The breakup with Brittney was at least fast. “You’re just not boyfriend material right now,” she said.
I actually groveled. She cried. It was sloppy and embarrassing.
And over.
She asked me to be in touch when I got my life in order.
Who was I kidding, though? I had no space for a social life anyway. By the time I came into the pizzeria on Saturday, my head was so full of ideas from Hunt’s seminar that I couldn’t dwell on my now ex-girlfriend.
As soon as I walked in, I zeroed in on my target, sitting in the back corner. She was eating a slice with one hand and propping up her textbook with the other. She wore the Narwhal jersey for the big game and had even painted a tusk on her left cheek. Curly red hair, pulled into a ponytail, poked out the back of her aquamarine baseball cap. Pink and white running shoes, one foot tapping to the music playing over the stereo. I’d never seen her before, but the moment I did, I knew she was the one I’d been looking for.
“Ty, I’m so glad you’re here,” Carrie said. “I’ve totally got to bolt. Ty?”
I barely heard her. I was already halfway across the room, approaching the redhead. “Hi, I’m Tyler Spengler, and I’m the owner of the pizzeria. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
She looked up and smiled, hand over her lips to hide a mouthful of pizza. She chewed fast and swallowed. “Yeah, OK. I read about you in the school paper, Tyler.”
“Please, call me Ty. Everyone does.”
“OK. It’s cool to meet you, Ty. I’m Joanna.” She put down her textbook and extended a hand. Her nails were also painted the school aquamarine. “What do you want to know?”
I slipped into the seat across from hers. “What music do you listen to?”
“Music? I figured you came to ask me about pizza.”
“I did. What music do you listen to?”
Her gaze narrowed, but she answered me anyway. “When I’m studying, it’s usually jazz. Instrumental only—when there’s words, I lose my concentration. When I’m driving, I listen to ’80s rock. It’s corny as hell, and I always sing along, at least when I’m alone. When I’ve had a couple of drinks and want to dance, I listen to reggae. What does this have to do with pizza?”
I ignored her question. “What’s your favorite movie?”
She shook her head but played along. “I absolutely love There’s Something About Mary.”
“Favorite color?”
“Aquamarine, obviously. Go Narwhals!”
“Favorite art?”
Her face lit up. “I’ve got two posters in my dorm room. Starry Night and The Scream.”
“Favorite foods?”
“Nice to see we’re finally getting to pizza, which is my number two after chocolate. Number three would have to be…”
But I never heard her number three before an apron hit me in the back of the head. “Take over or let your customers rot. It’s up to you,” Carrie said. “You’ve already made me late.”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m coming.” I picked the apron up off the floor. “Joanna, great to meet you. One more thing, do you mind if I get a picture of you holding your slice?”
“There’s not much left, but I guess.” She held up the crust so it was just below the Narwhal tusk, and I took the shot with my phone.
“Thanks so much. Come back as often as you want, Joanna. The pizza will always be on the house, but I might have more questions for you.”
I thought my offer of free pizza for life would excite her, but she pulled back. “Look, you seem like a nice guy, Ty, but you should know I’m seeing someone.”
“Oh, I’m sorry if you thought I was hitting on you. That wasn’t the point of the conversation at all.”
“Oh, OK.” And after just telling me she wasn’t interested, she sounded disappointed.
“Got to run,” I said, more sure than ever that I’d never understand girls.
Despite being late, Carrie was waiting for me by the counter. “What the hell was that all about?”
“I’ve found her, Carrie. I knew it the moment I saw her.”
“The future Mrs. Spengler?”
“Better,” I said, wrapping my apron around my waist. “My ideal customer avatar.”
“What’s that?”
“Something we’ve been learning about in class. She’s going to blow up the pizzeria. You watch and see.”
“Your avatar is supposed to be fictional, Ty,” Meg blurted out the next morning in class without waiting for me to finish my presentation.
“Why?” I stood at the front of the classroom, with Joanna’s picture and a list of her interests behind me. “Isn’t a real person so much better? This way, I can ask her questions.”
