Mill Valley Jack in the Box, R.I.P.

Whenever you ride down Miller Ave you may notice a forlorn, out of place little building near Whole Foods that used to be a Jack in the Box fast food restaurant.


In recent years it's always seemed like a lonely place, a throw back to another era being visited by almost nobody. I, however, remember it when it was new. It's where I got my first real job.

When I was a high school junior all of my friends had flashy bikes. One even traveled to Italy to have one custom built for him. I wanted an Italian bike too. I'd even picked one out. It was a lime green Italvega


with a steel Columbus frame and a mix of Campagnolo,


Stronglight and Mafac components.


Very exotic, and for me, very expensive at $200 (today an equivalent bike would cost over $3000). So, in order to buy this bike, I needed to get a job.

One day, I decided to apply for a job at the Jack in the Box. I hopped on my beater bike and rode down from Homestead Valley. When I was about halfway there, it started to rain. I got soaked. I had a choice: continue on and apply for a job while all wet, or go back home and try again another day? I continued on.

When the manager saw me, he shook his head, smiled slightly and gave me an application. After I turned it in he told me that he didn't have any openings but would call me when one came up.

He called me back that night.

Later, he told me he hired me because anyone who was willing to ride his bike in the rain to apply for a job deserved to have one.

Anyway, I soon found myself working on Friday, Saturday and Sundays. Since I was the new guy I got all of the lousy shifts. On Fridays and Saturdays I worked from 6 p.m til 2 in the morning. Sometimes I worked from 7 p.m. til 3.

The store didn't do much business after 9, so I spent most of my shift cleaning up the store and restocking it for the next day by doing such things as slicing tomatoes, onions and lettuce.


For our safety, we locked the dining room at 10 p.m. It's a good thing we did, too, because the later it got, the stranger our customers were.

For one thing, we'd get a rush of customers every night (early morning, really) just after 2 a.m., which is when bars close. These customers were mostly from the nearest bar, the 2 A.M. Club. Let's just say that many of those people shouldn't have been driving.

One night, four high school boys walked up the entrance at around 11. We told them the dining room was closed. They left. A minute later, the bell sounded, indicating that there was a car waiting to place an order. We took the order, then waited for the car to drive up. There was no car. It was the boys.

The boys came up to the window in two rows of two as if they were in a car. They were all in a half crouch and the one closest to the window had his hands up as if he were holding a steering wheel. When we handed him his order, he pretended to roll down his window, handed us his money, reached up to get his food, handed it to the guy next to him, rolled up his window and, with his hands still holding the wheel and with his friends still in formation, "drove" off.

At around midnight each night another worker would show up for his 12 - 8 graveyard shift. His name was Matt. He was the same age as me. He eventually was elected class president at Tam and is now a prominent lawyer. Back then, he was kind of the class clown.

One night while I was in the back slicing tomatoes a customer walked up to the drive through window. I never saw him, for Matt took his order, but I did hear Matt's side of the conversation. It went something like this:

"Hi, can I help you?"

(unintelligible reply)

"Sorry man, I can't do that. How about a nice Jumbo Jack?"

(louder, but still unintelligible reply)

"Look, I'm really busy. Do you want some food or not?"

When I heard that, I came out of the back to see what was going on, but the customer was gone.

"What was that all about?", I asked Matt.

"It was nothing," replied Matt, "just some guy trying to rob us."

All in all, it was a pretty fun job. Learned how to cook real fast, work a cash register and deal with the public. These were all skills that would come in handy as I grew up. Oh, and I got paid, too. My wage? $1.65 per hour.