Job #6: pizza pizza and the fall of Rome

Returning to Modesto from my first year at SJSU, I would’ve preferred to go back to Tony Roma’s. But the coveted waiter role was unavailable; the fame, money, and women I sought would have to wait. So I snagged a job at Little Caesars.

Contrary to popular belief, the fall of Rome was not brought about by ransacking Visigoths in the 4th century. No. It was brought about that summer of 1996 by my inability to take effective orders. Try as I did to keep the vandals appeased, the four phones rang incessantly. When not rescuing pies from the furnace oven to hack them apart and slide them into boxes, I answered the phones and tried to follow the script. “Square or round?” “Do you have a coupon?” “Would you like Crazy Bread with that?” Smelling of flour and burnt cheese, I’d often get an unclaimed pie at the end of a shift. I’d get in my buddy’s car and we’d head off to Concert in the Park. Smoking cigarettes and mingling with old high school friends, I’d furtively swig a 40-ounce Mickey’s to numb the pain of my seared fingers.

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