“Real people are quirky,” Meg replied. “I love Sinatra’s My Way because it was my grandmother’s favorite song, and she used to play it when we baked cakes together on Sunday afternoons. But if I was your avatar, you’d still be a fool to play My Way in the pizzeria. That’s something unique to me, not to the category of customers I represent.”
“What do you think, Ty?” Professor Hunt broke in. “You think she has a point?”
“I guess I hear that. But…”
“But what, Ty?” The Goddess of the Hunt always loved a good battle. “Go on. Don’t be afraid to defend yourself.”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you know more than you’re letting on. Take a seat for now. We’ll give you a few minutes to gather your thoughts. In the meantime, Meg, since you threw down the gauntlet on Ty’s avatar, how about you present your own?”
Meg loaded a slide with a stock photo of a white-bread American family. The mom was blond and stylish, the dad tall and muscular beneath his navy blue suit, and the sole child, a boy of around two, cute as a button, clutched a teddy bear to his chest. Each wore a smile fit for a toothpaste commercial.
“My avatar is named Celene,” Meg said. She clicked her mouse, and a stock photo of the same woman, now in a suit, filled the monitor. “She’s 38 and a partner at a mid-sized law firm. Her husband’s an investment banker. Her toddler, Trevor, is the apple of her eye, and she feels guilty about how little she sees him. A full-time live-in looks after both Trevor and the house.
“For this family, time matters far more than money. When Trevor’s birthday rolls around, Celene spares no expense: clowns, musicians, and, of course, a gorgeous cake.” Meg clicked through slide after slide of the same model, making Celene feel real. I could imagine how she’d react to The Leaning Tower. She’d cross the street to avoid it.
Meg continued. “Celene wants something unique, eye-catching, and above all hassle-free. She wants to place her order once and know it’ll arrive perfect and on time. Give her that, and she won’t quibble on price.
“Celene has high expectations and hates to be disappointed, a trait she shares with her friends and colleagues. When she finds a vendor who exceeds expectations, she becomes a customer for life. Impress Celene with that kid’s birthday cake, and she’ll be back for her husband’s fiftieth and events for her law firm.
“Her friends are all wealthy and love making an impression. They trade tips on who to hire. Win her over, and she’ll spread the word.”
“Nicely done, Meg,” Professor Hunt said.
“This sounds just like my mom,” said Andrew, a senior sitting up front who had joined after I bought the pizzeria. “She used to spend a boatload on us, but I barely saw her.”
“Any advice you would add, Andrew?” Hunt asked.
“Make sure you have a delivery service. Mom always wants everything delivered to our door. She’s happy to pay a premium for that.”
Meg made a note, and the Professor turned to me. “Ty, what did you think?”
“Solid,” I said. “She dialed in on who her avatar is and where her pain points are.”
“Do you see how easy it will be to sculpt her product offerings, marketing, and services to the needs of her ideal client?”
“Yes,” I admitted, looking at my notes. “Does this mean I should redo my avatar?”
“The pizzeria is your business. It’s not mine, and it’s certainly not Meg’s. Don’t get bullied into building it someone else’s way. But that’s not to say you can’t pivot if you see someone else’s model is better. Is that the case here?”
I thought about it and shook my head. “No.”
“Why do you think having a real person as your avatar is better than a fictional one?”
“It’s just that…” I trailed off.
“Just what? Don’t back down. Defend yourself.”
I bit my lip. “I don’t really get girls.”
“No one gets girls, man,” Owen said.
“You mean women,” Meg said.
I shook my head. “I hear women refer to each other as girls all the time.”
“Just because we do it doesn’t mean you should.”
“Whatever. Case in point. I don’t get women.”
Professor Hunt crossed her arms. “And this helps how?”
“Having a real avatar means I can ask her questions. I don’t have to guess what she’s thinking.”
“Why did you make your avatar a woman anyway?” Professor Hunt asked. “I’m sure guys eat more pizza.”
“Only because guys are more likely to order two or three slices at a time,” I said. “In terms of actual customers, it’s about half and half.”
“Then why go with a female avatar?”
I closed my eyes and pictured my buddies in the Shanty. “Guys would eat pizza in a hole. They’ll take a few pies down to a frat basement that hasn’t been cleaned since parents’ weekend and plow through them while guzzling beer and watching dirty movies. I want to get the aesthetic of the pizzeria right. My gut says girls, I mean women, care more about the details.”
