Sometimes, I could swear that the woman I wake up with has it in for me.
Today, my assignment was to call Tony’s New York Pizza in Manassas (no, not the lesser Tony’s NY Pizza in Fair Oaks) and inquire as to their list of toppings. “You want me to call the pizza guy and ask him for his list of toppings? I’m gonna need someone to transcribe that!,” I said, incredulous. It seemed akin to asking a roofer how many people he’s killed. “So just ask about their specials,” she said in her winsome way.
So I dialed the phone and swallowed hard.
Hardcore Pizza Guy (with heavy Italian/New York accent): “Tony’s!!”
Me (trying to break the ice): “Hi, how ya doin’? How long does it take to make a pizza for pickup?”
HPG: “Ten, fifteen minutes. Goodbye.”
Me (stuttering): “wu-wu-wu-wait! Hello? Umm, do you have any specials?”
HPG: “Whaddaya mean, a-specials? We gotta everything!”
Me: “Right, but do you have any specialty pizzas? Like maybe one with tomato and basil, or anything?”
HPG: “We gotta tomato, anda basil, anda fresha motzarell; anything you want.”
Me (catching my breath): “Oh, great. Sounds wonderful. Any other specials?”
HPG: “Yeah, we gotta Tony’s Special.”
Me (finally feeling some traction): “Great, what’s on that?”
Me: “I’ll call you back.”