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IGNACIO
* * *
I’m at the Huntington Park restaurant today. The manager, Carlos, is giving me the tour of disrepair. In other words, we need a new sink in one of the bathrooms, install a new grease trap in the kitchen, and replace some of the chipped Spanish tiles in the dining room. Personally, I’m not a fan of the tiles. The grout is too difficult to keep clean. I have some ideas for a complete remodel. We’ll have to throw some good money into this place, but I think with a bit of creativity, it will look clean and modern. Of course, we’d have to close for a month or so and that’s where I get the push back from Carlos. We can’t let the staff lose that much work, not to mention the revenue.
“I’ll at least ask the contractor to give us a bid,” I say to Carlos. “If he can do a remodel in phases, we might not have to close our doors for more than a week.”
The restaurant can handle paid vacations for the staff if it’s only a short amount of time. The part-timers would only lose two, three days of work, tops.
Carlos shakes his head. “I’m no chur about that, ese. We have our regulars, chew-no? They like to sit in their same spot, order the same ting. Los viejos, they don’t like change, jefe.”
Oh, Carlos. You can take the cholo out of the barrio, but you can’t take the cholo out of the man. I’ll bet under those long pants, there’s a pair of white socks pulled all the way up his calves.
“Well, the Spanish tile floor is a tripping hazard, so we’d be doing the viejos a favor,” I say.
Just then, my phone rings. It’s Bernadette’s ringtone.
“I gotta take this, Carlos. I’ll be a minute.”
Carlos does his Chicano Power fist punch with a nod and heads into the kitchen to help with the line. As the manager, it’s not his job. But he started out as a cook several years ago and I think he secretly loves it. I don’t blame him.
I swipe my phone screen. “Hey, Berna. What’s going on?”
“Yeah, sorry to bother you, but I can’t find the gift certificate option in the new POS system. I was thinking maybe count it as cash, but wasn’t sure.”
“What do you mean, gift certificates? We discontinued those years ago.”
“Yeah, but don’t we still have to honor them?”
“I mean, I guess, but we’ll have to count it as a loss in the system. Is it a large amount? How many guests?”
“Just one, and you’ll never guess who.”
“Berna, you know I don’t like guessing.”
“Pancho Two. Didn’t he get married and move to South America?”
An icy chill spreads through my veins. Bernadette doesn’t know anything about what Pancho Two did. Only my parents and siblings.
“Pancho Two is at the restaurant? And he’s trying to pay with old gift certificates?”
“What a weasel, right? Ten bucks says he never even paid for them.”
If she only knew.
“Bernadette, listen to me. Keep him there as long as you can. This is important. I’m getting in my car right now.”
“I’ll try.”
I’m out the door with my keys in hand as I speak.
“Do whatever you can. Offer him a free flan. He loves that stuff. And talk to him or something. He must not leave before I get there.”
“Okay. Olive’s talking to him right now.”
“Olive? Why? Did she take the table?”
“No. She’s just friendly with everyone and has no creep-o-meter, apparently.”
