March 2005

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Pizzacar - R.I.P.

Filed under: Imported

Prizm, Geo - age 15 (103,000 miles), of Minneapolis, on March 23rd.
Tireless pizzacar with 12 months of service. Survived by loving owner
of 1 year, The Pizzaman. Preceded in death by brothers, Honda (Accord);
Toyota (Camry) and Ford (Taurus).
Born in California in 1990, Prizm relocated to northern Minnesota
where he spent 14 years of dutiful service for one Ellie Gracebaum.
Upon Ms Gracebaum's incarceration, Prizm moved to Minneapolis to
serve as a Pizzacar. 
Prizm acted as sober cab for many a drunk, had a sweet stereo and
never failed to start in the winter.
Representatives from Oswalt's Auto Repair declared a "fucked differential" as the cause of death.
In Lieu of flowers, the Pizzaman will be accepting tips.

Services will be held at Big Chicks Auto Wrecking at 3pm Wednesday, March 30th.



In better days...

Posted by The Pizza Man at March 28, 2005 9:27 AM

 

I Got 99 problems But a Bitch Ain't One

Filed under: Imported

"If you're havin' girl problems I feel bad for you son
I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one"
-Jay-Z
"99 Problems"



It's been a tough road for the Pizzaman the last couple of weeks. As you can see, I haven't posted for several days.
This has been due to the fact that I've been in Pizzacar Hell.

 It all started about a month or so ago when my brakes started to make that very special noise which indicates that a brake job is imminent. I put it off for a couple of days in order to raise the capital for the trip to the mechanic. (usually I'd take a crack at the job myself, but it was still pretty cold and I didn't feel like wrenching on my car out in the street in 20 degree weather) After a few days of granny driving and babying the brakes, I brought the pizzacar to my mechanic. Now, as a Pizzaman, I make a quite a few trips to the wrenchman and for 5 years I've been going to the same mechanic. The people at the garage have always been fair, fast and accommodating. They did the brake job in a few hours (cost: $160) and I was back on the road, headed to your doorstep once again.

Unfortunately, a few days after the brake job, I started hearing some noise coming from my front-end whenever I'd take a left. I worked the next three days to raise the money to make a return trip to the garage. I brought the car in and it was diagnosed with a bad CV joint. In fact, both of the CV's were shot. I told my mechanic to replace the one that was bad, leave the other one and I'd fix it in a few weeks. They called a couple of days later saying the car was fixed. (cost: $300)

But it wasn't.

The first left turn I made resulted in the same noise, only it was worse. I called the garage back and they said to bring it in on Monday. So I spent the next two days driving around, making my deliveries with the minimal amount of left-hand turns. I had to map out my delivery routes in a clockwise manner to maximize the rights and minimize the lefts. The one-way streets were really a pain in the ass. I had to circle around, sometimes 3-4 blocks out of my way to avoid the left-hand turn. But somehow, I managed to get the job done.

On Monday I returned the car to the shop, they said it was the other CV joint and it would be a couple of days until it was done.
I had to scramble to get some money together.
 I counted the cash I had on hand, cashed in my change jar, made a few calls and put together a financing plan with my money people.
 My garage called to say the car was fixed. This time, I made one of the garage employees drive the car and upon turning left for the first time, the noise screeched out once again.
So for the next week, my car sat at the garage while they tried to figure out what was wrong with it.

Meanwhile, I was on the phone trying to borrow a car or get my shifts covered.
A few kind friends lent me their cars for a few shifts (thanks RJ and AS!) and my pizza brethren stepped up to take on my lost shifts.
Finally, my mechanic called to say that the differential in my car was shot and it wouldn't be worth repairing.

Fanfuckingtastic.

So currently, I'm sidelined.
My old pizzacar sits behind my mechanics garage and I'm searching for a replacement.
I've been working the phone, calling on used cars, trying to land one before my next shift.

Cars.com
Carsoup.com
The Auto Shopper
The Star-Tribune
The Pioneer Press
Craigslist.com
Used car lots.
I've tried them all, with very few promising leads.
And the fact that I have to rely on my friends to cart my ass around to
look at any of these cars makes the process frustrating.

