April 2005

« March 2005 | Main | June 2005 »

Spring has Sprung!

Filed under: Imported

A few signs that spring has arrived on the Streets of Pizza:


Everybody has their windows open-
The other night I was on the sidewalk after delivering some Hot & Fresh when I overheard what I assume was one side of a very loud phone conversation. It wasn't very hard to hear, since this girl had all of her windows open and was yelling at the top of her lungs.
"I'M FUCKING PREGNANT! I'M PREGNANT. I'M. PREG-NANT.
NO, YOU LOOK, I'M FUCKING PREGNANT... NO...NO, I DO NOT
FUCK A DIFFERENT GUY EVERY NIGHT. I... NO, THAT WAS JUST ONCE.
THAT WAS... I WAS DRUNK, OK? I ONLY FUCKED HIM...
NO, IT'S YOURS.
IT'S YOURS.
IT'S YOURS.
IT'S YOURS.
DON'T GIVE ME THAT...
YOU PUT YOUR DICK IN ME.
YOU PUT YOUR DICK IN ME.
You put. YOUR. DICK. IN. ME.
FUCK YOU!"

All the Mexican Dudes Are Outside Fixing Their Cars-
I must have seen twenty instances of this on Sunday alone.
Those cats really have my respect for tearing their cars apart right on the street (much like pizzamen have been known to do) and doing the job themselves. The scene usually consisted of three or four guys sitting around a car that's either up on blocks or on the ramps, having a few beers and trying to figure out how the fuck the brake assembly on a '87 Accord goes back together.

Shirtless Guys-
Once the temperature gets above 65 degrees, the Streets of Pizza turn into an episode of "Cops".
Every other delivery, it seems, some dude comes to the door shirtless. Fat guys with their guts hanging out, skinny guys with nearly-visible heartbeats, man-boobed guys displaying their B-cups, they come to the door half naked and greet me like nothing's wrong.
I kind of feel like saying "That'll be $20.23, please. Ever think about shaving off all that nipple hair, buddy?"
Unfortunately, this trend doesn't seem to be catching on with the members of the fairer sex...

Posted by The Pizza Man at April 12, 2005 1:04 AM

 

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

Filed under: Imported

After a period of mourning for my deceased pizzacar, I decided it was time to "move on".
So I hesitantly started looking for another pizzacar...

Wait a minute, scratch that, hold on... that's not how it went at all.

Actually, after my previous pizzacar crapped out, I spent several days feverishly calling on every cheap-ass used car I could. I bummed rides from various friends to take me to various suburbs, to look at various "creampuffs". Finally, I found a real gem in Forest Lake. The only problem was it was in Forest Lake... thirty miles away. But thanks to a ride from "The World's Most Decent Human", I was soon behind the wheel of my new pizzacar.
Now, I shall return to the Streets of Pizza triumphant!


I would like to thank all of my friends and family who helped me through this troubled time. I would also like to thank SoP readers who wrote in with their prayers and kind words. And a special thanks goes to City Pages HMFiC, Steve Perry, who wrote a fine letter of condolence and sent a nice fruit basket.

Finally, an extra-special thanks goes out to this ex-pizzaman who
offered to sell me his pizzacar. I almost took him up on the offer,
but couldn't meet my connection.

FOR SALE:
1 used pizza car:
1993 Mazda 323, 174,000 miles
-Bad ball joints
-Bad suspension
-Two cracks in windshield
-Locks don't work
-Bald rear tires
-Black hole in drivers seat
-One windshield wiper
-Tape deck useless
-Bad right-front speaker
-Dented and rusty
-Smells like wet dog
-Very reliable!

Yours for $50 or a bag of weed

Posted by The Pizza Man at April 7, 2005 2:15 PM

 

SoP Mailbag: Three Encores, The Slow Count and a Few Future Trips to MAACO

Filed under: Imported

While delivering to a teenage beer bash, this man of the road
employs the 'ol Pizzaman trick "The Slow Count"
and exacts his revenge with a Roosevelt:


Dear Pizzaman,

I delivered pizza for five years for a Domino's. I don't live in MPLS so
you'll never know where this occured thanks to the anonymous power of the
internet. I was playing in a local band on a Friday and we were hot that
night. We got asked to play three encores, it was a great night.

The next night, I'm working and get a call to deliver to a house. I go there
and there's plenty of kids and beer but no adult supervision. So it goes.
The pizza came to $11.15 lets say and just as the guy starts to give me the
money another young gentleman elbows his way, literally, to the door.

"I want to pay him! I want to pay him!" say the young man with the
enthusiasm of an eight year old. Who really gets that much of a charge out
of paying for a pizza?

So he takes the money from his friend and hands it to me, saying, "Give me
the change back ALL of it."

I have no problem with this. Although I'm delivering to a middle class
suburb, I'm used to getting no tip sometimes. That's life. So I count him
the change back. Nice and slow.

"5, 10, 15," I begin.

It's November and it is cold out. I am dressed in my rather flashy orange
parka and he is wearing a T-shirt.

"25, 50, 55..."

I can take the cold a lot better than he can. He's shivering. He tries to
get me to hurry up.

"C'mon, c'mon..." he stammers, his hands tightly in his armpits.

"Oh, you made me lose count. Ok, 5, 10, 15..."

He wants the money. He wants all of it. So now he's waiting. With every
snort or sub-lingual noise, I look back at him threatening to lose count
again." He keeps silent for what seemed like a long time.

Finally, I give him the change. All of the change.

"Thanks. Have a good night, LOSER" And then he laughs.

He goes back inside the house. In there is warmth and beer and friends. Out
here is nothing but anger. I imagine that I grabbed and twisted his
testicles underneath the bag when I handed it to him.
I imagine that I have a discussion with him where I point out that I have a
girlfriend and I will be having sex when I get home, much in the way that he
undoubtably won't. I have my own car, a cool loft apartment and a great
band. Did I mention the three encores the night before?

So out of my pocket I pull a dime. That's (the tip) I get from a (regular customer)
when I deliver two pizzas to them on a Friday night. That's what the change
works out to and that's what they give me, every Friday, on an order over $20.

I hold that dime in my hand. Which car is that fuckers?

So many cars line the driveway.
How will I ever know which car is the right one?

I realize with some reservation that I will never know. I will never know
which car belongs to that motherfucker. I will never know which exact car to
exact my vengence on.

I walk down the driveway and casually run the dime down the side of all of
the cars. No one can see. No one will know until tomorrow. And, most
importantly, no one can prove anything.

I have other stories where I'm not
such an asshole.

sincerely,

(name withheld to protect the guilty)


---

Got a story from the Streets of Pizza?
Your band called back for three encores?
Tell me about it:
Pizzaman@citypages.com

Posted by The Pizza Man at April 1, 2005 1:10 AM

 

« March 2005 | Main | June 2005 »