Friday, January 15, 2010
Stressful Pizzza, Calm Pizza.
When I was a student at City College, San Francisco, I worked at a pizza place. The job itself was pretty easy; seven tables, 6 seats at the bar, a constantly ringing phone. I had no problem keeping up with the work there.
The work environment was something else entirely, to say the least. The owner was Indian. He lived upstairs with his three kids, all under 10, his mom, his cousin and his cousin’s wife, who was Native American, vegetarian and LOVED mushrooms. Yes, mushrooms, the magical kind.
There was one Indian cook, a really old Pakistani dishwasher, a Brazilian cook and two Brazilian delivery guys.
My boss’ mom, everyone called “Buajee” would follow me around, certain I was going to steal something or cheat her son. She would scold the kids by pointing her fingers at them, yelling “choop”. They didn’t listen to her.
His older brother was the other delivery guy. He was nice, quiet. He had an x-wife and 2 kids. His kids were super cute and he was a good daddy.
The Brazilian cook ended up buying his own pizza place. No real interesting stories about him. The other cook went to work at the pizza place across the street, but I don’t know why. Seemed like the same job to me, just closer to the corner.
The dishwasher was interesting. Right before I started working there the dishwasher was a good looking Latin guy. My boss’ wife took a liking to him, got pregnant and moved to Fresno with the dishwasher and her new baby. From that moment on my boss vowed to only hire ugly old men as dishwashers. This old guy was OK. He didn’t pay too much attention to the front of the house. My friend Pasu told me that the dishwasher liked to tell him dirty jokes in Urdu and he was super lecherous. Whatever, he didn’t bother me.
The place was pretty stressful. Late at night when my boss would go to the bar down the street his bookie would come in and demand I take money out of the register to pay him. This freaked me out and got “Buajee” really mad. I don’t know why she was mad at me. She should have been mad at her gambling son.
My roommates were amused by him. My friend PC tried to convince Stanley he was psychic by always answering the phone “Hello Stanley” in the hopes that it would be Stanley. When Stanley did call and PC answered the phone that way it would totally freak Stanley out. For my friend EAW’s 25th b-day Stanley came over. Nobody invited him. He just showed up. Lucky us because the present we got her was fantastic and it really really freaked Stanley out. We got EAW a stripping clown. He wasn’t sexy or anything. He was a fat hairy guy with a hairy but. He stood in the middle of the kitchen playing a trumpet wearing nothing but a tiny piece of fabric between us and what God gave him. Stanley got a great view. He left immediately. The next day he handed me a note that said he wasn’t going to talk to me for one whole week.
Stanley was always at the restaurant. He would slip weird notes into my tip cup and claim they weren’t from him. He would follow my bus home in his cab. He would circle my block all the time. He would leave stolen electronics at my doorstep as gifts for me (sometimes his fares would pay him in stolen merchandise)...
Stanley was so creepy that I told my boss that I wouldn’t come to work anymore if Stanley were there. If he did show up I would walk out. My boss told Stanley not to show up anymore, so instead of coming in, he would stand at the front door and “pssst” my boss to come outside and talk to him.
There were some sad times, too. My boss went to India to find a wife. He did. When she came to the US she hated it so much. Rather than going back to India to face her family humiliated, she hanged herself in the bathroom.
To this day, whenever work gets too stressful I have “The Geneva Pizza Dream”. All of my tables are full. All of my customers are demanding. The phone keeps ringing. Either the pizza never comes up, or they all come up at once and I can’t get them to the tables. The keg needs tapped, all I get is foam, the keg is empty, etc.
Or, the one I had last night
Nice Pictures - Where'd you steal them from?
Some of the pictures in my blog were taken by a photographer called Julie Michele. Some of the pictures were either taken by me or someone I know. Some of the pictures were ripped right from the internet, mostly from google image searches from photographers to whom I may or may not give credit.
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