As of right now, I'm carless and waiting for my one my pizza brethren to
bring me to Golden Valley to look at yet another high-mileage jalopy.

I hope to return to the Streets of Pizza (and streetsofpizza.com)
triumphant, with new wheels, as soon as possible.

 
"Got no money and you got no car
Then you got no women and there you are"
-Young MC
"Bust A Move"


Got a used car for less than $2000?
email The Pizzaman:
Pizzaman@citypages.com

Posted by The Pizza Man at March 26, 2005 3:43 PM

 

Maybe they're morally handicapped

Filed under: Imported

Here's a list of cars driven by the last 13 able-bodied fuckers that parked in the handicapped zone in the BS Pizza parking lot:

1 - Ford Explorer
2 - Chevrolet Tahoe
3 - Saab 9-3
4 - Honda Accord
5 - Pontiac Grand Am
6 - Mercedes ML 350
7 - Chrysler Town & Country
8 - Honda Accord
9 - Chevrolet Caprice
10 -Toyota Pick-up
11 - Ford Taurus Wagon
12 - Cadillac Escalade (!)
13 - Chevrolet Suburban

At least 4 of these people had yellow ribbon
stickers on the backs of their cars.

I guess their attitude is "Hey, I support our troops.
Unless they got their legs shot off and are trying
to find somewhere to park their handicap-van".

Posted by The Pizza Man at March 20, 2005 11:36 PM

 

SoP Mailbag: My Favorite Car Crash

Filed under: Imported

A former Pizzaman writes in with a tale of a hunk of Detroit steel vs a motorized rollerskate:

Dear Pizzaman,

I spent about five years on the pizza road and managed only three serious collisions. The best of these involved my 1978 Mercury Grand Marquis against a Geo Prizm. A total mismatch.
 
It was a busy night, and I'll admit I was in a bit of a hurry. Total pain in the ass delivery: downtown, illegally parked, slow elevator, slow customer. I shagged my ass back to the car and fired her up. The pizza gods had smiled upon me in one small way: there was nothing ahead but a string of green traffic lights. "Great," I thought. "Gun it."
 
Fifty yards onward, as I crossed Ninth Street, I began to wonder, "Why the fuck is there all of this cross traffic?" I managed to dodge the first couple of cars that streamed past. The third car I nailed squarely on its right rear wheel, sending it down the road like a poorly thrown frisbee. I remember a tremendous bang and a shower of sparks as the Geo spun itself out, fully half a block from the point of impact.
 
I lurched out of the Merc and immediately went into full Al Pacino mode, wild-eyed and paranoid. It had really become a Sidney Lumet movie at this point: on every corner, dozens of gawkers had materialized from nowhere, no doubt attracted by the concussive racket and the prospect of gore. "There's no red light!" I screamed as I pointed toward the traffic signal. By this time, "my" light had actually turned green. We all watched silently, expectantly, as it changed to yellow .  . . and then went blank.

No charges were filed.
 
(Name withheld for Rock 'n' Roll reasons)


-- -- -- -- -- -- -


Got a story from the Streets of Pizza?
Send it in:
Pizzaman@citypages.com

Posted by The Pizza Man at March 17, 2005 8:08 AM

 

Google: The Pizzaman's crystal ball?

Filed under: Imported

I was just checking the Streets of Pizza referer stats and
I noticed that I've gotten 20+ hits today from the
Jay Farrar bulletin board. I've always been a fan of Farrar and
his bands Uncle Tupelo and Son Volt. It's good to see Farrar fans
are also friends of the Pizzaman. Although I have no proof, I
have a hunch (Pizzaman's intuition?) that Mr Farrar himself
has the SoP bookmarked.
 
I also got two hits (pardon the pun) from someone who Googled
"stoned to the bejesus belt"

Last week, someone got to the site by Googling
"driving on busted CV joints"... then my CV joints went to
Hell.
With any luck, this week, I'll be "stoned to the bejesus belt"


Damn, I wish someone would get to the Streets of Pizza
by Googling "Pizzaman wins lottery".

