Part of a series inspired by Ross Gay
that starts here:
My very first boss was named Henry, though most folks called him Hank. He was Will Ferrell-esqe, before there was a Will Ferrell. He ruled over a staff of (mainly) mangy, high schoolers--training us up in the ways of Sizzler, making us laugh and comforting us when necessary. He was one in a million and I went so far as to look him up for that job in Portland, when my bud T and I decided to move.
He wasn't made for the type of business Sizzler ran. Henry believed in creating and maintaining a regular customer base. Which is what you need in a smaller town like Longview. So many unhappy customers, became friends of Henry and then regulars. Some people thought he was a schmoozer, but no, Henry was genuine.
Which makes this senior wonder, how many of the rest of his old crew still think of him all these decades later? Do they remember when he would pump the daily mist of insecticide into the dining area, while mimicking the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz, "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"? Or when he'd bend over to stir the vat of ribs, simmering in sauce and evilly ponder: "Ever wonder what happened to that busboy? Bwa hahaha!"
Looking back, that year at Sizzler feels like a coming of age film. Especially, the after hours party, where one of the crew disappeared (temporarily) on the railroad tracks and Siz decided to let our buddy Hank go after parents expressed concern. But I'm glad I thought to write down this favorite boss remembrance. I'd forgotten how he was there to hold my hand after my car and I were hit at an intersection. The other driver left the scene, which made it even more traumatic for a teen. And Henry was there when my cat Raisin died. I hope he got to share in the good news, too. Thanks, for that year, Henry!
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