Owen nodded. “Let’s face it: we’re slobs.”
“So you’re assuming if the girls come,” Professor Hunt said, “the guys will follow.”
“Only if they have a pulse,” Owen said.
“Especially a girl like this,” I said, “who’s not into all that frilly pink, flowery, lacy crap that guys can’t stand. This is a girl into sports and school pride.”
“Sports and school pride. An interesting observation. Never lose sight of the reason I assigned each of you to create your ideal customer avatar. No doubt, some of you found it a fun game to play: finding a picture of your ideal customer, giving them a name, and filling in the details of their lives. But this is not some theoretical exercise. The rubber meets the road when you shape your offerings and marketing to fit your avatar’s tastes. So tell me, Ty. Knowing yours is into sports and school pride, how does that shape your strategy?”
“It’s too bad it’s illegal to hunt marine mammals,” Owen said, “or else Ty could sell Narwhal pizza.”
I ignored him. “Currently, the space is mostly decorated in red and white, like a typical Italian restaurant. After my conversation with Joanna, I’m thinking of changing to the school colors. Relative to my other costs, paint is cheap. There’s this big, ugly air conditioning duct running through the pizzeria. I thought I could paint it aquamarine and maybe the trim as well.”
“That’s a fine start, but to execute this idea well, you’ll need a lot more than a can of paint,” Professor Hunt said.
“Of course, Professor.”
“I see nothing wrong with using an actual person as an avatar. But Meg still makes a good point. When using a fictional avatar, it’s easy to focus on traits a whole category of customers share. When using an actual person, look for quirks others might not share.”
“So I shouldn’t paper the pizzeria with stills from There’s Something About Mary?” I asked.
“Probably not.”
“Ty, we’re out of napkins. Can you grab some from the back?” Carrie asked.
“I’m on it.” The lunch rush was almost at its peak, so I raced into the storeroom, but couldn’t find napkins anywhere. I ran back to the counter. “I think we’re out.”
“Out?” She tilted her head and shot me that look my mother always gave me when I tracked mud in the house. “We can’t be out of napkins.”
“No?” I asked. “Where did you put the last ones you ordered?”
Carrie threw her hands up. “I never ordered any. Bartley always took care of that.”
My face fell. “Then we can be out. Because I never ordered any either.”
“Obviously, we can be out.” Carrie smacked her forehead, dusting it with flour. “I meant we can’t run a pizzeria if we’re out of napkins.”
“So what do we do?”
She pointed towards the door and rolled her eyes. “Go out and get napkins.”
“Where?”
“When things slow in the afternoon, I can run out to the wholesaler. For now, get whatever you can. And hurry. For the next hour, we’re only going to get busier.”
“Right.” I tore out of the pizzeria, not even bothering to remove my apron. Without a car or even a bike, I ran down the sidewalk. There were no restaurant supply stores downtown, and the grocery store was over a mile away. I needed something fast, so I ducked into a drugstore. The selection was limited, but I bought what they had and ran back.
“Happy Birthday?” Carrie raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to give your customers Happy Birthday napkins?”
I grinned sheepishly. “It was all I could get.”
“What would your professor say about you having napkins with pictures of balloons and streamers?”
I unwrapped a couple packages and piled the napkins onto the counter. “I imagine she’d applaud my initiative.”
“Oh? Well, you’re about to find out. She came in with a student while you were gone. I was about to pull out their pizza, but I think I should give you the honors.”
Great. Just the moment for her to turn up. I pulled the pie out of the oven. “Sausage and black olive?”
“Strange, eh? She let the student pick the toppings.”
As long as the customer was happy, I wasn’t going to object. I cut the pizza into slices, grabbed some napkins, and brought it out. Professor Hunt waved as I approached. The student followed her gaze and turned toward me. I stopped in my tracks. It was Harvey Reese, the Narwhal’s starting quarterback. Professor Hunt shot me a wink that Harvey missed.
“Harvey, welcome to the Leaning Tower,” I said, then looked at the napkins in my hand. “It’s not your birthday by any chance, is it?”
