Page 14 of Locked Down In Watch Hill
I’ve got this.
I got out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen where I turned on the coffee maker. For once I had a decent number of tasks to do between writing two press releases for clients of Freemont and combing through the social media accounts of Watch Hill Pizza and its competitors. Whatever I did with the business Instagram account, I wanted it to sound authentic and reliable, like something that would have come out of this cozy part of southwestern Ohio. I also wanted it to stand up to whatever else was in the marketplace, an era dominated by snappy voices from brands and quick trigger replies that made impact.
Most of all, I wanted whatever content I posted to sound sensitive and compassionate during what was one of the strangest times in history. Kyle’s store was thriving, and that was a good thing, but I didn’t want any media that I posted to come across as ungrateful or unaware of the current situation. The content needed to reflect that people were dying and many were losing their businesses, and not be too boastful.
I had the two press releases for Freemont completed and edited by ten. That felt great. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so motivated to work, so focused and so ready to get things done. Certainly, that hadn’t happened since the pandemic began, and my focus had fallen further since my quarantine began. After I emailed them, I sent Kyle a text and poured myself a second cup of coffee.
He replied less than five minutes later.
Kyle: Wow, you really do intend on helping me.
Me: Sure do. Some of the best ideas come in the middle of the night.
Kyle: Let me take a few photos and I’ll send them right over. Any suggestions?
Me: Just try to frame them well and center the image on a focal point. Use grid lines if you need to and follow the rule of threes.
Kyle: Roger that, General.
Me: Sorry, just making sure you know all that. I’m always shocked at the photos people take, and the people who don’t know how to take them despite a world of knowledge on Google waiting for them.
Kyle: I would count myself as one of those people. Any decent photos I take are purely a result of happenstance and not skill.
Me: I’m sure that’s not true. I bet if you wanted, you could take some fantastic ones.
Kyle: Let me see about that and get back to you
We ended the conversation and I locked the phone, confident I’d get some fresh content soon. As a reward for all my hard work, I wandered into the small living room, sank into the couch, and treated myself to two hours of streaming content from Netflix. That was one of the other unexpected perks of work-from-home life: if I wanted to watch TV in the middle of the day, I certainly could with no one rising to stop me.
It was my prerogative.
After 120 minutes of mindless television watching, I checked my phone. Seven photos from Kyle awaited me. I flipped through them, curious to see if he’d taken my advice and pleased when I found out that he had. Five of the photos were decent, a mix of food from the menu and behind-the-scenes shots of prep. He’d followed the rule of threes and had ensured good lighting. He’d done his job.
I uploaded my favorite with a snappy caption and sent the runner-up to the account’s Instagram story. Then I locked the phone and settled in for a short pandemic nap.
The workday was done. Sure, I hadn’t made the money I used to make—nowhere near it—but I felt so accomplished. A moment where I could sayI did that.How long had it been since I was ... proud of myself?
One and half more days.
***
KYLE
Weekday dinner rush often started around 5:30.
People got off work or got home, perused their refrigerators, and said to each other that they would rather have takeout or delivery. That was usually how it happened—ordering from the pizzeria came once people decided they didn’t have the energy to fire up their stoves and pull-out pots and pans. That’s about the time they started calling.
But nottonight.
The phone started ringing at 5:00, with orders left and right. I’d only scheduled Tyler to help me, but the volume of orders had me desperate for more help by 5:30, the start of the usual sales push. After taking my fifth straight order for pizza bread, I shot Seth a desperate text begging him to deliver food for a second straight night.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I told him when he wandered through the back entrance around six. “Tyler’s out now, and I need someone to man the phone until he returns. Otherwise, I won’t be able to cook.”
“I’ve got that.” Seth slid a store ballcap on his head and walked over to the main cash register. “Has anyone come in for takeout?”
“No, thank God.”
Part of me couldn’t believe I was sending up a thank-you that part of the business remained dormant that night, but I honestly didn’t know what we’d do if I had someone come in and ask for a takeout pizza. The sheer number of orders had kept me from making the usual standby food I could hand customers who found their way into the establishment.
