Love and the Lunch Lady Man

I felt like I was on top of the world. Not surprising as the view from my deck was endless.

Mike broke me out of my spellbound gaze, "Dad! I still can't believe we get to live here!"

I looked over at him standing at the railing, doing what I had just been doing. His sister, Heather, whose nickname of Feather had migrated to one of permanence, was standing beside him, also in awe of the view.

I agreed, "Yeah, son. This is amazing."

Feather suddenly got a little nervous, "Um, Dad? This house isn't going to fall down the mountainside, will it?"

I reassured her, "No, kiddo. The inspector told me this is anchored to solid rock and even in an earthquake, it won't slide down the hill."

Of course I kept the rest of what he told me to myself to keep the kids from worry. That in an earthquake, the house would likely fall in on itself, the original structure was built in the 1930's and the add ons over the next three decades. The more likely disaster being that a fire would rage up the canyon and there may be no way out if we were to be surrounded.

We wouldn't go down without a fight though. Over the summer, after buying the place and before moving in this very day, I had the house structure modernized, shored up with new and additional reinforcement. And then I replaced the roof and had installed a feature that would cover the entire property in foam goo that would retard the flames if the canyon ignited.

It really was an amazing property. Situated on just over an acre, something I understood was nearly unheard of in southern California, though most of it was unusable as it was on such a steep slope. The house itself was quirky, multi-level and built in three connected parts like a zig-zagging lightning bolt in a satellite view. There were decks off of most of the canyon-side rooms to take in the breathtaking and private views, but where we were standing, the primary deck between the house and detached garage situated a swimming pool in the center.

The pool was ordinary, nothing special and well short of Olympic size, maybe 15' x 25'. It was how the pool and deck seemed to be floating in the air that made it extraordinary.

Located in Topanga, a somewhat disjointed community but only because of the topography. It was supposedly an artsy, friendly place to explore. More of a sleepy bed and breakfast place to visit on weekends, not generally listed as a trendy place to live like the neighborhoods on either of its adjacent sides.

It was even harder to believe that the ocean was just 6 miles down the twisty-windy road.

It was a town I had never even visited a month before I bought the place but had been hearing of for many years. It already seemed like an alien planet compared to where we had come from.

Mike was thinking the same thing, and said it out loud, "Chicago was so flat. I can't believe this is all real."

I asked the kids, "Well, now that it is real, what do you both think? Do you approve?"

Mike responded first, "I definitely approve."

It was Feather that concerned me the most. I was relieved when she looked me in the eyes and said softly, "Approved."

"You know what I really approve of . . . ," Mike announced before kicking off his shoes and cannonballing into the pool, still in his shorts and tee shirt.

Feather giggled and yelled at her brother, "You're such an idiot," before she kicked off her own shoes and followed him in.

They were treading water and giggling, but I was their father and required by Dad-Law to scold them, "What's wrong with you two. You brought bathing suits in your luggage, it would have only taken five minutes to go and change into them."

Mike laughed at my attempt at authority, "I waited all Summer for this, I couldn't wait another second. Come on in, Dad!"

Feather chimed in, "Come on, Dad. Do it!"

I responded, still trying to remain stern, "No. I'm fully dressed, you ding dongs."

Mike took on a serious tone, "Dad. There are times in life you have to step off the edge and take a plunge. It's what makes us alive. That's why we moved here, right?"

Feather backed him up, "Yeah, Dad. My stupid brother is right for the first time in his life."

Fuck. How did these kids get so wise?

I quickly lost my sandals, wallet and phone to the deck before I jumped off the poolside edge. All in, making as big a splash as possible.

A perfect metaphor for our new lives.

*

"Hello?" I inquired into the empty front office from the counter. There were plenty of desks and office doors, just no people.

From behind me, Mike said, "There's nobody here, Dad."

"This is really creepy," Feather added.

It was a little creepy, I thought. The building had been unlocked, and there had been only a few cars in the parking lot of the 7th through 12th grade combination middle and high school; the new school year wasn't set to begin for another two weeks.

A woman walked out through a side office located within, "Is somebody there? Oh. Sorry about that. I'm the only one in the office today."

