without saying a word.
We both downed half our beers. And then we finished them.
And then we sat there.
And sat there.
And sat there.
I tried to make conversation but all I could think about was the fact that my stomach walls were touching. And that our server was nowhere to be found. In fact, there didn't seem to be a single employee working. I glanced at the other tables; one family was finishing up their pizza and two other tables were in the same boat we were, waiting for their food to be delivered.
Jake's good humor was gone at forty five minutes. “You wanna go?”
“Yes, because I'm going to eat my hand,” I said.
“I'm not paying for the beers,” he said.
“You have to.”
He raised his eyebrows. “She won't even know we've left.”
On cue, the hostess/waitress showed up with a pizza. I stared at the steaming pie in her hands. It wasn't very big. And I didn't see a single slice of pepperoni on it.
She set it on the table. “Here you go.”
“This is the largest you have?” I asked. “We ordered a large.”
She looked at it, then shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”
“And there's no pepperoni,” Jake noted. “Are you sure this is ours and not someone else's order?”
She studied the pizza for a moment. “It's probably under the cheese. Yeah.”
I looked at the pizza again. A meager amount of sausage dotted the surface and the cheese didn't look lumpy enough to be hiding pepperoni slices.
The waitress yawned. “Need anything else?”
“Yes,” Jake said calmly. A muscle in his temple throbbed. “The manager. Now.”
She looked like he'd tried to pee on her leg, then sighed and disappeared.
“I'm eating this,” I said, ripping a piece off the tray. I bit into it. “I don't care what's on it and I don't care that we don't have plates. I'm so hungry and I have to eat.”
Jake folded his arms across his chest, refusing to give in.
I wolfed down another bite. “It's actually not bad. For a small, non-pepperoni pizza, I mean,” I said. I licked my lips and glanced at my empty glass. Something to drink would have been nice but I was too happy to finally have food to complain.
A woman in her fifties meandered through the dining room toward us. Her dark, graying hair was bundled on top of her head and she had a pen tucked behind her ear. Her red polo had the restaurant logo printed over her right breast and her khaki pants were dotted with grease stains. She moved slowly and I wondered if it was because she was tired or because she knew what was coming.
“Good evening, folks,” she said, forcing a smile. “Amy said that you asked for me.”
Jake launched into all of the issues since we'd arrived. The woman nodded, looked concerned, then nodded some more.
“I do apologize,” she said when he'd finished. “I'm sorry for the experience. How can I make it better?”
“I'm not really sure at this point,” Jake said. “This isn't the pizza we ordered, but since we've been here over an hour, waiting, we decided to eat it, anyway. But it's not what we ordered and it took forty-five minutes to get it and I'm really not exactly sure as to why.”
“I'm not either,” she said, wincing. She glanced at our empty beer glasses. “How about if I comp the beers?”
Jake frowned. “I was kind of thinking you might comp the entire meal.”
She winced again, then nodded slowly. “Yes. I suppose you're right. I'll comp the entire thing. Can I get you anything else?”
Jake didn't look entirely satisfied but he nodded. “Plates, maybe? And something else to wash down the pizza we didn't order?”
Her eyes flitted across the table and she sighed. “I'll be right back.”
“I love it when you're all calm and tough,” I said, shoving another piece of pizza into my mouth.
“No way I'm leaving a cent in this place,” he told me. “How is the pizza?”
I smiled. “I seriously don't care how it is.”
“Clearly.”
The woman returned with the plates and two glasses of ice water. I
We both downed half our beers. And then we finished them.
And then we sat there.
And sat there.
And sat there.
I tried to make conversation but all I could think about was the fact that my stomach walls were touching. And that our server was nowhere to be found. In fact, there didn't seem to be a single employee working. I glanced at the other tables; one family was finishing up their pizza and two other tables were in the same boat we were, waiting for their food to be delivered.
Jake's good humor was gone at forty five minutes. “You wanna go?”
“Yes, because I'm going to eat my hand,” I said.
“I'm not paying for the beers,” he said.
“You have to.”
He raised his eyebrows. “She won't even know we've left.”
On cue, the hostess/waitress showed up with a pizza. I stared at the steaming pie in her hands. It wasn't very big. And I didn't see a single slice of pepperoni on it.
She set it on the table. “Here you go.”
“This is the largest you have?” I asked. “We ordered a large.”
She looked at it, then shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”
“And there's no pepperoni,” Jake noted. “Are you sure this is ours and not someone else's order?”
She studied the pizza for a moment. “It's probably under the cheese. Yeah.”
I looked at the pizza again. A meager amount of sausage dotted the surface and the cheese didn't look lumpy enough to be hiding pepperoni slices.
The waitress yawned. “Need anything else?”
“Yes,” Jake said calmly. A muscle in his temple throbbed. “The manager. Now.”
She looked like he'd tried to pee on her leg, then sighed and disappeared.
“I'm eating this,” I said, ripping a piece off the tray. I bit into it. “I don't care what's on it and I don't care that we don't have plates. I'm so hungry and I have to eat.”
Jake folded his arms across his chest, refusing to give in.
I wolfed down another bite. “It's actually not bad. For a small, non-pepperoni pizza, I mean,” I said. I licked my lips and glanced at my empty glass. Something to drink would have been nice but I was too happy to finally have food to complain.
A woman in her fifties meandered through the dining room toward us. Her dark, graying hair was bundled on top of her head and she had a pen tucked behind her ear. Her red polo had the restaurant logo printed over her right breast and her khaki pants were dotted with grease stains. She moved slowly and I wondered if it was because she was tired or because she knew what was coming.
“Good evening, folks,” she said, forcing a smile. “Amy said that you asked for me.”
Jake launched into all of the issues since we'd arrived. The woman nodded, looked concerned, then nodded some more.
“I do apologize,” she said when he'd finished. “I'm sorry for the experience. How can I make it better?”
“I'm not really sure at this point,” Jake said. “This isn't the pizza we ordered, but since we've been here over an hour, waiting, we decided to eat it, anyway. But it's not what we ordered and it took forty-five minutes to get it and I'm really not exactly sure as to why.”
“I'm not either,” she said, wincing. She glanced at our empty beer glasses. “How about if I comp the beers?”
Jake frowned. “I was kind of thinking you might comp the entire meal.”
She winced again, then nodded slowly. “Yes. I suppose you're right. I'll comp the entire thing. Can I get you anything else?”
Jake didn't look entirely satisfied but he nodded. “Plates, maybe? And something else to wash down the pizza we didn't order?”
Her eyes flitted across the table and she sighed. “I'll be right back.”
“I love it when you're all calm and tough,” I said, shoving another piece of pizza into my mouth.
“No way I'm leaving a cent in this place,” he told me. “How is the pizza?”
I smiled. “I seriously don't care how it is.”
“Clearly.”
The woman returned with the plates and two glasses of ice water. I
Similar Books
