Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 01 - Kitchen Addiction!

by Lizz Lund

“This isn’t a request, moron. This is a directive!”

  Norman stopped and turned back once more. “That’s nice, Howard. But directives only apply to employees. I quit,” he said, and walked toward us, smiling.

  This was scary. Aside from the obvious, it was more than a few times in just a few days I’d actually seen Norman not unhappy.

  “Dude, are you out of your mind? You can’t get unemployment if you quit,” Bauser whispered.

  “Maybe you can un-quit. You know Howard needs you,” I stammered.

  “Yeah, then all you need to do is just screw up on purpose and get him to fire you. Then you can collect,” Bauser added.

  “It’s okay,” Norman said. “I never needed their paycheck, anyway.”

  “Huh?”

  “Look, besides my Masters in Software Engineering, I’ve actually got a PhD in Astronautical Engineering.”

  Wow. “Really?”

  “Yeah, I don’t like to talk about it much. It’s a little embarrassing.” Bauser and I looked at him. “Rocket doctor jokes,” Norman explained. We nodded. “So the work here was pretty interesting, and everyone used to be pretty friendly. And it got me out of the house. But after Effhue took over, it seemed like things just kept spiraling downward, all across the boards. And without both of you in the picture, that’s a lot more ugly than I can handle.” Bauser and I looked at each other. I knew we were both wondering if the BB-shot wound had caused more damage than we’d realized. Or the Krumpthfs.

  “Umm, dude, that’s cool, but like, what are you going to do to get paid?” Bauser asked.

  “Like I said,” Norman continued, “I never needed the paycheck. Haven’t either of you wondered about my last name?”

  “You mean Mudd?” I asked.

  “So?” Bauser questioned.

  “Like Mudd of the Mudd-Tee teabag. That TeaWorld, Inc. bought,” Norman finished.

  “Isn’t TeaWorld, Inc. owned by another huge company?” Bauser asked.

  Norman sighed. “Doesn’t really matter. My old man was Manny Mudd. He was really into food engineering. One day he came up with the design for the Mudd-Tee teabag, and made sure to patent it. ”

  “Designer teabags?” I asked.

  Norman sighed. “For the design of a one of a kind teabag. I found out after he passed away in 1992. Back then he was worth over $400,000,000.”

  “Four hundred million dollars?” Bauser gasped, like I’d wanted to. My mouth worked, but no sound was coming out. I get a little speechless when the words ‘hundred’ and ‘million’ are used in the same sentence as ’dollars’.

  “Yup. Since dad passed away, I’ve never needed my EEJIT paycheck,” Norman added. “Mostly I’ve used my EEJIT salary for charitable giving, or the girls’ allowances,” he said.

  “Jeez, you mean you could afford to actually hire someone like Vito to clean and cook for you?” Bauser asked jealously.

  “Yeah, I could. But my wife would kill me.”

  Bauser shook his head. “Well, I better get processed out of here. Jim’s Whoof-O dog food alone definitely needs my unemployment comp,” he said.

  I sighed. “Agreed,” I said, thinking about my 25-pound mountain lion cat and my cockatiel’s sometimes freakish calcium dependency.

  Norman shrugged. “Let’s go,” he said.

  We walked to my old cubicle just in time to find Lee sitting in my chair and tweezing a hair out of the mole underneath her chin. Bauser, Norman and Jim collectively cringed backward. But I thought nothing about it and grabbed for the bottom file drawer.

  “Hey, what the!” Lee stammered, hastily trying to shove her tweezers and compact mirror out of sight.

  “Under ‘U’ for ‘Unemployment Comp’,” I answered, yanking the drawer open and into her shin.

  “Excuse me,” Lee yelped, “but these are the papers you need to fill out.” She shoved a wad of EEJIT bureaucracy at me.

  Bauser grabbed the papers and sorted through. “There are no Unemployment Compensation forms in here,” Bauser said.

  Lee smiled. “Oh, they’ll send that to you in the mail.” Bauser looked hard at her. She sighed. “Look, an Unemployment Rep will call you, at about the same time they send you their papers,” she answered.

  “Oh,” said Bauser. “Since when did you become the HR rep?”

  “Since they merged Mina’s position with mine. And part of your IT duties.” Lee smiled again.

  “Wait a minute,” Bauser said. “You’re going to do my job, Mina’s and yours?” he asked.