She approached the counter wearing a smile on a very pretty face. She looked to be about my age, 40, probably a little younger. Piercing, but friendly green eyes, her auburn hair tied into a ponytail that almost reached the small of her back. She had clearly spent the summer out in the sun, showing off skin with a rich caramel tone accented by a tan line that was visible around her neck, exposed by the tee shirt she was wearing. The tee shirt appeared well worn and had a print of Minnie Mouse on the front.

She noticed my unsaid observation, "Oh, sorry about being so casual, but it's a lot of dusty, dirty work getting the new school year under way and I forgot I was meeting a parent here today. You must be the Graves. I'm Lila Winn. I'm the vice principal here."

She held out a hand and I shook it with my confirmation, "Yes, I'm Charlie Graves, and this is Mike and Heather."

"Great. That's just great." My hand lingered in her grip a little too long, I had to sort of wiggle my fingers to signal I wanted it back. "Would you join me in my office?"

We rounded the counter and followed her into an extremely tiny office. Without sitting, she fumbled around in a paper tray on her desk and found a couple of papers, each the size of a half sheet.

She handed one of each to the kids, "These are your schedules, normally only given out on the first day of school, in your homeroom, but as you are new to the school, why don't you explore and find your rooms. Then on the first day of school you'll have the lay of the land and it will take the pressure off."

I thought that sounded like a great idea and said, "That would be perfect. Thank you."

She replied to me, "Yeah, no problem," and then to the kids, "If you come across anyone, tell them that Ms. Winn said it was OK."

Then she sort of paused and really studied Feather. She shuddered and then apologized. In a wispy sort of tone, she said to her, "You remind me of someone. Never mind, but you are awfully pretty."

Feather, never one to take a compliment well, did her best, "Um, thanks . . .?"

The kids scurried off on their mission and I was pleased that they appeared eager to do so. Lila motioned me to sit at her only guest chair as she sat in her office chair behind the desk.

"Welcome to Tacoma PS," she started, "I think your kids are going to like it here. It's a great school. I have a boy that attends here, the same age as your Mike, and he's thriving. I have no doubts that he'll be well prepared for college in four years."

I acknowledged her sentiment and then tried not to sound rude when I cut to the chase, "Now, why exactly did you need us to come in? When I got the message, the person on the phone said it was about their registrations. I submitted those weeks ago."

"Well, that was me," she smiled again, "after I was informed by Admin that your form was missing some critical data."

She went back to her paper tray and pulled out two packets held with paper clips and each had a number of sticky-notes poking out.

She looked at the cover page and her face brightened, "So, I see here that you live at the old Wainwright house on Canyonside Lane."

I shrugged, "Uh, I guess. I didn't know it was called the Wainwright house."

"I've actually been to it. A bunch of times since I was a kid. I live near there and the Wainwright's were friends of my parents. They'd throw a Fourth of July party there every year and when I was a kid, I'd spend the entire 4th in that great swimming pool."

"Ah. OK, then. Yeah, the pool was almost as big a factor as the view and the location when I purchased it."

"Pricey neighborhood. I can't even imagine how much that property must have set you back. Even though it looked a little beat up the last time I was there."

It did cost a fortune, and these days anyone can look it up to see what I paid for it, so I ignored that part, and covered the latter. "Yeah, well, new roof, new kitchen, new paint, and new furniture. I'm pretty happy with it. Most importantly, the kids are happy."

"Well, good for you." She turned to the first note-tab. "Ah, here's the first problem. The entire emergency contact section is empty."

I stiffened, "Uh, yeah."

"Will you fill that out for me?"

"Um, I'm sorry, but, uh, no. I can't do that."

She looked startled by my answer. "Well, I need you to. If there's an emergency, like one of your kids gets hurt or sick at school, and we can't contact you, we need another person to reach. Someone you trust."

"Sorry. There isn't anybody."

"Look, I'll take anybody. A grandparent, an uncle, a friend. I'll even take an ex-wife if you've got one."

I sighed, "I'm the only one the kids have. Believe me."

She got a sad look, "Nobody?"

I shook my head in confirmation.

She went on sadly, "Yeah. I noticed there was nobody listed as 'Mother'.

I let out a simple, "Nope."