Posted by The Pizza Man at March 15, 2005 12:03 PM

 

Minnesota Nice

Filed under: Imported

Everybody talks about the so-called "Minnesota Nice", but every day on the Streets of Pizza I encounter some Minnesotans that aren't very "nice". Now, most of my pizza-loving customers are fine folk, they say "Please" and "Thank you", they make the transaction at the door, they go on with their lives. But some people... well, often they're "nice" to your face, but once you somehow dis their "niceness" (even in the slightest way) or once they get behind closed doors, it's a whole different story:

I was on my way to my first delivery the other day when I came upon the dreaded "Minnesota Traffic Jam". I pulled up to an intersection, a four way stop. There was a Camry across the intersection, facing me and a Saturn to my right. The two occupants were engaged in the classic "Minnesota Traffic Jam", which is where two people sit at a stop sign and tell the other to go first. They wave and motion to each other.
"No, you go."
"No, you go."
"No, you."
Now, I could see these two cars engaged in this thoroughly midwestern activity about a half of a block away.
So I pulled up to the intersection and waited.
"No, you go."
"No, you go."
"No, you."
I sat there and counted to ten.
"One Mississippi, two Mississippi..."
I was thinking to myself "I'm going to wait this one out".
They just sat there.
"No, you go."
"No, you go."
"No, you."
Finally, I was tired of waiting for these two farmers.
"Fuck it, I'm going"
I started across the intersection.
I turned to my right and looked at the guy in the Saturn.
He gave me the finger.
Oh, how Minnesotan, so nice of you, buddy... thanks.
I looked over at the Camry.
There was a 50ish woman who was scowling at me and shaking her head.
Oh, you too, lady.
I continued without guilt.


Later on that day, I'm delivering a greasy wheel to an apartment at  XXXX Passive/Aggressive Avenue. I ring the bell and this guy comes out from his apartment, which is right next to the entryway and answers the door. He's in his early-30's, I'd guess, he's skinny and wearing some cycling gear.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"It'll be $15.20, please."
He hands me a check and an I.D..
I'm thinking that this transaction will be easy, he's got all his shit together.

He hands me the check and the I.D..
I take a look.
The check has a girl's name on it.
I look at the I.D..
It's got a picture of a sturdily built, blond-haired woman on it and the same name as the check.
"I can't accept this check."
"Why not?"
"Because you're obviously not (the woman's name)"
"Whaddya mean?"
"I mean, this isn't you. If (she) writes a check, I have to see (her)."
"What? Fffppt. Whatever...  I'll get her."
He stomps back into the apartment.
I hear him say "Hey, he needs to see you... I dunno..."
Then a hear a woman's voice, she going apeshit.
"WHAT?! HE WANTS MY I.D.?
I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS SHIT!
WHAT THE FUCK?! THIS IS RIDICULOUS!"
Great. Just fucking great. My heart drops. I get that special sense of dread that one gets before they must encounter the deranged.
Now, I realize this must suck. Seriously, if I was lying on the couch, ordering pizza,
I wouldn't want to get up if I didn't have to. But, on the other hand, I wouldn't write a check.
And if I did, I'd know enough to actually present myself if it was my check.
I mean, c'mon, really, you expect me to accept a check from some guy with a woman's I.D.?
Shit, he very well could have stolen your purse, baby. (Stolen checks are something I encounter quite frequently on the Streets of Pizza) After a few moments, skinny, dirty-blond woman comes to the door. She looks like her warranty expired many miles ago.
"Look" I say, "I'm sorry you had to come out. I just..."
"Oh, that's OK!" she chirps, "No problem".
She smiles.
"I just..."
"No really, no problem at all".
She shows me her I.D., I nod, she takes the pizza and without a word, slams the door. I linger in the entryway for a few seconds. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT HIS DEAL WAS." I hear the woman say, safely back in her apartment. "WHAT A LITTLE ASSHOLE". Hold on a second, honey. Asshole?
Yeah, I'll admit to being an asshole in my personal life, but not on the Streets of Pizza and I was certainly not an asshole to you. I was polite, apologetic and sweet as a peach.
Asshole?
Thanks. Thanks a fucking lot.

