My second or first job was at Little Cesar's pizza. I had to wear black pants, a Little Cesar's polo-type shirt and a stupid hat. They wouldn't let me wear my chain wallet "Because the girls can't wear jewelery" (???) it was within bike riding distance and I kept forgetting to pick up my checks on payday.
ANYWAY.
I was in my second week of training (this particular week was "Phone Week"!) and my "phone coach" was Chris: the effeminate guy with a heavy lisp ("Thank you for calling little Thetherth Peetha would you like to try our Cheetherth Pleetherth Thepthal? Now you try.") Needless to say I hated answering phones. I mean, come on, I was 15, my voice cracked and I had to say "Cheeser Pleaser" to complete strangers every 2 minutes. Now, it may come as a total shock to you, but (wait for it..) I got picked on in high school. A lot. And I'm sure, like most of you, the animosity came from the "cool" athletic kids; in particular this kid Chad Scheele and some other assholes I can't remember.
Anyway, here I am, standing in front of a dough encrusted telephone, wearing my special dork smock, waiting for some jerk to call and order a pizza. The phone rings, I pick it up and for some reason, hesitate to say my stupid "Blah blah blah Cheeser Pleaser blah blah blah this is Ian blah blah" line, and thank god because it's none other than Chad Scheele. Luckily he didn't recognize my voice, and I told him his pizza would take an extra 20 minutes because we were swamped (this of course was a lie, but hey, what the fuck.) At that time in my life, I would have been mortified to be seen in my sauce covered uniform by the highschool elite, they didn't need any more arsenal for their assholerly. Today, I could give a monkey's chuff, but I guess that's another story.
And that's my comment on calling Pizza places!
