Last Sunday, Mrs. Pincus wanted pizza. Sometimes, during the week, I'll get a text from my wife asking if there would be "surprise pizza" when I arrive home from work. That is code for me to stop at the Little Caesar's Pizza that I pass and pick up dinner on my commute home. I have written of my love for all pizza and my declaration that there is no such thing as "bad pizza," so this subject will not be addressed here. If you have contrary feelings about pizza, please.... this is not the time. I have no problem with Little Caesar's Pizza. Yes, I know. it is shitty "chain store" pizza. I am well aware of that. I don't care. As I have stated before, it is pretty hard to fuck up crust, cheese and sauce. Okay? Okay.
Sunday is rarely "pizza day" at the Pincus house. But Mrs. Pincus wanted pizza and it was Sunday, so who was I to argue jumped in the car and drove over to the Little Caesar's Pizza that I pass on my usual route home from work. Mrs. P parked the car and I hopped out head to the entrance of Little Caesar's. Once inside, I was taken aback by the amount of people who had the same craving for pizza at the same time. The small customer area was packed with anxious folks. Some were queued up to the counter and others paced anxiously, waiting to be summoned for their already-placed order. I was surprised, because when I stop here on my way home from work, the place is empty and my order is ready in just a few minutes. I guess weekends — or maybe just Sundays — are a different story.
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I also noticed that there was one person on the other side of the counter. One. Just one. She was taking orders at the cash register. I could see past the service counter that the pizza preparation area was empty. Apparently, the young lady taking orders was the only employee on duty at this time. I stood in the queue line, quietly waiting behind three other customers, while two more folks took their places behind me. Several people milled around, fiddling with their smartphones while they waited for their respective orders. Three more people came in, interrupting the order-taker to ask if their order was ready. After two transaction with people in front of me were completed, the young lady — her face dusted with flour and remnants of tomato sauce on her apron — announced, "I'll be with you in a minute." Her statement was directed to everyone within the sound of her voice. She left the front counter and began assembling pizza boxes. At the same time she was eyeing the automated pizza oven and checking the orders displayed on a computer terminal above a stainless-steel prep table. The folks in the queue line shifted and collectively exhaled in frustration. The young lady extracted pizzas from the oven, set out dough and toppings, assembled and filled more pizza boxes — all by herself.
I sent a text to my wife waiting in the car. "This is crazy!," I typed, "My order hasn't been taken yet and there is ONE PERSON working."
Mrs. P replied: "Do you want to go somewhere else?"
"Yes." I responded, "Yes I do." I was already out the door as I typed the last word.
Note to self: Pizza on a weekday? Little Caesar's, please. Pizza on a Sunday? Try some place else.
I love shitty pizza, but I'm not standing in line for it.
Footnote: I got pizza from Little Caesar's since I wrote this story. It was a weeknight, so the place was customarily empty. However, it was taking a very long time for my order to be ready. When pizza was finally handed over, it was accompanied by an apologetic 2 liter bottle of Pepsi. This was Little Caesar's way of "making good" on a lengthy wait time. Pepsi, I will tell you, is never a good way to apologize, but I understood the sentiment. When I got home, The pizza was undercooked. The giant glob of cheese was closer to the consistency of the weather stripping that runs along the bottom of my front door than anything remotely edible. The crust was not crisp and very bready. Luckily, we rediscovered a neighborhood pizza place that will be getting our business from now on. I'm going there in a few minutes, as a matter of fact.
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