He smiled, a bit confused. “Afraid not.”
“Too bad.” Best to own up to it and laugh it off. “I’m sorry to say we’re experiencing some growing pains today. We ran out of the normal napkins, and this is the best I could find on short notice.” I laid the pizza on the table.
Harvey picked up the napkin and laughed. “That’s hilarious.”
“All part of the fun of running a business, right, Professor?”
“Absolutely.” She displayed a wide grin. “No business can avoid crises. The successful ones know how to turn them to their advantage.”
She was hinting at something. But what?
“I don’t think I’ve ever served a sausage and black olive pizza before,” I said.
“It’s been my favorite since I was a kid,” Harvey replied.
That’s when I caught Artemis’s eye. She stared as if trying to convey an idea telepathically. It was no coincidence she’d brought the starting quarterback in two days after I shared my sports-and-school-spirit idea. She wanted me to do something, but what? Then it hit me. “You think other students would like that combo?”
“I don’t see why not.”
Butterflies flitted in my stomach. What if he thought I was being a dork? “Would you be OK with me putting it on the menu and calling it the Harvey Reese combo?”
Harvey laughed. “Sure. Go ahead.”
“Awesome.” I took his laughter as encouragement and pulled out my phone. “Can I get a shot of you eating the pizza?”
“Totally. I’ll tell you what.” Harvey tucked his napkin into his collar. “I’ll even take a shot with the Happy Birthday napkin.”
I couldn’t believe my luck. Harvey wasn’t just going with it—he was going whole hog! I snapped the shot. “Thanks so much, Harvey. Enjoy the pizza.”
When I returned to the counter, I asked Carrie, “Why didn’t you tell me the student was Harvey Reese?”
“I thought it would make a fun birthday surprise.” She smacked my cheek, leaving a white handprint.
“Thanks a lot.” I took off my apron and headed towards the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Carrie was already at the oven, pulling out a fresh pie. “You’re not seriously leaving again, are you? It’s the lunch hour.”
“I need to go. It’s important.”
Carrie’s gaze pierced me like a blade. “You walk out that door, and you won’t find me here when you return.”
Geez. I thought I went to college to get away from my parents. “Fine, then how about I send you?”
“This place can’t run without the two of us for at least another hour.”
Just then, Tom pulled up on his bike. He was the first guy I’d sold a slice to, the one lifted from the staff pie. Ever since, he’d become a regular. “Hey, Tom. How’d you like a free pizza today?”
Tom’s boyish grin filled his face. “If you’re offering me a free slice, I won’t say no.”
“I didn’t say a slice. I said a pizza. An entire pie.”
“Absolutely! What’s the catch?”
“I need a favor. I wanted to go myself, but we’re too busy. I need you to ride over to the school bookshop. They sell Harvey Reese jerseys with his name and number on the back. You know what I’m talking about, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
“Harvey’s eating here now. I need you to buy his jersey and a Sharpie. If you bring them back here before he finishes his pie, yours is on the house. Deal?”
He hopped back on his bike. “Deal.”
“Here’s my credit card. Ride like the wind, Tom.”
“Systems,” Professor Hunt said at the opening of class, “are what separates a robust, scalable business from a hacked-together, fly-by-night outfit.”
“I couldn’t help but notice you looked at me when saying, ‘fly-by-night,’” I said.
“You’ve got that right. You handled the Harvey Reese opportunity quite well in the end, but you almost blew it because you ran out during your lunch rush to buy napkins.” And here I thought she was cheering me on in the shop. “Not to mention the napkins you came back with were not only ridiculous but cost at least ten times as much as the ones you get from the restaurant supplier.”
“You’re totally right.” I bowed my head. “It won’t happen again.”
Hunt’s brows shot up. “Won’t it?”
“No, ma’am. We bought enough napkins to keep us in stock for months.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing, but you’re proving my point. Because you have no systems, you’re swinging between having too few and having too many. Frankly, I’m not sure which is worse.”
“I’d much rather have too many than too few,” I said.
Professor Hunt shook her head. “Does this mean your cash flow issues are all behind you?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“All those additional napkins slowly yellowing in storage represent resources that could have been deployed more effectively elsewhere. Not to mention creating unnecessary clutter.” Ouch. Gut punch.
