TS-C10-The Decline

The smoking ban is a good marker in time for the decline of my kingdom, but it isn't the real reason Steak & Shake's vibrance faded. The circumstances created by the corporation's move towards health and a tobacco free environment (I wanted to type "Carcinogen free", but I'm sure those burgers and fries and artificial flavors will give you one heck of a cancer) were significant, don't get me wrong. Stovall was absolutely unbearable, yelling at us like he wanted to yell at the barrier between him and his addiction. Some of the regulars stopped coming by, which led to a decline in tips plus a decline in late night entertainment. Although the restaurant benefitted overall, money wise, the third shift take was reduced.

Julie and I lived together at this point. I remember nights, or mornings to most people, with her. After our fingers danced delicately over each other and we played in a mutual trust and love we would talk about our jobs (We were both still servers at this point). We are both very smart people. Not to rub it in or anything, but right now you are reading the work of a bonafide genius talking about his relationship with another bonafide genius, so I hope you appreciate it. But really, I think most outsiders would consider us smart young adults. We had a hard time swallowing our lot in life and the demands of management at a fast food joint.

When you get right down to it, Steak & Shake died because it lived too long. My friends stopped frequenting partly because of the smoking ban, partly because of Stovall's unfortunate disposition, but mostly because they and I were tired of it. The more familiar we got with Steak & Shake, the more disillusioned we grew. The restaurant was made out of plastic, and the uniforms from some clever marketing idea. Steak & Shake was not real. It never was. We grew to fancy the element of community that stemmed from the restaurant. Our community evolved past the confines of the restaurant. In college, most of us lived away from our parents and started branching out in a friendship sense. Travis was dating the stripper he met at Steak & Shake. Mac was wrapped up in his psycho-ex Michelle. Dylan discovered the World of Warcraft. Julie and I were falling into each other and didn't need the black, white and red color scheme of Steak & Shake (not to mention the chrome) to stabilize our lives.

We were growing up, and everyone of us fought it as hard as possible, and we still fight to this day. Trips to Steak & Shake were planned between the crew, usually coinciding with my work schedule, to their credit. But each trip was less populated until it reduced to Mac and Dan, or Jordan and Dylan. When once we proudly occupied half of the smoking section, now the coffee boys lived at a single table, sometimes just a double, not the standard four person booth. The decline of Steak & Shake spelled our futures, even though we didn't realize it.

On a particularly busy night, Mac and Dan patronized. I was rushed with several tables and food orders as complicated as usual, denoted by nonsensical abbreviation (K for Coke. Remember that?). Since they were my friends, I left Mac and Dan to be swallowed by the abyss of non-attention inevitable for at least one table of a server overloaded. Finally the two of them pulled me aside and asked if they could order. In my bow tie and stupid apron I tossed them two glasses and told them to get their own drinks. They didn't complain. They didn't ask for refills. When they left, a $20 bill sat on the table. On the paper place mat advertising our most recent specials, one of them scrawled, "You owe me $19.50." I deserved the snub, I was rude to them. At the same time, though, it was a signal of our evolution. As a group of humans, friends, youths, we invested so much inside of a restaurant that we prescribed a protocol. Broken, that protocol demanded offense. In simple, overhead terms, we were kids in a restaurant. Realistically, philosophically, the restaurant was a home to us. We identified with the menu items as much as the servers, who was good and who was bad. Once our social needs expanded beyond what Steak & Shake offered, we collapsed on the restaurant and, more importantly, on each other. Somehow, the failure of Steak & Shake to satisfy our developing adult personalities was a reflection of the failure of each other. Who would or would not go to Steak & Shake that night was a symbol of a commitment to our group. It was impossible to be a coffee boy and resist the call of the chrome diner. At the same time, each one of us was so much more than our attachment to the restaurant or the coffee boy clique. I was in a slightly different situation since I was employed by Steak & Shake, but I felt the repercussions and reverberations from the crew, nonetheless.

Finally it became too much to bear. Finally, I realized how much I hated the job. My shift was starting in fifteen minutes. Julie and I sat on the dingy, tan carpet of our apartment. I don't remember the conversation, but it centered around doing what you want to do. I called Steak & Shake and Will answered the phone. I told him some line about how a job that won't let you limbo (There was some disciplinarian action after the servers started limboing in the server station under a broom) is a job not worth having. Will transferred me to Stovall, and I faltered in my smart ass resignation. I told him I quit. He said ok. We hung up. I didn't go back to the restaurant for a long time. Still, an afternoon in Steak & Shake doesn't mean much more to me than an afternoon in a Burger King. The flare, the glitz, the society of Steak & Shake died inside of the coffee boys and I during some bowl of free chili. Like our youth, the appeal of the chrome, tri-chromatic diner evaporated in an event immemorable but absolutely significant.