also, because he reported Lara and Julie-Lynne flashing their breasts out to passers-by, when they should have been stocking up condiments and preparing for the next business day. All Bob McBride said was this: “That's one way to bring in the customers at night. The other way is making all the skinny, cute teenage girls wear short skirts and low-cut tops for uniforms, and firing those who won't suit them.”
Translation: I want girls who are young, skinny, pretty and cheap, as in slutty and available.
The young man called Christopher DeSoto at home that morning. “Low-cut tops and micro-mini skirts,” exclaimed Chris. “That'll only set things back 15 years. They used to make waitresses wear skimpy outfits at work and think nothing of it. Today, NOW, all those government authorities and even the media would have a fit over that one.”
The next day, Christopher arrived at work, less enthusiastic about his job than he ever was. Walking behind the “employees only” door, he noticed that all the teenaged girls working there fit into Bob McBride's fantasies: all under age 18, at least 10 pounds underweight, very pretty, and at least two of them wore sleazy-looking street clothes to work. They looked like Hollywood hookers turning tricks on street corners. Whatever happened to competent, if chubby, Samantha? Quit after she fell from first-class to second-class crew for no apparent reason – she always arrived on time, did her work satisfactorily, and helped other workers whenever needed. Tall, bespectacled, gawky-looking Petra , groomed for part-time management under Sweeney? Fired after one of Bob's bimbos accused her falsely of stealing ice cream and soda pop during her shift – Petra 's parents raised her never to steal, since they were devout Jews who believed in not getting things unless they earned them. Christopher knew that DeGreasy always sided with Bob and his favorites whenever something was going down. Neither Samantha nor Petra was their favorite.
Christopher had a hard time supervising these employees. Whenever tasks needed done, at least one of the girls cried, “Ugh, gross” and “it's not my problem.” Christopher also noticed that the older women were slowly but surely replaced by Mexicans. Christopher wasn't prejudiced against Mexicans, but he learned that too many of them were unable to understand orders in the English language. Worse, he discovered that too many of them were under age 18, earned less than the minimum wage in the state of California, and only one employee spoke decent English. The rest spoke in broken English or remained mute – a dead giveaway that they spoke virtually no English at all. After this grueling nine-hour shift ended, DeGreasy said, “Chris, I need to see you in the office, now.”
Christopher's body grew cold and shivery. I'm going to get fired, I'm sure of it , he thought. So, he asked his boss, “It sounds like bad news.”
“It is.” DeGreasy sounded vague. After closing the door behind Christopher, he stood intently in front of him: “Christopher DeSoto, I'm afraid I have to let you go.”
Christopher DeSoto's once-frozen body grew hot and burning with anger. “What the fuck are you pulling on me,” he shouted. “I've fucking spent four year with this goddamn company and got nothing but great reviews….”
“Four years too long, buddy,” DeGreasy interrupted. “You are nothing but a disruptive influence to Clown Burger Washington Avenue . You never do what Bob and I tell you, your job performance has been sloppy lately, and we've found someone who'll do the job better for less money.”
Christopher argued, “Yeah, you're giving one of your bimbos my job. Did you screw her and her friend, too, you son of a bitch?”
“You raise your voice in this restaurant, and I'll get security to throw you out of here.”
“Go ahead,” shouted Christopher. “Everybody knows what kind of slime ball you are. What you're doing is wrongful dismissal, and I could sue you for this.”
DeGreasy smirked, “Nobody will believe you, son, because you're as crazy as a jaybird. Your raising your voice to me only proves it.”
Christopher was still angry. “How could anybody not raise their voices in a situation like this,” he screamed. “For years, I had no write-ups, I had perfect reviews, and this was a great place in which to work until you came along. Now, you throw out everybody who challenges your authority, so you could save money on labor and turn this place into a whorehouse.”
“Don't talk about me or my management team like this,” countered DeGreasy. “You, my boy, had four write-ups within the last three months,” as he opened Christopher's file.
Christopher snatched the file from DeGreasy's hand. He couldn't remember coming across even one of these write-ups – and Christopher's signature looked like near-perfect forgeries. The infractions didn't even look like anything Christopher would have done, even in his bad moments: stealing $100 from the tills, walking into work a half-hour late, smoking in the corral when he didn't even smoke. “Don't you know that forging someone's signature is a felony,” he cried.
“Everybody does it.”
