Today is my blog-free day. But I promised you at least a little something on Saturdays, so here it goes…
Today I worked hard at the restaurant and then came home and had pizza and watched a movie.
That’s it. Sometimes you just have days like that. Work. Pizza. Movie.
Sure, I wrote a tiny bit on the train. But that’s pretty much it.
Except for the pizza.
This pizza was homemade. While my Saturday night train gets me home too late to order pizza for delivery---it got me home early enough tonight to go ahead and make my own. Mmmm.
I recommend that everyone make homemade pizza. It’s simple to do, incredibly inexpensive, and WAY better than just about anything you can order in. The whole process, from making the dough, letting it rise and then making and baking a pizza only takes about an hour---and WAY less if you make the dough in advance.
My point?
The day after Easter, I had a night off. With no pizza dough in my icebox, I decided to treat myself and get one delivered. I don’t know why, but I chose Dominos. Not exactly a
I quickly set up an account and placed my order. Five minutes later, a screen popped up to show the progress of my order. The screen said, “Jesus began custom-making your order at 7:13 pm.”
I thought this was mighty nice of Jesus. Seeing that he just rose from the dead and all the day before. You’d think he’d have more important things to do. But, I must say, pretty nice of God to send his only Son to make my pizza.
Fifteen minutes later, Jesus was still working on that pizza. Either Jesus was really putting the love into my pie or he was The New Guy. Suddenly, a different stage of the pizza-making process popped up on my screen.
“Ramon, 39, is delivering your pizza.”
Twenty minutes later, I was still waiting for the thirty-nine year-old Ramon. I was hungry. Why couldn’t I have gotten seventeen year-old Fabian?
Finally, there was a ring---not my doorbell, but my cell phone.
“Hello?”
“Hola. Dominos.”
This was bad. You see, my building has two entrances. One entrance has the buzzer. The other does not. I notated this in the Dominos online order form. Told them to come to the other entrance.
Apparently, Ramon 39 did not receive this message.
“Go to the other entrance so I can buzz you in, “I explained.
“Que?”
This was not good.
“La otra entrada,” I replied and I gave him the street and address.
“Non ingles,” Ramon answered back.
Apparently, my Spanish sounds like English over the phone. I repeated the instructions back more fully in Spanish.
Ramon 39 hung up.
I waited a few moments for my buzzer to ring. Nothing. Was I getting my pizza or not? Bear in mind that at that moment, I was wearing a t-shirt, my pajama pants and no shoes. I was now going to have to get dressed and go downstairs looking for Ramon and my pizza.
I threw on some clothes and shoes, got into the elevator and went downstairs.
Almost ten minutes after the confused phone call, Ramon 39 was still standing there outside holding my pizza with a smile on his face. I started to think that Ramon 39 just might be a little “special”.
This entire process, from order till actual delivery, took almost an hour. And frankly, Jesus could’ve used a little extra sauce.
So tonight, in under an hour, I made my own pizza. It was delicious and with plenty of sauce. Sure, I’m not The Savior---but at least my pizza doesn’t taste like a communion host.
Oh yeah---and here’s a picture of my stupid foot.
Happy Saturday!
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