By Harry Wendelken

Friends, Little Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;

I come to bury Little Caesar, not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred in the dumpster with all the pizzas that have sweated in the hotbox for too long;

So it is here with this understaffing. The noble Store Manager, Connor,

Hath told you that Little Caesar was ambitious in thinking four people could close on a Friday night:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault, forgetful of the dinner rush,

And grievously shall Little Caesar answer for it when he has to give free custom pizzas to apologize for long wait-times.

Here, under leave of the store manager and the rest–

For Connor is an honourable man;

So are they all, all honourable men–

Come I to speak in Little Caesar’s funeral.

He was my friend, always giving me my due 8.50 an hour:

But Connor says he was ambitious;

And Connor is an honourable man.

He hath given you many garbage pizzas that sweated too long in the hotbox,

Whose grease and cheese did our stomachs fill:

Did this in Little Caesar seem ambitious?

When the large orders hath been made for the birthdays of children, Little Caesar hath wept:

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:

Yet Connor says he was ambitious;

And Connor is an honourable man.

You all did see that on the eve of Christmas

I thrice presented him an offer to stay after my shift had ended,

Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?

Yet Connor says he was ambitious;

And, sure, he is an honourable man.

I speak not to disprove what Connor spoke,

But here I am to speak what I do know.

You all did love him once, not without cause:

What cause withholds you then, to be pissed at him for understaffing?

O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,

And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;

My heart is in the dumpster there with Little Caesar,

And I must pause till it come back to me.