  “Well, uh, no. Not really. Howard said just portions of them,” Lee said.

  “Well, I hope you’re getting paid portions of our paychecks then,” Bauser said.

  “Well, no. But I’m promised a big raise at my review next November.”

  “Huh. Good luck with that.”

  Bauser tucked the papers under his arm and gave me and Norman and Jim the high sign to exit. We all turned together and walked down the hall.

  “Just make sure to tell the Unemployment rep it’s a ‘mutual resignation’,” she sang out after us.

  Jim whined. “C’mon, Jim,” Bauser said, and we shuffled into the elevator lobby.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Norman asked.

  “He needs to let loose, pronto,”

  It was at that moment that we heard Lee gloating around the corner to someone about having ‘termed those losers’.

  We looked at each other. Jim wagged his tail pleadingly. Bauser motioned to Jim to follow him, and marched back down the hallway and made a right turn toward Lee’s former cube. Norman and I followed. We reached the outside corner of her old cube, which it was undoubtedly, judging by the state of packed files on the floor around her desk. Bauser pointed. “Here, boy.” Jim gratefully and dutifully obeyed and emptied both tanks in the middle of Lee’s cube. Then we high-tailed it for the stairs and exited pronto.

  Seven flights later, we let out a collective whoop. Even though Bauser and I realized it was ridiculous for us to do so. Being unemployed and looking for a job stinks. But working at EEJIT really stank. Especially after the poo-poo pyro. I might not have been sure what was in front of me, but I sure knew what was behind me. And it greatly resembled what Jim left behind in Lee’s cube.

  Norman took his papers and dutifully put them in an appropriate section in his backpack. Bauser and I looked at ours and contemplated hurling them in the trash bin next to us.

  “No,” Norman said. “Listen to me. You will fill this out. And you will await your call from your Unemployment Rep,” he said.

  Bauser and Jim and I collectively gulped. I’d never seen Norman adamant about anything, except maybe the end of the world. Maybe that was why he was adamant now. “Okay,” Bauser and I agreed.

  “So what now?” Bauser asked. Jim barked at PizzaNow!.

  “Jim’s right,” Norman said. “We need a slice and a beer. I’m buying.”

  Jim barked in agreement and followed Norman, dragging Bauser up the entrance steps. I shrugged and followed. What the hey? We all know everyone at PizzaNow! loves Jim.

  “Hey, Jimmy boy,” Joey sang out from behind the order counter.

  Maggie cried and came out from behind, leaving a line of waiting customers in limbo. “Who’s my boy? Huh?” she squealed, hugging Jim. Jim tried to reciprocate and fell over. “See, see? This is what happens to neglected pets!” Maggie shouted at the line of customers. Sheepish looks abounded amongst pet owners who had left pets alone all day long, with nary a radio on. Maggie seized the opportunity. “Guilt relief here,” she said, holding up her collection jar for the animal shelter, next to the check out register. Various hands released small piles of change. Could she sell or what? And she wasn’t even from Jersey.

  Maggie winked at us. “Pretty good, huh? Hey, what brings you here? Late lunch? Early dinner?” she asked.

  “A wake,” Bauser said.

  “We’re celebrating,” Norman corrected.
r />   “Hungry?” I ventured.

  “Huh?” Maggie asked.

  “We lost our jobs,” Norman explained.

  “Oh my GOD! Oh my GOD!” Maggie shouted. “Here, take this table. HERE! Natalie – WATER! HERE! NOW!”

  Norman held up his hands in effort to stop her flurry of waitressing. “Look, it’s really okay. We’re not that upset, honestly,” he said.

  “UPSET? UPSET! OF COURSE YOU’RE UPSET! YOU’RE IN SHOCK!” Maggie screamed, and went off in a stream of Sicilian phrases I wasn’t quite sure about but pretty much guessed meant MAYDAY.

  We sat down around the table, after we found a chair for Jim, just to make sure he didn’t get knocked over by passing patrons or appear out of place. And also to make sure a passing patron didn’t find himself suddenly relieved of his order. Natalie rushed over with a water pitcher and a bowl for Jim. Then she set us up, throwing a slice of lemon in each of our glasses, and passing around some menus. She finished by taking a doggie biscuit out of her apron pocket for Jim.

  “Okay, okay, you take all the time you want. I’ll bring over a small pie, just to get you started. On the house,” she added, patting Jim on the head, then rushing back toward the kitchen.