“Only you, Bob, and your other crooked friends,” said his former manager. “I will not only get a lawyer, but I'll appeal to Clown Burger's head office. This firing was unfair. Why in the hell would you put shit like these in my files? You are nothing but a sleazy, greasy, lying, sexually harassing backstabber who himself deserves to be fired.”
“Appealing it will only make things worse for you,” concluded DeGreasy. “You owe me $300 for getting burned on the job during that robbery you were too stupid to stop.”
“Are you nuts? Are you suggesting that we should have resisted the robber,” cried Christopher. “Those guys carried guns. We could have been killed if we didn't do what we were told.”
“You should have thought this way: stop the robbers from taking the loot or lose the job.”
“You must be joking,” responded Christopher. “No cop who wants to keep his badge would arrest someone for giving money to robbers. That person is in danger, and resisting the robber would have resulted in my workers and even my customers, getting hurt or killed.”
“You have five minutes to get your ugly mug out of my sight, okay?”
“And yours is any better,” countered Christopher. “That stripper girlfriend of yours must close her eyes every time you screw her.” He finally left the office, never to return.
Christopher drove to the Palisades Center shopping mall, where he spotted the new format Clown Burger at the head of the food court. It was everything he had heard: shiny 1950's-style diner furniture, old 45's of such sock hop favorites as Elvis, Buddy Holly and the Crickets, Bobby Darin and Fats Domino playing from the vintage jukebox, more old records plastered on the walls, and roller-skating waitresses dressed in old-style uniforms managing to carry orders to their tables. The restaurant was very busy, customers seemed happy and so were the staff, and there were a few customers dressed in present-day clothes dancing the best they could to the beat of a by-gone era. From the jukebox, Connie Francis sang Lipstick on Your Collar. Even Clown Burger's logo, which greeted the entrance of the restaurant, decked out in neon tubes, circa 1956, the year Clown Burger first opened: Clown Burger – Hamburgers, Fries and Malts. The old logo featured a laughing clown between the words “clown” and “burger”. Below it was a two-tone aqua 1956 Chevy Bel Air with white leather seats.
“This is quite a place, Ted,” complemented Christopher, as he and Ted Sweeney walked through the busy dining area. “My dad remembers the old turning neon logo up front, and the roller-skating waitresses. He says mom was one of the part-time waitresses at Clown Burger, but she didn't last a day because she couldn't skate. Besides, girls in those days didn't have part-time jobs like they do now.”
Christopher and Ted found two bench seats next to the jukebox, which now played Splish, Splash by Bobby Darin. A friendly, cheerful waitress skated to the table and gave him and Chris menus: “Hi, welcome to Clown Burger's original diner. Today's special is the Salisbury steak with lumpy gravy, mashed potatoes and corn or peas, or you can order the Big Banana Split with soft-serve or hand-dipped ice cream, your choice for just $1.50.”
“My friend and I will just have two Diet Cokes with lots of ice, thank you,” said Ted, before the waitress sped away.
Christopher noticed an old photo hanging over his table. “That's dad back in ‘58,” he proclaimed, pointing to a photo of the young, pre-pubescent Roy DeSoto standing in the middle of five teenaged and five adult men in the back of group photo outside Clown Burger's original location, on Pacific Street . The black and white photo also featured an equal number of smiling waitresses wearing tight Capri pants, tiny pillbox caps and roller skates with metal wheels. The other pre-pubescent boy, standing next to Roy , was Christopher's uncle, Scott Shoemaker, and the taller teenager, wearing a blond ducktail underneath his folded handkerchief hat, was Uncle Lloyd, who was 18 at the time. Christopher concluded, “It sounds like we have ketchup in our veins, huh?”
“I would say ketchup – and fire,” judged Ted, who thanked the waitress for giving him and Christopher their Diet Cokes.
Christopher, who sipped into his Diet Coke, suddenly appeared sad. “Larry fired me,” he said.
“He fired you,” exclaimed Ted Sweeney. “It sounds like him alright. He gets rid of everyone who confronts him, so he'd replace them with cheap foreign labor who'd not complain about anything fearing he'd have them deported, or the easiest girls at Mullholland High and Canyon High, thinking that cheap sex would keep customers coming back – it doesn't in the long run. You were a good worker – a hard worker.”
“What's the point of being a hard worker when people like DeGreasy and that pedophile friend of his break every law in the book and get away with it,” lamented Christopher. “DeGreasy even blackballs everyone he fires, so nobody else would want them anywhere else. I don't like it.”
