So I’m poor right? (right), and I live in the Twin Cities. My interests include writing and acting. This fits right in with being poor. Unfortunately I enjoy eating as well and that brings up a conflict. I can only assume I was drawn to work at a local pizza place because of how utterly absurd it is. It’s as if God himself said “Aw snap, this is some strange shit goin down…Someone’s gotta see this,”
So, get this shit…
The hiring process was atrocious. Essentially it was me applying online and receiving a promising phone call about 3 weeks after…almost long enough to have forgotten entirely what it was I applied for. So I’m all set to call it quits and move back home but the Pizza Place called Scene: Paramedics giving CPR to some nearly dead Hope. All “Hang in there buddy! It’s gonna be okay!” Meanwhile Hope is all strung out on cheap vodka and dry macaroni. Bastards
On the day of the interview I walk in all professional, greeted by grim faces on the other side of the counter, save one. The Boss. The Boss pulls me into his office and starts the chat. I use the word office in the same sense as I used the word fort when I was 5. This place is about the size of a broom closet, partially occupied by a large desk, a file cabinet, and some actual brooms.
We get past the standard intros, the names and places of origin and falsely excited exchange of “Oh yeah, I know where that is.” The Boss is young, maybe mid thirties at the oldest, and desperately in need of a friend. At this point I’m thinking he has his eye set on me. As we’re going along sharing forced laughs, we arrive to the actual interview questions. We then skip them. One of two things happened here. Either this was a premature “jumping of the shark” (Come on, you’ve seen Happy Days) in an attempt to win me over, or this fellow knows I was lying the whole time anyhow.
Regardless, next was a rousing game of phone tag. Admittedly there are usually two players calling each other in this game, so I suppose it was just me calling everyday for about 4 days trying to figure out what I should do now that I had been hired. My Hope relapsed and lay dead on the floor, I decided to eat a pizza in mourning…and that store is like 5 min from my house.
I walk in having ordered online cause I’m done with calling that place, and the Boss greets me with a simple “hey”. And I’m all suddenly indignant thinking “What the hell man! I spent like 45 min with you in a broom closet and you won’t even return my phone calls? Now it’s like we haven’t even met?” However, recognition washes over him and he calls me back to his office…my pizza sit on the heat rack.
More chatting and friendly banter later I learn that the email was down. Oh noes…not the e-mail. There is no other reasonable form of communication in the world of Pizza People apparently. So he begins sending e-mails and looking in files for something I should have received about a week ago and filled out already so I could attend Pizza Class the following Saturday, narrating himself the whole time. Thankfully I have the perfect seat to watch this from, the only other chair that fits in his office. My stomach growls.
He asks if my car is here for inspection as I will be delivering, and thanks to the copious amount of ice, snow, and subsequent dumbs moves based on those first two in Minnesota I have knocked off my side-view mirror. A dangling side-view mirror is like a tramp stamp for a car, a mark of expected personality. I asked if it could be delayed until I had a chance to fix it. “No prob” says the Boss…I can only assume it’s cause we’re such good buds.
So, after much hassle I filled out the last of my online paperwork and attended class…