  “Wow, they really like Jim here,” Norman said.

  “We eat here a lot,” Bauser said.

  “I thought you mostly ordered take out?” I asked.

  Bauser shrugged. “Jim likes to get out on weekends.”

  Natalie came back with a small pie – 8 large slices with everything on it – and a bowl of kibble. Jim stood up on his chair and wagged his tail hard in appreciation, and then fell toward the pie. Bauser caught him. Natalie patted Jim on the head. “You’re welcome, sweetie.”

  We said thanks, too, and began to tuck in as we scanned the menus. When I looked up, the pie was almost gone. “I’m really surprised how hungry we are, considering,” I wondered out loud.

  Norman swallowed. “Disappointment does that.”

  “Oh,” I said, thinking that was probably as good reason a reason as any for explaining the increasing national reports on obesity.

  Maggie came over with a pitcher of beer. Bauser looked at it suspiciously. She set the pitcher down on the table, along with frosted beer mugs. “Look, I know you like your Krumpthf’s,” she said to him, “but that stuff is oogy. It has leaves and twigs in it. Besides, this is on the house, too” she added. Bauser looked a little put out.

  “Well, okay. Thanks. Just so long as it’s nothing fancy,” he said warily.

  “Nope; just plain old beer,” she said.

  Wow, real beer. Without twigs in it. I started to feel a little happier.

  “Natalie will come back for your orders real soon. I gotta get back to the take out counter.” And she rushed back as the line of customers backed up into Chestnut Street.

  “Wow. That was real nice,” Norman said, pouring out the lager.

  We looked at each other. Norman was really becoming quite the drinker. Huh. Jim thumped his tail.

  “Well, here’s to us,” Norman said, and we clunked our mugs together.

  We studied the menus we’d read a thousand times before, and placed our orders with Natalie. Norman ordered Lancaster Lasagna (without the ham), Bauser ordered the Meat! Meat! Meat! & More Meat! Personal Pie! and I ordered the Triple Decker Eggplant Parmesan. Our entrees arrived, and after Natalie served us, she replaced Jim’s kibble bowl with a small bowl of Whoof-O dog food. Bauser also fed Jim some of his steak and kidneys off of his plate, carefully excluding any bacon, ham or sausage that would be bad for doggies.

  We’d just polished off our plates, when Natalie returned. “Some dessert?”

  Bauser tried to hold in a burp.

  “Uh, I think we’re kind of full,” Norman said, looking around. Bauser’s burp burped, I nodded and Jim yawned. Jim was right: it was definitely nap time.

  Natalie smiled. “Sure, sure. After a big shock like that, it’s normal for your appetites to be a little off,” she said. “But you’ll be back on your feet in no time. You’ll see.” She smiled at us and hustled away with our empty plates. I rolled my eyes. If this was considered peckish, maybe my catering disorder might actually fit into Lancaster.

  Norman reached for the check. Bauser went for his wallet. I started to rummage through my pocketbook. Norman held a hand up to both of us, and waved away our contributions.

  “Wow, thanks, Norman, really,” I said.

  “Yeah, thanks a lot. This is really decent of you, man,” Bauser said.

  “Like I said, my treat,” Norman replied. “Besides, I didn’t think anyone could handle meeting Vito’s niece on an empty stomach – especially after Howard’s tantrum.”

  “Oh my gosh, I almost forgot,” I said.

  “I didn’t,” Bauser replied and helped himself to the last piece of pizza. Norman shrugged and we got up to pay at the register. Joey rang us out.

  “Thank you. That’ll be $46.46,” he said. Norman opened his wallet and pulled out a hundred dollar bill. Joey blanched. I blanched. Bauser blanched. Even Jim looked a little piqued. But maybe that was maybe because he was still digesting his share of the Meat! Meat! Meat! & More Meat! Personal Pie!

  “Oh jeez, hey, I’m not allowed to change anything higher than a fifty, pal,” Joey explained.

  “Not a problem,” Norman said. “Keep the change. It’s a tip.”

  Joey brightened up considerably. “Hey, pal, thanks! You’re alright! I’ll make sure Natalie and Maggie get covered.”

  I rolled my eyes. While I knew Norman could probably afford this generosity, I secretly hoped I didn’t share a happy hour with him any time soon. I really didn’t want to get shamed into a 150% tip. Especially now that I had joined the masses of the unemployed.