“Come on, Professor.” Did I actually sound like a whiny little boy? “They’re pretty cheap, and they don’t take up all that much space.”
“If it was only napkins, I might agree they’re no big deal. But napkins are just one of dozens of items you need to stock. If you try the same strategy with all of them, you’ll decimate your cash flow and risk chaos in your storeroom.”
“What do you suggest?”
Professor Hunt ignored the question. “Let me tell you a story. Two brothers grew up in the hardware business. The older brother inherited their father’s shop and ran it like his father did. Having worked in the shop since he was a kid, he knew how to manage his inventory, set up display racks, and hire and fire staff.
“The younger brother set out on his own, opening his first hardware store soon after he graduated college. By age 60, he owned 25 stores with over a thousand employees. But then tragedy struck. A fire broke out in company headquarters, killing the younger brother and destroying all his documentation.”
Owen called out from the back of the room. “This is going somewhere, right Professor?”
“Are you in doubt, Owen? If you think I’m wasting your time, feel free to get your butt out of my class for the rest of the lesson.”
“That’s OK, Professor,” Owen squealed. “I’ll keep my butt right here.”
“And your mouth?”
“Shutting it, Professor.”
Artemis resumed. “Now, the younger brother’s corporation desperately needed a new leader. The widow suggested they call the older brother, who had retired just the year before. After all, the two had grown up in the business together; it was natural that one could step in for the other. So the older brother takes over and tries to run the 25-store operation just like he’d run his shop for fifty years. How do you think that went?”
“Pretty badly, I expect,” Owen said, failing to keep his mouth shut.
“Why?”
“Well, you can run a small operation by the seat of your pants. But it’s not like this guy can personally arrange all the display racks for 25 stores, manage all the inventory, and deal with all the staff himself. It’s like you said before about systems. The bigger you get, the more important they become, right?”
“That’s what everyone always says. When you get big, you need systems to manage it all,” Hunt said. “And they’re right, of course. The bigger you get, the more robust your systems must become. But there’s a problem with the statement. Anyone see it?”
When no one spoke, Professor Hunt continued. “What would happen if the scenario was flipped? There was no fire. Instead, after a successful career, the younger brother sells his hardware empire for a tidy sum. No sooner is he retired than his older brother dies. The family is distraught. Not only does the widow need the income, but the shop’s been in the family for close to a hundred years. So the younger brother takes over the shop, bringing with him all the systems he’d used to run his empire. What would happen to the small shop now?”
“It would probably grow,” Jenna said.
“What if the younger brother wasn’t interested in making it any bigger? In his later years, he’s happy running the one small shop. What would happen then?”
“He’d probably still grow his profits,” Meg said, “and he probably wouldn’t have to work as hard as his older brother or father had.”
“Precisely. The systems you build are the spine of your business. The stronger the systems, the stronger the business. That goes for big and small businesses alike.”
“So what should I do with my napkin question?” I asked.
“Though I do happen to have a PhD, I assure you a doctorate is not required to figure out how to reorder napkins. You work it out and report back next class on what you decided.”
With her bright red hair, Joanna was easy to pick out, even two blocks away. I spotted her that Friday night on my way back to the pizzeria, a little before 7 p.m., standing on a corner listening to a street performer playing sax. I was still half a block away when she pulled out a bill and dropped it into the open sax case. She waved goodbye to the musician and left, never turning my way.
My mental gears went into overdrive, and I drifted toward the musician. He was a scruffy beanpole, made even thinner by his black shirt and cargo pants.
“Having a good night?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Just got my first tip in fifteen minutes.”
“Sounds rough. I’ll give you $10 right now if you shift to playing in my pizzeria.”
“So you’re the student with the pizzeria? People have been talking about you, man. But much as I’d like to help out, $10 isn’t much. Things usually pick up out here once the bars start hopping.”
The idea of live music jazzing up the pizzeria was too good to pass up. I needed a win/win. “You’re welcome to keep your case open and continue playing for tips.”
A grin slowly crept up his coffee-and-cream cheeks. “Throw in a pie, and I’m there.”
