“Show me how you make your pizzas here,” Meg said early the next day. She actually wore a white chef’s shirt, one that looked tailor-made.
“Why does your shirt have two rows of buttons?” I asked as I kneaded the dough.
“In case you spill something on yourself. You can change which side it’s buttoned down.”
There was little chance of a spill, considering she stood watching me knead with her arms crossed, but I held my tongue. I needed this to work out too badly to start arguing.
“When did you make your dough?” she asked.
“Oh, we don’t actually make the dough. We get it delivered.”
Meg humphed. “No one ever properly taught you how to knead, did they?”
I looked up defensively. “Uh, Carrie showed me how when I first got the job.”
“You’re wasting too much energy. And you’re abusing that poor dough.”
“I thought you had no sympathy for mass-produced dough?” I offered her a smirk, hoping to lighten the mood.
She didn’t respond, so I went right into adding the sauce, cheese, and toppings. Her sneer only deepened with each step, but she said nothing.
I finished the pie and put it in the oven. Meg said, “That took you over three minutes.”
“Didn’t know I was being timed. I was showing you the ropes, not going for speed.”
“Part of me learning the ropes is knowing how much time everything takes. Let me give it a shot. Time me.”
“This isn’t a competition,” I said, but I still opened the timer on my phone.
“In Meg World, everything’s a competition.” And the look in her eye told me she had no intention of losing. “Tell me when to start.”
Working with Meg was my choice, so I’d have to take her as she was. “Go.”
Meg plopped a round of dough onto the counter, pushed it out from the middle until it became a disk, then picked it up and threw it in the air.
“Who taught you how to toss a pizza?” I asked, startled.
Meg caught it on her fingertips and pushed it back into the air. “My parents got me a session with a pizza twirler for my fourteenth birthday.” She laid the dough down on the pan. “When you spread the dough on the counter, it requires too much flour to stop it from sticking. Tossing is faster and produces a better crust.”
Meg poured on a ladle of sauce and spread it across the dough. “This sauce is too thin. It has no life, no personality. Later, I’ll make one with ground tomatoes so you can see the difference.”
She grabbed two handfuls of cheese and laid it on with surgical precision. Not a single strand fell on the counter or the crust. She hit the toppings next, going with a simple mushroom and onion pie. Then it was up and in the oven. “Time?”
“Two minutes, ten seconds.” I pointed the screen at her.
“Way too long. But I’ll get faster. I’d like to have it down to under a minute and twenty seconds.”
“A minute?” I laughed and leaned on the prep table. “Even Michael couldn’t make them in under a minute and a half, and he made a total mess. Cheese would be everywhere, toppings spread inconsistently. You really think you can go that fast and keep it up to Meg standards?”
“Don’t fool yourself. That pizza was nowhere near Meg standards.” She shook her head, already replaying the process in her mind. “There was a clump of cheese I should have broken apart, and it will make one spot too thick. I compensated by putting fewer toppings on that area. It nagged at me, but I let it go because fixing it would have slowed me down, and I wanted to get a sense of my baseline time. Better preparation on the cheese and toppings would avoid that in the future.”
“Whatever you say, Meg.” I raised a hand in mock surrender.
“I’m going to make changes to everything. Your sauce, your cheese, your toppings.” Her tone sharpened. “You’re sure you’re ready for this?”
“My loyalty is to my customers and the bottom line, not to any inherited recipe.” I opened the oven to check on my pie. “You have free rein to experiment as long as the customers like the product and you don’t cut into our profits.”
“Bet you a dollar I can shave at least fifteen seconds off this next pie.” She reached over and reset the timer without waiting for permission.
“I thought you were the perfectionist afraid of making two-hour pizzas.” I crossed my arms, intrigued despite myself.
“I’m also a competitor hell-bent on making a successful pizzeria. You ready to lose a dollar?” Her eyes danced as she rolled up her sleeves.
“How do I know you didn’t go slow on purpose last time just to set me up for the bet?” I narrowed my eyes, trying to look serious, but couldn’t hide the grin.
But she was having none of my playfulness. “Are we on or not?”