  We yawned and waddled out of air-conditioned PizzaNow! and out onto the furnace that was Chestnut Street. The heat blasted up at us from the sidewalk like the inside of a PizzaNow! pizza oven. The sky had become a hazy shade of dinge, just like any other U.S. city during a hazy U.S. summer. Except that Lancaster sparkles a bit; it doesn’t do dinge.

  Jim panted hard. Bauser’s and Norman’s glasses were fogged up. We turned and made a blind lurch toward the new police station at Chestnut and Prince streets. We entered the lobby and were greeted by giant blasts of chilled air and gigantic black granite columns, floors and an elevated black granite reception desk. Granite? In a police station? This is how nice Lancaster is. Who wouldn’t want to get carted off the street into a grand hotel-esque lobby in the middle of a heat wave? We stood in front of the reception desk, and Norman shoved me forward in front of the great and powerful Officer Du Jour. The female police officer on duty looked down at me. The main thought scampering across my brewski and Italian feast fed brain was: surrender Dorothy.

  “Uh, hi,” I tried, “Um, we’re here to see Officer Appletree. Is he on duty?”

  “Officer Appletree, huh? That’s Detective Appletree, now. Just one minute,” the Great and Powerful police officer said and ducked behind the granite wall. We heard muted voices and some Mhming. She popped back up. “He’s here. Said he was expecting you,” she said, and darted back down again. Expecting me? I hadn’t even told her who I was yet. Yeeshkabiddle.

  We shuffled around the lobby. Jim yawned and sprawled out in the middle of the granite lobby, parting pedestrian traffic. Which was a little awkward for some of the handcuffed folk. The officer popped back up. “Is that your pet? Or a service animal?” she barked.

  “It’s okay, Shawna; he’s handicapped,” Appletree answered, appearing in front of us.

  “Huh. Okay…”

  Appletree motioned us to follow him – quickly – past Shawna’s watchful post.

  “Hey, wait! He’s not supposed to be handicapped: one of them is,” Shawna yelled after Appletree.

  “We’re working on it,” Appletree called back.

  “Just you make sure he don’t tinkle on them granite tiles!” />
  Well, it was at nice that she was looking after our taxpayers’ interior design investments, after all. Then again; we’re in Lancaster…

  Appletree led us down a pristine non-granite hall and through some double-doors that opened onto a typical office space: a gerbil’s nightmare of cubicle mazes. With the exception that each of the cubes were inhabited by combinations of uniformed or plainclothes police officers. At this particular time, it was mostly uniformed officers. Like an army of dark blue ants.

  Even though I’ve never done anything illegal in my life, with the exception of aiding and abetting Vito and Mrs. Phang with their pharmaceutical sample ring, being around this many uniformed police officers made me nervous. I blinked and swallowed and promised myself I would never tell Trixie about this. However nervy this many uniforms made me, I was pretty sure she would have an equal and exponentially opposite pheromone reaction.

  Appletree led us over to his pristinely empty cube. I looked around and was disappointed. Pictures of Detective Friday, Dirty Harry and Barney (the cop, not the dinosaur) swam around in my head. Appletree’s very organized and very generic gray cubicle was not exactly the stuff of NYPD Blue.

  Appletree motioned for us to sit down. Jim wagged his tail, hopped up in the chair and complied. I shook my head at Bauser, leaned on the edge of Jim’s chair on one cheek and faced Appletree’s modular desk. Bauser leaned against a counter stacked with files. Norman unpacked his towel, unfolded it neatly on the floor and sat down.

  Appletree pulled out a file from his desk drawer. “Okay, so all we need you to do is sign this form,” he said. “It states that we caught Helena Przy… Helena Prishnish… Proshchinsk…”

  “Pryzchntchynzski,” called out a male voice from the next cube.

  “Bless you!” another officer sang.

  “Thanks, Gus.” Appletree grimaced. “Anyway,” he continued, “we found her with your stolen purse.”

  I gulped. This was definitely a lot more official than I expected. And where was Helena? Did they have her in a dungeon? I started to have very, very guilty thoughts about wasting all that time consoling our unemployed stomachs at PizzaNow!.

  I looked down at Norman. He shrugged at Bauser. Bauser looked at Jim. Jim smiled and pooted.