“I’ll give you a slice every half hour. More incentive to stick around.” I held out my hand.
“Deal.” We shook on it.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Maurice.”
“Welcome to Jazz Night at The Leaning Tower, Maurice.”
“I hear I’m your mascot?”
I turned to find Joanna standing behind me. I was up on a stepladder, finally painting the air conditioning duct aquamarine. I’d started early Tuesday morning so it could dry before opening, and I’d left the door open so the place wouldn’t smell like paint. “Who told you that?”
“This intense Asian girl at my kickball game last night.”
That would be Meg. “You play kickball?”
“Intramural. My sorority played a match against the Society for Creative Anachronism, whatever that is. All I know is they had some mighty weird outfits and screamed their heads off on the rare occasion one of them made a play.”
Laughter made me lose my balance, and I had to grab onto the duct for support. “So you won?”
“We trashed them. But stop changing the subject.” Joanna crossed her arms. “Am I your mascot or not?”
“No, you’re not.” I painted over the handprint I’d left on the duct. “If you were our mascot, you’d see Joanna posters all over the place.”
“Then what am I exactly?”
While I’d wanted a real person as an avatar, I hadn’t planned on letting her know. But there was no going back now. “You’re my avatar.”
“What’s an avatar?”
I faced Joanna. “Did you ever try to make everyone happy? It’s always a disaster. You make a chili, and one guy complains it’s too mild, another that it’s too spicy. It’s better to aim to please just one person. At least, it is if you pick the right person.”
Joanna’s eyes narrowed. “And I’m your person?”
“You’re it.”
“I kind of like that.” Joanna sat on a chair and put her feet, pink sneakers and all, on the table. “A whole restaurant aiming to please me. You think if I’m a good enough avatar this could catch on? I could have an airline flying me wherever I want, with a stewardess to give me foot massages before takeoff.”
“You think too small. You could be the avatar for the U.N. The world could celebrate Joanna Day. Kids would get the day off school and be forced to watch There’s Something About Mary.”
Joanna dropped her feet from the table. “Seriously, though, why me?”
I shrugged. “I don’t really know. From the moment I saw you, I knew you were it. I can’t put my finger on exactly why.”
“Try anyway.”
I stepped down. Finishing my paint job would have to wait. “I like your vibe. You’re engaged. You’ve got crazy school spirit and totally threw yourself into the big game, but you were also doing your homework while having a slice. I could keep listing things, but the more I say, the more we’ll miss the point: you were just it.”
“So that’s why you offered me free pizza for life? So you could ask me whatever you want?”
I dropped into a chair opposite her. “Exactly.”
She waved her arms around the pizzeria. “And you just want to hear my feedback on everything you do?”
“On whatever you’d like to share.”
She pushed some curls away from her face as she looked around. “Painting the place aquamarine and putting up a picture of Harvey Reese and his signed jersey. Was that because of me?”
“Yep.”
She leaned in to face me. “And the jazz I heard playing when I passed the other day?”
“All you. Plus, Maurice is now playing sax here two nights a week.”
“Really? I love Maurice.”
I resisted the urge to tell her she’d led me to Maurice. If she thought I was following her, that would cross the line into creepy. “My gut tells me that if you like something, others will too. Certainly not everyone, but hopefully enough people to fill a pizzeria.”
“OK. I can dig this. And you know what? If I’m your ideal customer and I like being asked for my feedback, maybe others will like it too? Certainly not everyone, but hopefully enough Joanna wannabes to create a kick-ass pizzeria.”
“What are you saying?”
She pounded the table. “I’m saying I want a suggestion box. You know what? I’ll even make it for you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I love art projects.” She popped up and headed toward the door. “Besides, it’s the least I can do in exchange for all the free pizza I’m going to eat here. Speaking of which, I’ve got a super short lunch hour on Tuesdays. I can get here by 12:45. You think you could have my pizza ready and waiting?”
“Sure thing.” I smiled, laughing inside. “What would you like on it?”
“Bacon.”
“Sorry. We don’t have bacon.”
Joanna stood up to go, pure mischief written on her face. “But you will by lunchtime, right?” She skipped out before I could answer.
Meg created a devil.
