How do I start this ....

July 14th, 2008

I have to thank a fellow blogger who let me know in no uncertain terms that she did not appreciate being called older than she is. That and maybe a few other smart ass remarks I had left her. Hey, that's part of the fun of blogging in public, Right? You toss out your comments and the public gets a chance to throw back. So any way (this is becoming a whole lot wordier that I thought it would be and this explanation isn't helping matters at all) She said two words which took me back.

"Bite Me."

Lovely little phrase. Hardly my favorite and I don't know how she was wanting it to come across, but for me it comes with a memory of one of my first jobs. It was delivering Pizzas, chicken and other goodies on the Chicken Delight Menu. I got paid an hourly wage plus mileage (I used my own car) and any tips I got. I also had a bunch of experiences which I shall draw from for the next few days of postings.

So the bite me phrase - well, it came from the mouth of the head pizza maker in this small facility down on 21st street in Bakersfield, California. I can't remember her name right now, but she made quite the impression on me.

I feel the need to set the stage properly for you to get the full effect of these two words. I had just started at this job. The building was narrow, but long. The oven setup was at one end of this building right near the front door. There was a table set in front of the oven where the pizzas were created. There was a large window, floor to ceiling, where you could look out onto all the drunks going to Central Park and watch the homeless people going by in their splendor and various stages of aroma. I believe her name was Ann, or it was something very simple like that. Ann was short, probably about 5 foot tall, with this quite large chest area. She wasn't fat at all, (well maybe a little) just very busty. I was about 6 foot 2 inches tall, so to look at her I had to look down and she had to look up, which she didn't like.

Ann was very opinionated. Not just a little, but a whole lot. Like on a scale of 1 to 10, she was probably about a 15. One of the things he let me know right off the bat was she didn't like people looking down at her and she didn't like looking up at other people. (I really think she was wanting to just give me a hard time, for she excelled at that) This was the first words out her mouth after being introduced to her.

"I don't like tall people and I'm not going to look up at you, so get use to it."

Ok.

I was told she also made the pizza's and if I wanted one she would be "more than happy" to make me one. Cool. Free food. My Fave. So I got introduced to some of the other folks that worked there and shown the ropes of the job. Time went by and my stomach started growling. Free food.

So I told Sarge, my boss and the owner of this place, I was taking my lunch break. It was probably about 7 pm. His words from his very gruff voice still ringing in my ears - "more than happy" that and "just ask her". Great. She was busy throwing a huge pizza pie in the oven and turned to look at my stomach or chest, I don't know which, but it wasn't my face.




"Yeah, Sarge said you'd make me a pizza. I'd like a pepperoni and cheese, please." Those famous two words with out a pause. This was the second time I had talked to her. -

"Bite Me!!!" and she stormed off. Now I am not exactly sure how to portray how those two words came across. Kind of like a shot to the gut. Full of poison and venom and total disgust. I stared in disbelief as she walked away.

I'm thinking, hold it, free food, pizza, hungry, free food, damn, Sarge said ...

That and I didn't know the first thing about making a pizza. I knew how to eat them. I had that down to a science.

(more to come)