I, more than anyone, knew the value of a dollar. A dollar had been enough to buy an entire pizzeria. And if losing a dollar meant fueling Meg’s competitive spirit, I was all in. “Fine, but no cutting corners. I expect this one to look at least as good as the last.”
Meg cut eighteen seconds, and her second pizza came out looking better than her first. Any fears that her perfectionism would block her from making pizzas fast enough were gone. But I wasn’t just looking for a baker. I needed someone who could manage people, and that was far from her specialty.
“I can’t make all the pies, so we’ll need standards,” she said, speaking right to my fears. “I think it’s reasonable to expect all staff members to make a pizza in two minutes or less.”
“I’m not sure even I can make one that fast.” I scratched my neck, suddenly aware of how sloppy my own technique looked in comparison.
“I bet with the right training and incentives, you could. Let’s see how much time you can shave.” She grabbed my phone, still set on the timer. “Ready?”
“The two of you are going into partnership together?” Owen repeated.
“You have a problem with that?” I asked.
He leaned back in his seat. “I mean, give the rest of us a chance here.”
“It’s not a competition, Owen,” I said. Behind his back, Meg shot me a wink.
“Still sounds like cheating to me.” Owen shook his head.
I hadn’t even thought about how the partnership might mess us up in class. After all, each of us was supposed to create our own business. “Professor Hunt, you don’t consider it cheating, do you?”
Professor Hunt set down the dry-erase marker and folded her arms. “In school, helping someone else with their test is called cheating. In the business world, it’s called collaboration. I’m not about to punish you for bringing in a collaborator. Especially if doing so helps you solve your biggest pain points. If it turns out to be a smart business move, you’ll get nothing but credit from me.”
“And if it doesn’t turn out well?” I asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it.
“Then it will be just like your other mistakes.” She paced slowly in front of the board. “You’ll be expected to identify the problems and pivot.”
Meg raised her hand. “What about my business?”
Professor Hunt paused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’d created this cake decorating business,” Meg said. “Will I be expected to continue working in that until the end of the year while also working in The Pizza Lab on the side?”
“Listen up, all of you.” Professor Hunt’s tone sharpened. “Part of the reason we open our own businesses is to be our own bosses. There was nothing I hated in school more than the guessing game of what opinions the professor would or wouldn’t like. When you open a business, you get the freedom to make your own choices. Are you still accountable? One hundred percent. You’re accountable to your customers, to your vendors, to everyone your business interacts with. But you make your own choices and face actual consequences, rather than the arbitrary views of one professor or boss.”
Her eyes locked on Meg’s. “You have to stop looking to me for what is acceptable and not acceptable. Choose what you want to do and let your performance speak for itself.”
“So if I choose to drop the cake decorating business and go full-time with The Pizza Lab,” Meg said, “it won’t affect my grade?”
“It might.” Hunt tilted her head, weighing her words. “You might find it harder to add value in Ty’s business where you’re not fully in charge than you do in your own business where you’re the boss. And if I can’t see where you’ve added value, I won’t grade kindly. But I’m not going to fail you for choosing to close down a poorly performing business to potentially become a partner in a business a hundred times larger. That strikes me as a smart choice, and I don’t fail students for making smart choices.”
“So you’ll want to see that I add value?”
“Absolutely. That’s what I want to see from all your businesses.” Hunt nodded firmly. “If you stay with the cakes, I’ll want to see you increasing your sales. If you close down the cake business and throw your lot in with Ty, I’ll want to see The Pizza Lab attain greater profits and stability. You think you can do that?”
“Definitely.” Meg’s voice rang with confidence.
“Just be careful.” Hunt’s eyes shifted to me. “Ty still holds all the cards. If he doesn’t think this experiment is working, he retains the right to push you out the door with nothing but a paycheck for the hours worked.”
Hunt paused. “This is the Build a Business seminar, not the get-a-job seminar. If you close your cake business and your trial partnership with Ty doesn’t work out, you could wind up with no share in any business come the end of the year evaluation.”
Meg glared at me as if to say, you’d better not make me fail this class.
I certainly hoped I wouldn’t.