“Janssen can get pretty sticky about hiring back fired workers,” said Ted, “but the way DeGreasy did it was uncalled for. I'm willing to write you a reference – I've known you for nearly four years, and you're not half the dud that DeGreasy makes you out to be.”
Christopher DeSoto was jubilant. “Thanks,” he smiled. “I'll need a job right now. I'm going to college next month, and it can get pretty expensive. I've already told my mom and dad about what happened, and they were pretty mad – not at me, but at DeGreasy.”
“It wasn't your fault for what happened, really,” said Ted Sweeney. “You deserve way better than this.”
In less than two weeks, Christopher DeSoto found himself another job – this time, at HMV, a music store at the Palisades Center . The pay was slightly lower than what he earned at Clown Burger, but at least he didn't have to deal with the grease, or Larry DeGreasy, for that matter. His new manager and co-workers seemed friendly – and knew the situation at Clown Burger Washington Avenue very well.
“You worked with Larry DeGreasy,” cried one of Christopher's new co-workers. “Everybody knows what kind of slime bucket he is.”
Chris and his new co-worker stocked LPs, cassettes and CDs in the stockroom. Chris remained interested in the Clown Burger Washington Avenue situation despite his dismissal weeks earlier. “How did you know about him,” he asked.
“My cousin worked there,” the co-worker replied. “Do you know Petra Rosenstock – tall, skinny girl with the glasses?”
“Yes, I do,” cried Christopher. “I like her – good worker, nice person, I wish her a lot of good in the future. She deserves it. What is she doing now?”
The co-worker continued stocking CDs on the shelf. He said, “ Petra 's now working for Mickey's Diner and doing school. She's going into her junior year at Canyon High, and she hopes to become a veterinarian. There are some great vet schools in Canada , and we have family in Guelph , where one of the best vet schools in the world is located.”
“ Petra liked animals, and always talked about her cats,” remembered Christopher. “Hannah, one of our managers, still thanks her for correctly diagnosing a problem with one of her cats – he likes eating ice cream, and cow's milk isn't the best thing for cats because it has too much milk sugar, as Petra tells us.”
“Neither Petra nor I like Larry DeGreasy and that pedophile friend of his,” said his co-worker. “The way my cousin got fired was pathetic. They played favorites there, and both those slime buckets liked girls who were skinny, pretty and slutty. The biggest sluts at my school are Lara Marshall and Julie-Lynne Brookes – they always steal guys from their girlfriends at school dances, sleep with teachers for good grades, and wear the shortest skirts at school. They even lie about other girls so they'd get into trouble – once, they scratched some cars in the parking lot of my school, and accused a girl with a facial disfigurement of vandalism. The poor girl got expelled for something she didn't do.”
Bingo , thought Christopher, as he reflected on Lara and Julie-Lynne's behavior at Clown Burger. Perhaps they ratted on workers so they'd help Larry and Bob get rid of people they didn't like. Maybe Christopher was one of their victims because they were told to do their jobs rather than waste time flirting with male co-workers and customers. They weren't the world's nicest people, although they'd act friendly to your face. Christopher continued thinking, if these girls become successful someday, it won't be because they worked hard or have special talent or skills .
After work ended around six o'clock, Christopher walked to one of the Palisade Center 's phone booths. He called home: “Hi, mom, it's Chris. How's Jennifer?”
“Jennifer's walked down to your old job to pick up your last paycheck,” said Joanne. Behind her was Hannah, who sobbed at the kitchen table. “I have some bad news, but Hannah was fired from Clown Burger this afternoon.”
“Larry and Bob did it again,” snapped Christopher. “Why did they fire Hannah?”
Hannah took the phone. “Chris,” she sobbed, “they fired me because I refused to serve a half-cooked hamburger on a burnt bun.”
“It was your right not to serve that,” assured Christopher. “Your customers deserve to be served food that's fit to eat. What are you going to do about this?”
“Your mom, my husband and I have already talked to a lawyer,” said Hannah, a little more composed. “We are suing Clown Burger for wrongful dismissal. The lawyer thinks that I was fired because of age – since I'm over 40 and a woman, I belong to two protected classes under EEOC laws. I've also observed that Larry and Bob have fired all but two of our full-time staff, including Marty, our maintenance guy, and replaced them with people who are illegally in our country, or are high school dropouts with pretty faces and great bodies, but are useless workers otherwise.”
“What happened with Emily? Lorraine ?”