She sat up straight and then drooped her shoulders, fully understanding the situation. She grabbed a pen and hunched over the paper and started filling some things out. "I'm putting myself down in emergency."

"No, you don't have to do that," I pleaded.

"Everybody needs somebody sometime."

That made me chuckle, "Isn't that Dean Martin."

She looked up at me briefly with a smile, "Yep. My father's favorite." She continued to write. "OK. I'm also going to list my mother. She's a nurse practitioner at the clinic. I'll let her know your situation."

She repeated the entries on both of the registration forms, then held her hand out and asked for my phone. "May I put in my contact information?" I did as she asked and watched her thumbs fly over the touchscreen. Her phone was laying on her desk, I heard it buzz when she finished with mine. "Call me anytime. Even if you just need to talk, OK?"

I lied, "Uh, yeah. Sure." Whatever. I didn't know her from Adam, so . . . as if.

She took in and let out a big breath before moving on to the next tab. "You don't happen to have their immunization cards, do you?"

I didn't and told her so. She pursed her lips, "Yeah, OK. That's not a problem. You listed their former schools in Illinois. I'll forward that to Mom's clinic and we can get that. Any missing vaccinations, you'll need to get taken care of before the first day of school. I'll put word in to Mom and I'm sure she'll squeeze Mike and Heather in."

She moved to the next tab and she hesitated before asking, "You don't have your employer listed. We like to know that as it's an additional way to reach you."

Aww, shit. I figured we'd get to this. "I'm going to state something that I've never said out loud in my life because I've never been in this boat. I'm unemployed at the moment."

"Oh. Hey, that's OK. Um, I don't mean to get personal, but what do you do? Maybe I know of something. I know a lot of people in this town."

"I don't know what I want to do yet. I was a restaurateur and chef. I had three restaurants in Chicago and sold them all, but I don't want to get back into that. The hours are terrible, just not compatible for a family, and I want to be closer to my kids than I was before."

She sat back and let that sink in before I looked into her eyes, almost seeing some kind of wheels turning in her head.

She asked cautiously, "Have you ever catered before?"

"Oh, yeah. Hundreds of times."

"How big of of events are you talking?"

I don't know why, maybe because I'm a baseball nut, but I truthfully bragged a little, "I did a wedding a few years ago for the Chicago Cubs' shortstop. We're talking 650 people, a full on multi course meal."

She started beating her desk with her pen like it was a drumstick, "Really. Hmmm. I've got it. A job that would be perfect for you."

I masked my disbelief but probably raised an eyebrow in curiosity, "Really? What?"

She nervously got in sales mode, "Before you say 'no', just hear me out. Our lunch lady just quit. Leaving us high and dry for lunch service. She got a job at another school down the mountain and told us not only wouldn't she be back, but she took her whole staff with her."

"You can't be serious." I wasn't sure if she was punking me or insulting me.

She was ready for rejection and hit back, "Just hear me out. You want to be closer to your kids, well think about this. Your hours would be the same as their in-school-hours, and you'll be here on campus when they are. At 2:30, you all go home together. No weekends, no late nights, all the bank holidays and your summers off. Your salary would basically be the same as mine, not great, but it comes with all the teacher benefits of pension, and . . . medical. The school district would insure your entire family." She narrowed her eyes and feigned exaggeration, "And it's gooood medical insurance."

Damn. I had never thought about all that, but yeah, it had some definite advantages. I didn't really need the money short term, I did well on selling my home in Chicago and my restaurants. I paid a total of three million for my new home and the remodel in cash. Zero debt and my investment portfolio was stacked. But I still had to work. Wanted to work.

I still didn't know. Thinking about it harder, it sounded so wonky.

She went to seal the deal, "We're a relatively new school, only four years ago the local students had to be bussed down to Malibu, so the kitchen is clean and modern. We're a small school, 800 students enrolled, we served between 180 to 220 hot lunches a day last year. That's just a chump-change catering job for someone like you."

That sounded manageable. I asked, "Could I make my own menu?"

She thought about it before answering, "Yes and no. The district sets the menu, but the lunch lady can make suggestions. I know the decision maker at the district, she's a close and personal friend of mine. She'll green light anything that's healthy and follows nutritional guidelines."

