Last night was interesting: I got snowed in at my studio. I started a session at four pm with
I was, however, hungry. Now, my part of town is not extensively served by food delivery people. It’s pretty much Pizza Hut and Dominos. So I called Pizza Hut, because I can actually stomach Pizza Hut pizza okay.
They weren’t delivering. Because of the snow. Damn.
Now, I haven’t eaten Dominos since I found out they were owned by a Bible-thumper. Well, actually, I think I’d given them up before that, because their pizza’s not very good. But I believe he’s since sold out, and desperate times call for desperate measures.
I called. It sounded a bit confused on the other end. “Are you still delivering?” I asked.
“….uh, yeah. Yeah. (speaks off-phone: Are we still delivering?) Yeah, sure.”
I was not filled with confidence by that exchange. But in the spirit of optimism, I gave them an order and got on with other things.
Forty-five minutes went by. Dinner began to seem like an unlikely possibility.
An hour. Okay, I’ve officially given up, and instead successfully made arrangement with a rescue party to send in a St Bernard.
Then: ding-dong! I fling open the door to find a small dark-skinned man in a red cap, holding a flat box. Snow was falling steadily behind him.
“Holy cow! I can’t believe you made it!”
“I left car,” he said, gesturing down to the bottom of the steep hill. “I walk up hill.” He held out the box.
“You walked up the hill? Good god.” I took the box. It was warm. “Here,” I said, handing him some money. “That’s for the pizza.” Then I handed him another twenty. “And that’s for you.”
He looked at the bill, seeming confused. “Is too much money.”
“No, keep that, that’s for you, for walking up the hill. Hazard pay!”
He looked unconvinced.
“Take it,” I said.
He smiled uncertainly and ducked his head. “Thanks.”
The pizza itself? About as good as I remembered it: not terribly. But hey, it was hot and it was food. And I hope that dedicated pizza guy bought himself a stiff drink with that tip, because he deserves one.