“Emily quit after she learned that she was taken off the schedule. She's working at Mickey's Diner now. Lorraine got fired, and she's hired her own lawyer to take care of those jackasses. Good thing her husband has a good job – he's a teacher – and he supports her every step of the way.”
Larry and Bob are practically begging for a lawsuit , thought Chris. The pressing question, however, was why was Jennifer allowed to walk to Clown Burger without a chaperone, with Bob's history and all. So, after saying bye to Hannah and Joanne, Chris raced out of the shopping mall, into his dad's car, and sped four blocks to Clown Burger Washington Avenue . First, however, he called Ted Sweeney, who was available that night – and willing to ride with Chris to the store. The second pit stop involved Lewis Janssen, who drove his late-model Mercedes to Clown Burger under the impression that it was a routine dinner check. Also coming along for the ride was Meanie Jeannie, whose two daughters were taken out of Clown Burger that week after Bob hit on them – in front of her! Cheryl and Candice joined her.
At the counter of Clown Burger Washington Avenue , Jennifer made observations of the teen girls working that night. She knew a couple of them, and they made dirty looks at her, refusing to wait on her. This is no way to run a business , she thought, as she observed the girls talking animatedly with their co-workers about their drunken parties, the boys they knocked up, and the attention they received from Bob and Larry DeGreasy. Some customers demanded service from another till and, after waiting a few minutes, walked out of the restaurant. When Sweeney was at Clown Burger, Jennifer remembered, the dinner hour was extremely busy, and all the workers served their customers with urgency. Now, she observed, business has dropped significantly, and only a handful of unhappy customers sat in the dining room. She overheard customers saying, “That manager spends his time hitting on girls rather than serving customers.” At least one vowed never to set foot inside that Clown Burger again.
Finally, Bob McBride noticed Jennifer, who waited at the counter for five minutes. “What would you like, sexy,” he greeted leeringly.
“Excuse me,” replied Jennifer, giving him a displeased look. “I'm here to pick up Christopher DeSoto's final paycheck. I'm his sister.”
“I'm the right guy to ask,” he said. His eyes looked down to her breasts. Jennifer became repulsed – not only because Bob looked like a cross between Anderson Cooper, who would become a well-known TV anchor some years later, and Pee-Wee Herman, but also because his behavior was unprofessional. Jennifer wasn't sure what to make of Bob's offer for her to enter the “employees only” area of the store, but she still slipped in, hoping to grab that paycheck, then run home.
Jennifer spotted the office door, next to the kitchen. “Isn't that the office,” said Jennifer. She suspected that something wasn't right.
“Your brother's paycheck isn't there.”
Jennifer thought this was no normal way to run a business. The manager's office was usually the place where people kept paychecks. Still, she followed Bob into the basement, where the meeting room and the storage areas were located. There, Bob began asking personal questions: “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Why are you asking me that question?”
Evasively, Bob replied, “I'm just being friendly. Girls your age are usually flattered when guys ask them that question.”
“I don't think it's any of your business,” reminded Jennifer. “I don't even know you, and I shouldn't be here.”
Finally, Jennifer found herself in the storage area, with Bob and, now, Larry DeGreasy. “Are you a virgin,” asked Bob.
“Well, yeah,” said Jennifer, nervously, her eyes looking around for an escape route as Bob and Larry came closer to her, like two vultures narrowing in on their prey. “I want my brother's paycheck, and I want to get the hell out of here.”
Bob began kissing Jennifer on the ear. His hands reached underneath her skirt, but Jennifer wasn't excited. “Not until you do us a big favor,” he said.
Jennifer screamed, “Rape! Somebody, help me!”
Larry just stood there, smiling at his friend, who said, “I like the look and taste of young girls. They turn me on.” He began unbuttoning Jennifer's blouse. Jennifer wanted to kick Bob in the crotch, but his slender body overpowered her on the wall.
“SOMEBODY, HELP ME!”
Just then, two Los Angeles County police officers stormed into the storage closet. Both were plainclothes officers from the sexual assaults unit, including Sergeant Jim Reed. “Police, you're under arrest,” he shouted, flashing his badge from a wallet.
Bob McBride stopped fondling his latest victim, who ran into her brother's arms, crying – he followed the police officers, accompanied by five other people. Bob ran away, with another plainclothes officer chasing him out of the Clown Burger deliveries door, into a gas station three buildings down, then into the strip plaza. Inside Safeway, Bob pushed over some displays put up, shoved aside shoppers looking for a last-minute dinner – and he found himself held onto the cool linoleum floor. The plainclothes officer found reinforcements from two uniformed cops.
