“You did what?”
“I changed vendors for the flour.”
“What the Hell did you do that for?”
“It’s better quality and it’s a better price. We’re saving money without any compromise.” Pasquale looked at Benito as if he had lost his mind.
“Did I ask you to make any changes?”
“Well, you made me the manager, so I figured the least I could do was stop the bleeding. We haven’t turned a profit once in the two years I’ve worked here. If you let me make a couple more changes in the way we do business and, soon enough, the only thing in the red will be our marinara sauce.”
“So, what do you know about running a business, huh?”
“I took these classes at the community college. I got an Associate’s degree and a Bookkeeping Certificate. That’s how I was able to look at your books and see all these ways to save money.”
“Keep your nose outta the books, Benito. That’s my job. Your job as the manager is just to make the schedule so there’s always some pimply kids here to make the pizza, count the money at the end of the shift, and order more supplies. Period. You use the vendors I tell you to use, capisce? There’s more to business than grubbing for pennies. It’s about relationships.”
Benito opened his mouth, but Pasquale cut him off before he could respond.
“Don’t say a fucking word, Benito. Get on the phone to Bobby over at Eagle Flour, apologize for the mistake, and tell them to get back to their regular deliveries.”
“But, Uncle…”
“Don’t say another word or you’re going to see your Zio Pasquale get very angry. Now do as I say.”
Benito scurried to the phone behind the counter to call Bobby. Then he’d have to call Jaime over at United Flour and cancel the contract with them. It bothered him not just because they were cheaper, but they were a co-op. Why would his uncle be so upset about some cost-cutting measures? It was almost as if he wanted to lose money… The dime dropped at the same time he had to start groveling to Bobby. The whole purpose of the Pizzeria was to launder money. Benito wanted to help the community. As Bobby called him a thousand synonyms for “dumbass” in Sicilian, Benito figured out a way to make everybody happy.
“Look, Zio Pasquale, I’ve got a plan,” Benito told him the next day across the checkerboard tablecloth of a booth in the Pizzeria. “Look, Zio, I know we’ve got to lose money, but we can help other people while we help ourselves. We give a bunch of pizzas to people who ain’t got no food, but we write down the cost as ingredients spoiling in our damaged storeroom, capisce?”
Pasquale nodded, “and write down the cost of fixing a storeroom that don’t need fixing.”
“And a raise for me and the pimply kids.”
“Now that’s bookkeeping.”
Literature in Small Doses 