Luke's, Thursday
Priestly was all set to move to New Gotham. He'd found himself an apartment, with two roommates who seemed like decent enough people and didn't look like his identical twins. One that even allowed exotic pets, so Stevesie wouldn't have to be abandoned to Dean's tender mercies. He had his class schedule for the fall semester, and a list of books and supplies to buy once he was settled in. He'd even managed to line up a couple interviews at local restaurants to work as a line cook and support himself through all of this crazy class-taking business. His financial aid paperwork was in order. His collection of novelty t-shirts was sorted and packed. His friends in Santa Cruz had all his new address information, and he'd confirmed that his cellphone would still work even when he was living in Dinah's dimension on a permanent basis.
He'd taken care of everything.
Except for one tiny detail.
"Fuck, who's going to run this place when I leave?"
The cook raised his hand. "I'll do it."
"Absolutely not."
The busboy shrugged, looking embarassed. "I have a BA in restaurant management."
Priestly stared at him. ". . . Seriously?"
"I'm thinking of applying to Harvard's business school for a masters."
Priestly shook his head. "Well you can't do it, then, you're going to leave at some point, too."
The dishwasher looked around. "Don't look at me. I hate responsibility."
And then Eliot came in, carrying a crate full of summer squash. Priestly quirked an eyebrow thoughtful, then nodded. Eliot stared back at him.
"What?"
"Eliot," Priestly said. "Eliot, Eliot, Eliot. You seem like a guy who knows a thing or two about running a business. Also, about being terrifying, which'll help the next time this place gets attacked by zombies."
"No."
"You'll get to decide on all the ingredients for everything yourself."
"Do you know how many restaurants fail?"
"It's, like, impossible to go bankrupt in this town."
". . . Point." Eliot looked around the restaurant. He could do worse. And he'd get to plan a menu, again. "Okay, I'll do it."
The cook and the dishwasher cheered. The busboy sulked in the corner.
Today's specials
Five alarm beef-and-bean chili
Fried okra
Whoopie pies
Luke's was open.
[this is Prieslty's last Luke's post before going onto alumni status. And it is OCD freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.]
He'd taken care of everything.
Except for one tiny detail.
"Fuck, who's going to run this place when I leave?"
The cook raised his hand. "I'll do it."
"Absolutely not."
The busboy shrugged, looking embarassed. "I have a BA in restaurant management."
Priestly stared at him. ". . . Seriously?"
"I'm thinking of applying to Harvard's business school for a masters."
Priestly shook his head. "Well you can't do it, then, you're going to leave at some point, too."
The dishwasher looked around. "Don't look at me. I hate responsibility."
And then Eliot came in, carrying a crate full of summer squash. Priestly quirked an eyebrow thoughtful, then nodded. Eliot stared back at him.
"What?"
"Eliot," Priestly said. "Eliot, Eliot, Eliot. You seem like a guy who knows a thing or two about running a business. Also, about being terrifying, which'll help the next time this place gets attacked by zombies."
"No."
"You'll get to decide on all the ingredients for everything yourself."
"Do you know how many restaurants fail?"
"It's, like, impossible to go bankrupt in this town."
". . . Point." Eliot looked around the restaurant. He could do worse. And he'd get to plan a menu, again. "Okay, I'll do it."
The cook and the dishwasher cheered. The busboy sulked in the corner.
Today's specials
Five alarm beef-and-bean chili
Fried okra
Whoopie pies
Luke's was open.
[this is Prieslty's last Luke's post before going onto alumni status. And it is OCD freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.]