“Robert Joseph McBride, you are under arrest for attempted rape of a minor and resisting arrest,” said the plainclothes officer. To the uniformed officers, he said while handcuffing Bob, “Get that dirt bag off the streets forever – I don't want my daughter to be his next victim.”
Dragging Bob to his feet, the plainclothes officer handed him to the uniformed cops, who escorted him out of the supermarket. The customers, who surrounded the scene clapped and cheered on, pleased that one less pedophile was in circulation, threatening their daughters' rights to a safe, harassment-free workplace or school environment.
Back at Clown Burger, Lewis Janssen gave Larry DeGreasy his own third degree: “Larry DeGrassi, your employment is terminated at Clown Burger, effective immediately. How could you take a great restaurant and turn it into something horrible.”
Larry DeGreasy said, “I did it because you said you want to save money and maximize profits.”
“Not the way you've been handling it, DeGrassi.”
Jim Reed turned to Larry DeGreasy. “Why didn't you report allegations that your second-in-command was sexually molesting teen girls?”
Larry admitted, “He's my friend. I also screwed around with a few little girls. But, so what? Girls that age are at their prettiest. Know that song, Thank Heavens for Little Girls ?”
“You, and that song, make me sick,” said Jim Reed, who turned Larry over to his fellow plainclothes officer. “One more pig going to the poke, Brice.”
After finding his wrists restrained in handcuff, behind his back, Larry DeGreasy accompanied Chuck Brice and Jim Reed out of the restaurant.
Lewis Janssen turned to Christopher and said, “Christopher, I reviewed your firing, and I saw many irregularities in it. I am offering your job back at your ending wages, with back pay, starting immediately.”
“I'd like that,” said Christopher, “but I have a new job that I like, so I'll have to turn that down. Thanks, anyway, but I'll seriously consider the offer should I be out of a job again.”
“I will think of you whenever an opening comes up,” said Janssen. “You are highly regarded at Clown Burger. I don't care what those two thought – they will be out of the picture for a very long time.”
AFTERMATH
Within a month, Lewis Janssen offered Hannah her old job back, and Hannah accepted. Janssen also noticed that most of the low-wage immigrant workers that Larry DeGreasy and Bob McBride hired had no Green Cards. He summarily fired them, with a handful of them re-hired after attaining their work permits.
Janssen offered Ted Sweeney his old position at Clown Burger Washington Avenue back – which Sweeney happily accepted. Within months, his workplace became desirable again, with Health Department ratings hitting A's again and all necessary, safety-sensitive repairs conducted. Meanwhile at the Palisades Center Clown Burger, Sweeney's equally competent (and re-hired) second-in-command, Hannah Stoker, became store manager – and the store blossomed under her tutelage. She retired from Clown Burger in 2003, after 20 years with the company.
Larry DeGreasy was charged with numerous counts of forgery, stealing thousands of dollars from Clown Burger, and harboring a known pedophile. In a mid-1987 trial, he also admitted to having sex with a number of his young female staff at Clown Burger – and was sentenced to 30 years in prison for that and numerous other crimes. He will be eligible for parole in 2017.
Bob McBride's numerous violations of parole conditions rendered him permanently ineligible for parole. He received a chemical castration in the mid-1990s, after prison psychiatrists found his pedophilia incurable. Bob will spend the rest of his life in jail, and his young daughter lived with relatives in Nevada . She eventually went on to college and became a women's rights lawyer in San Francisco .
Lara Marshall and Julie-Lynne Brookes eventually lost their jobs with Clown Burger for failing their twice-a-year reviews. Neither earned a favorable reference.
Jennifer DeSoto, one of Bob McBride's victims, received counseling after her attack. Fortunately, her family and friends supported her as she recovered.
Brenda Williams is now a social worker in San Diego , and is currently in college earning her PhD. Her face still shows some signs of her acid attack in 1986, but she forgives her attacker. She settled her 1986 lawsuit against Clown Burger out of court.
Christopher DeSoto is now a firefighter/paramedic with the Los Angeles County Fire Department, like his dad before him. He has mostly fond memories of his old workplace, but laments how it deteriorated under Larry DeGreasy and Bob McBride. He is also an activist urging governments to enforce tougher sentences against child and teen molesters.
THE END