"I only cook healthy, nutritional meals. Especially with my kids eating it."

"Then, yes. You can make your own menu."

"Staff?"

"One full time assistant, two part time servers. And we're rotating student help as an elective, awarding school credit for what was called home-economics back in my mother's school years."

I let out a deep breath and thought about it hard. Drawing on some suspense, "If, and I mean it's a big 'if', and my kids would have to approve too, but if I said 'yes', . . . "

She leaned forward with bated breath, her eyebrows reaching for her widow's peak.

I finished, ". . . are you still going to call me the 'lunch lady'?"

She laughed and then seriously answered, "Yes."

I chuckled in surprise, "Come on!"

She laughed again, "I don't really know you yet, but I can already tell you're going to be fun to tease."

*

I decided to do it and got the kids' approval. I let Lila know through a text and she went into action.

First, she had to relate to the principal what she had suggested. With that approval, she got me in touch with the district's recruiter and I filled in the formal application. That went through in less than 24 hours, and I got the formal offer. It felt like there was a lot of motivation to fill the position in time for the first day of school.

After that, there was more shit than I was prepared for. Referrals were easy, I contacted a couple of my old restaurant managers who were happy to give me a technical and character review. Even if they did think it was sort of hilarious. Then, a background check, fingerprints, and so much more red tape, I never really knew what I was filling out or being questioned on day to day.

My kids were happy. They liked my cooking and knew I wouldn't make them anything they didn't like. They hated the school lunches in Illinois, so they understood the alternative. In fact, I promised that they'd be my soundboards when looking at menu options.

I got access to the school immediately and practically took the kitchen apart. It was gorgeous. So much stainless steel I almost needed sunglasses for the sparkle. The previous staff had kept it well maintained, and it was super clean.

I couldn't help myself though, and with my own money I ordered some additional equipment, including an industrial size vertical rotisserie spit. Gyros, shawarma, adobada and al pastor would all find their way to Topanga's school menu in the future. My kids were thrilled.

Beyond actually cooking, I went through all the paperwork and that included placing the initial food order ahead of the first day of school through their normal suppliers. I wasn't impressed with them at all. I was happy to find out they were working outside of a contract so I wouldn't be mandated to use them long term. Either way, I was going to hyper analyze the quality when the first delivery arrived, even before it was loaded into the walk-in cooler and freezer.

I lucked on to a restaurant-supply and food wholesaler just over the top of the mountain in West Hills, about ten miles from home. I got the school registered as a customer and worked with the district in order to buy fresher food there as long as I followed the budget, along with the student's fee of only three dollars per meal.

Buying healthy, quality food on the cheap, well that was up my wheelhouse. Something of which I had made an art out of when I owned the restaurants. No problem there. The school lunches were going to get a quality upgrade.

I tried to get the Coke machines full of sugary sodas removed from the cafeteria or at least substitute the sodas with healthy alternatives. I learned that was tried before and the teachers threatened to revolt if that happened. I dug back into my wallet and ordered large 304 stainless steel drink dispensers that the students could pour from for free, a rotating fruit water and an iced green tea. It wouldn't really ding my budget too bad to provide free drinks (it was mostly mountain spring water), and I was hoping to give Coke and Diet Coke a run for their money.

The teachers were all hands-on the week before school started for meetings and to prepare their rooms and lesson plans, I suppose. I actually have no idea what they were doing, but the three days at the end of that week, I used them as guinea pigs for some trial runs. Sure, a smaller sample size than when the school cafeteria would be packed with students, but it gave me a chance to run the kitchen and get the equipment broken in like a 'soft opening'.

I even had my kids in the house. Their opinion meant more to me than anyone else.

I also got to work with my staff. My assistant had experience in a kitchen, formerly cooking for a diner in town that closed. She was a huge lady, at least two inches taller than my 6'0" height, and, well, to paraphrase something my late mother used to say, she was 'big boned'. But damn, she was a force to reckon with in the kitchen with limitless energy and tenacity. I was going to take advantage of that. Now if only she didn't talk so damn much. That and a lot of what came out of her mouth was cringe-worthy. She promised me she would stay well clear of the counter and have no interaction with any students.