Minnesota Nice?
Kiss my ass.

Posted by The Pizza Man at March 14, 2005 2:08 PM

 

SoP Mailbag: Don't Fuck With Hillbilly Dave

Filed under: Imported

Although technically not a Pizzaman, this dude
writes in with the tale of "Dave The Pizzaman":


Dear Pizzaman,

 I was in the pizza game for about 12 years, I was an Inside man. Later I was management, but how I longingly would watch the D-Men plot their circuitous routes and cash them in at the end of the night, jealous of their flight from the phones at 5:15 on a Friday night and the cash in their pockets at the end of the shift.

 My favorite driver was probably the most unintentionally funny person I have ever known. For my purposes here I will call him Dave. Dave was a hulking brute of a man, about 6'7" and easily 300 pounds. Dave was a member of the steadily shrinking redneck contingent of our delivery area. He was functionally illiterate, had poor hygiene and smoked so much dope that he would honestly forget where he was going and have to call the store to be reminded that the address was on the pizza. I liked Dave from the moment I met him and hired him without an interview.

 Dave drove Plymouth Horizons. I can distinctly remember about 4 of them in the three years he worked for me. I can still remember the noise that his last blue Horizon made when Dave would step out of it. In removing his 300 pound load the car make a very happy squeak with a distinct high note at the very end. I imagine that car would also shutter when it saw Dave coming. He was so familiar with the mechanisms of the Horizon that he could, and did, readily fix any problem at all in about a half hour. The guys at AutoZone knew him by name.

 My favorite Dave story is when some poor misguided fool tried to rob Dave on a Motel 6 delivery. I was first aware of trouble when I got a call from the Manager of Motel 6, which was almost right across the street, saying that my driver had assaulted one of his guests. I wouldn't put anything past Dave, he had a certain "country sensibility" that made ideas and circumstance which I would consider NUCKING FUTZ almost pedestrian. However, he did not have a mean bone in his body. While I had once watched him deliberately jump a curb in his Horizon to watch people at a bus stop scatter in terror, the idea of a deliberate assault seemed too unfunny to be the entire story.

I had the Assistant Manager watch the store and I walked to the Motel 6, and there, with a 6 inch gash in his head gushing copious amounts of blood onto his Def Leppard bandanna, was an amazingly calm Dave.

In a bloody twitching heap in the parking lot was a cracked-out would be thief who got much more than he had bargained for. Seems that when Dave rounded a corner to go to the room, this guy had hit Dave in the head with a 4 foot long 2x4 with A NAIL IN IT. The nail actually pierced Dave's skull right between the eyes to a depth of 1/4 an inch. As the Paramedics and Police started to arrive, I asked Dave to tell me again what happened. With diction, clarity, vocabulary and tempo I had never heard from Dave before, he relayed the same story again with the Police listening, blood still flooding from the jagged edges of the wound right in the middle of his head. I asked him what happened next, and Dave said "That's when I got pissed!"  Seems Dave took care to set is deliver bag down very nicely on the sidewalk and proceeded to beat the crap out of (and later I found out, rob) this junkie who inadvertently picked the worst man in the world to hit with a 2x4. Before I got there, Dave had managed to STILL DELIVER THE PIZZAS!!

 I did the only thing I could, I gave Dave Employee of the Month and a fifth of Wild Turkey, the only thing he would drink. Dave later quit when I had to start hassling him about being late all the time. I don't think he ever knew how genuinely fond of him I was. I wonder where he is in this world, and I hope that he finds a women and a new Horizon now and then.

 
Sincerely,

(name withheld for political reasons)

--

Thanks to all the Pizzamen who've been sending in
stories from the mean Streets of Pizza.
I'll be posting more readers' stories in the near future.


