Speaking of Wallitsch, here's a prank we played on our town after being annoyed by the prolificacy of a "Lost Parrot" flyer.
The morning after affixing approximately 100 of these flyers underneath the originals, some mother on a mission took them all down. And I remember the person who actually posted the parrot flyers eventually contacted me and tried to make me feel bad about it all.
Secondly, Vibram's (which is pronounced Vee-Brahms for some Italian reason) FiveFingers KSO model is pretty kewl. $85...when you're rich like me, you can buy these shoes just to look at them, or microwave them, or bury them in the woods.
Today was the first day I used these mother-fuckers and I found that, during my three mile jog, I felt more comfortable running on the grass than on the cement. You can still feel the impact and the intricacies of each sidewalk, but I'm going to have to say I prefer my regular running sneakers for the asphalt.
My shins and ass definitely felt this run more than usual...so I know I'm a little closer to my work-out goal of crushing apples with my toes. I had no problem sprinting in these, and my feet felt very secure. These shoes are definitely for hiking. I also made sure to purchase the all-black versions of these shoes since I figured they would dry quickest in the sun after having splashed around a bit, but Vibram recommends you don't do that.
After the jog, I stretched on my front lawn, and a neighbor that always lets her dog shit all over the place made small talk with me and eventually asked "...but do you feel all the pebbles underneath when you run?" and I told her I did, if I were to scrutinize every step, and that our ancestors never used Nikes. And she understood, and her little mutt of a dog got a good whiff of my sweat-soaked shoes.
Thirdly, deliveries.
I made twenty-five deliveries yesterday, and around twenty on Saturday.
Breaking everything down: Sunday alone, I delivered $565 worth of food. I was tipped $147.
I delivered some food to a woman in the Hampton Inn's lobby and noticed a small tattoo on her shoulder of an om symbol, except it was torn at, ripped, burnt. There was actually a marble-sized blister disfiguring the sacred syllable of quite a few Indian religions.
Being nosy, I asked her what had happened, and she gave me an uneasy smile and told me it was a long story, and I believed her.
At some point in the incredible heat of the day, I stared straight ahead at the road while waiting for a light on Jericho to change and the road seemed to stretch itself out before me as if I were hallucinating--and then geese flying overhead sent down a breeze, changing the light green. Throughout the day, I learn that the marijuana habit is alive and well and very ubiquitous.
Back at the pizzeria, a snarky boy asked if we sold free ice cream and I couldn't help but laugh in his face and then laugh harder when my explanation failed to amuse him.
"You can't sell something that's free. Get it? Understand me?"
So I gave him a cup of ice water and told him to pour sugar on top.
"Right next to the coffee machine."
But what do I really want to inform those of you interested in a pizzeria career, or perhaps just those interested in the inner-workings of such an establishment? You should know that delivery boys, excluding those from major chains since they usually have multiple drivers, are usually very reckless when driving--especially when you're as terrible with directions as I am.
I must have blown fifty stop signs, and by blown I mean given joe-blobs to. At any given moment, I would be adjusting the 2 liter Pepsi in between my legs (which is where the cold drinks always go on hot days), juggling orders, deciphering scribbled addresses and belting Miike Snow songs.
I have an amazing falsetto, I've discovered.
Making deliveries provides the perfect stage for singing your favorite songs. Forget high school chorus and forget those college theater productions you never took part in--it's you and your voice under a sun-roof amidst people just as self-absorbed about the road and its ways as you are.
