Shakey's Pizza-'Shakey' Motor Skills
Friday, October 14, 2005
A short time ago my life was unexpectedly threatened when a co-worker asked if I’d like to go to lunch. The offer in itself seemed innocent enough as I gathered up my things and silenced my computer. Once in the adjoining hall way I was met by a rather oddly assembled group of the fellow ‘mal-nourished’. Though the faces in the group were quite familiar, their true identities became camouflaged by the crude formation the line had taken on. I fell into rank at the end of the line (later adopting the self proclaimed title of ‘Private Temp’) where I later identified our group as a sort of rag tag villainy ensemble typically characterized in Disney specials. If only we would have been foiled with groin kicks and water balloons like the villains we so personified, we would have avoided the danger that lay just ahead, but alas, there was no magic kingdom logo prior to our journey nor were the curse words substituted or muted.
Our group seemed doomed from the very beginning as we began splitting off to different vehicles. It wasn’t until our party was separated by some distance that Mike yelled, “Hey, where are we going?” Groans filled the air like the remnants of a fat kid’s lunch in slow moving elevator. After some deliberation and visual proof of empty wallets, the group decided on an old West Coast favorite: Shakey’s Pizza.
For those of you unfamiliar with Shakey’s Pizza, Shakey’s is an old-fashioned pizza parlor focusing on the marriage of pizza to fun without the help of animatronic mice or ‘clever’ marketing. Unfortunately, like most marriages based on fun, the two have been divorced for quite some time, leaving Shakey’s a pizzeria equivalent to Burt Reynolds; both having left their successes in the ‘70s. The name “Shakey’s” itself seems to scream volumes to the supposed quality of the food/environment. I don’t fully understand the logic behind the name itself as it was derived from the founder’s nickname ‘Shakey’, a title he received while trying to recover from a case of Malaria contracted in WWII (That is a truth not even I could dream up). This entire smattering of information was not awarded to me until long after my preliminary visit to Shakey’s, allowing me to experience for myself something characterized only by the writings of Dante.
We arrived, after a cozy car ride, to a building very remnant to a motel outside of Vegas. This building seemed clean enough compared to the rest of its surroundings, but like a psychic outside Cameron Diaz’s house, I sensed something evil in this place. My first glimpse into Shakey’s was surprisingly comforting as I marveled at the Germanic stained glass patterns on the breeze-way windows. This sense of security was later shattered as a closer examination of these windows proved them to be an illusion of grandeur in the form of acrylic painted geometric shapes. The journey began to plummet from there as I noticed the company surrounding the eating area (we’ll speak more on them momentarily).
At last the time had finally arrived where I was to make a meal selection from the ‘vast’ Shakey’s menu. As I muttered something about olives to myself, another member of our company suggested the lunch buffet using the conversational closer, “You can’t beat the price.” Upon investigating his suggestion I realized I couldn’t beat the price. In fact, I don’t think there is a buffet in the country that could be the price. Shakey’s Lunch Buffet-$2.99. It was at this moment of clarity that I looked back to the crowd surrounding the eating area I had identified earlier…low and behold all the haggard looking patrons surrounding the buffet were actually homeless citizens biding their time!
By this time, I was unfortunately past the point of no return as I laid down my three Georgies and picked up a plate from the near-by steam tray. Not since my Grandmother prepared pizza with Catsup have I been more leery of a meal. I did the only thing I could do to grantee some shred of sanitation as I waited for the ‘cook’ to place a new luke-warm pie under the comforting orange hue of the heat lamps. Figuring this could possibly be my only shot at clean food I took a liberal amount of ‘food’ back with me to my table. After the usual ‘hollow-leg’ comments about my eating abilities I sat face to face with Shakey’s Pizza. I swear to you on my life, as I held that first slice to my lips, old Shakey himself unleashed a fit of joy as he spun over and over in his open-faced grave.
My stomach really didn’t understand its new companion under my flesh. My brain began to spin into over-drive as it identified this substance not as pizza, but as some sort of poster-board with a thin layer of pesto. Quickly I tried to wash down the lingering with some root bear only to discover a chemical reaction producing a sensation remnant to tasting mercury…this won’t end up good.
Like kissing an ugly girl, the shock wore off after a period of time and soon I began consuming more food in order to simply fill the void. Between trips to and from the buffet I deduced a handful of conclusions about my surroundings: 1) The homeless citizens loosely lingering about the room understood the Shakey’s system to the letter, in that they came inside at store opening, paid, ate a little, lingered some more, ate a little, hid some food, talked about Vietnam, and ate a little, allowing them to remain and eat in Shakey’s all day. 2) All but 3 of the 15-16 photographs on the walls all seemed to carry to same motif of tragedy striking during a sporting event. What better way to provide a safe and fun center for youth than with a cowboy being gored in the back by a large bull? 3) On the boys and girls bathroom doors I discovered some crudely drawn images of Mickey and Minnie mouse circa sometime during the Justin Timberlake era of the mouseketeers, images without the written consent of Disney I’m more than certain. These three observations coupled with the sharp-rat like features of an ex-carnival worker attempting to coach unattended children in Skee-ball, led me to believe my time at Shakey’s was over.
The ride back to the office was like waking up with a corpse in your bathroom-all I could do was question, “what have I done?” The effects of Shakey’s were far more severe than the psychological trauma sustained while thinking about the ‘cooks’ un-netted ponytail: I wasn’t hungry for the next 20 or so hours. Nothing seemed at all appetizing nor could I force anything more than water down my esophagus. Shakey’s not only destroyed my mental prowess, but seemingly shut down my physical apparatus as well. I now walk through my days questioning the effects of Shakey’s Pizza on my body hoping to achieve super strength or laser vision over horribly disfiguring sores. Either way one can not help but question: Shakey’s, a thing of the past or a wave of the future?
Posted bym.moore at 21:52 1 comments