Got a whack story from the Streets of Pizza?
Send 'em in:
Pizzaman@citypages.com

Posted by The Pizza Man at March 8, 2005 1:25 PM

 

Bad Day... on second thought, not so bad

Filed under: Imported

I thought I was having a bad day, until I saw this unfortunate Pizzaman.
Then I didn't feel too bad.


...but is it fake, or is it real?

Any guesses?

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

--

Update: Fake.

According to this, the clip
was produced by the Victorian Traffic
Accident Commission in Australia.

Also, an ex-Pizzaman wrote in with
a vote for fake, reasoning that,
"When people are struck by cars and
sent airborne, their shoes fly off. Sometimes
farther than the poor bastard in that video."

Posted by The Pizza Man at March 5, 2005 5:34 PM

 

One Toke Over the Line, Sweet Jesus

Filed under: Imported

Some nights on the Streets of Pizza you notice things, then you notice them again and again at different
houses on the same night. For instance, last week I had a night where I saw no less than 5 Ansel Adams
prints on customers walls. Last fall, I had a night where I delivered to 6 different lava-lamp owners.
Odd coincidences, weird observations.

Last night, I noticed an inordinate amount of drug stashes and paraphernalia in the homes of Pizzalovers. It seemed every other delivery I made was to some stoner who left their drug kit in plain sight. Now, I deliver to stoned people every night and usually they will make an attempt to hide their dirty paraphernalia, they'll shove it behind a mug or under their coffee table, but the blatant display of paraphernalia last night was quite remarkable.

There were a couple guys with a bubbler, a girl with a "Hello Kitty" sticker on her glass pipe, some dude with a giant bong sitting right on his end table and several people with dugouts and/or pinchies.
One dude kept his pipe and a film canister in a small tupperware container.
Another had several One-Hitters (the faux cigarette, the classic brass and
a mini blue-aluminum job) neatly placed in a check box lined with green felt.
I even saw the 'ol toilet paper roll with the tin foil bowl.
Most of these people were slackers in their twenties, but several were very average, middle-class, middle-aged people who apparently enjoy smoking a little MJ after work. I noticed the middle-classers seem to have nicer, neater drug boxes and paraphernalia than the slackers and they usually try not to let one on that they're under the influence of the Sweet Leaf. There's this guy that I deliver to quite often who always comes to the door in an untucked white shirt and black slacks with an ID badge hanging from his neck. He always orders around 6:30. He always seems tired. He's 40ish, a little paunchy, usually grumpy. I would guess that he works in some white collar capacity. He tips exactly $2. But about every 10th delivery he comes to the door with heavy lids and red eyes. He always puts on his best "I'm not baked" act for me. But there's no foolin' The Pizzaman, dude. I know, I see it every night. The funny thing is, he always tips me $4 when he's stoned.
I think he's trying to buy my silence.

Generally, the slackers deal with the pizza transaction better than the middle-classers. However, last night, one high-ass could not get his shit together. He didn't hear the doorbell, he couldn't figure out how to unlock his door, couldn't find his wallet.
It was a total drag.
Finally, he found his wallet and came to the door. I told him his total ($14.90) and he pulled a 20 from
his wallet... then handed me his wallet.
I looked at him.
"I think you want to give me the 20, right?"
"Oh, yeah." he said, switching hands, giving me the 20. "Sorry dude. Um, here. Keep it. Thanks."
That guy bought himself $5.10 worth of forgiveness.

But basically the same scene repeated itself over and over, all night: the customer would come to the door,
eyes at half-mast, hand me some money, give me that "I'm baked" grin and thank me repeatedly.
At one stop, I asked a stoned-out group of guys;
"So what are you boys up to tonight?"
"Just workin' up an appetite." the guy on the couch replied, taking a hit.
God Bless you boys.

And so it went.
Another night on the Streets of Pizza.
Thanks Stoner Dudes.
You tipped me, on average, 22.67% more than other customers.

-- The Pizzaman


Do you have a drug box?
Pull it out of your underwear drawer,
take a picture of it and send it to me:
Pizzaman@citypages.com

Posted by The Pizza Man at March 3, 2005 3:00 AM

 

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