I hadn't ordered yet. Sweat was already running down my face as it had been all morning. The agony involved made me instantly pity the poor slob who had to slave in front of that sweltering pizza oven all summer long. There were suddenly worse fates than construction, though it was hard to fathom.
"You next?" the dripping young Italian man asked me.
"No. He was here first," I said, nodding towards a kid who looked far too young to drive. I was on the clock and had to be back to work by half-passed, but fair is fair regardless of age. Junior stepped forward to the counter, reached up to lay a few singles in front of the register, and looked Guido in the eyes as if he were about to say something profound.
"Corner slice of Sicilian, please," the boy said sincerely, more telling than asking.
"Sorry. We're all out of corners. I have a middle piece, though."
"No thank you," replied the youngster in a tone just as humble as if he'd received a positive response. The about-face came before the dough-slinger or the plumber in front of him had time to fully comprehend what'd happened. The two of us watched as he mounted his ten-speed and pushed off with his right foot.
"Can you believe that kid?" my confused cohort asked. "Rode his bike all the way here in this heat for nothing."
"Yeah, I can," I answered after considering the question for three brief seconds. "He's not one for settling. Let me have that middle piece."
A drop of sweat fell from the tip of the pizza man's nose as he looked at me unconvinced. He'd never understand so I didn't bother trying.
The crust was burnt. I never went back.
No comments:
Post a Comment