Leaning Tower of Pizzas

The other day, I was tasked with picking up a pile of 16 pizzas from Little Caesars.  I arrived a few minutes early and was greeted by Dennis, a disheveled, clammy looking 40ish year old man with smeared, whomperjawed glasses, a smashed baseball cap covered in flour, and a soiled, rumpled orange apron. 

Despite his disheveled appearance, Dennis was highly professional and intensely focused.  Pizza was his goal and he aimed to please.  I arrived about 10 minutes earlier than the stated time the pizzas would be ready, which seemed to fluster Dennis.  Ever the pizza professional, he quickly recovered and told me to have a seat just before he darted back to the kitchen.  Between the appliances I watched as pizzas magically materialized from dough.  Dennis was whipping pizzas in and out of ovens and boxes, and before you know it, an enormous stack of pizzas was ready.  Rarely have I been treated to such wonderful, competent customer service in Abilene.  Dennis was totally working beneath his skills.

Down to the exact minute quoted, the pizzas were - fitting to their name – Hot ’n’ Ready.  As Dennis double checked the order, it was clear he was both satisfied and relieved at pulling off this pizza feat.  Dennis and his manager each took a large stack of pizzas to carry to my car. 

As I held the door for them, the manager passed through first, followed by Dennis.  Unfortunately, Dennis didn’t even make it over the threshold before calamity struck.  Somehow, he lost his footing and began staggering. His legs crossed and bent and tottered, as though they had instantaneously transformed into big ol’ Jello Jigglers. Dennis swayed grandiosely to one side, and just when you thought he was going to topple over, he would right himself. But no sooner had he straightened up than he severely listed the other way, having over corrected, this time in even more danger of slamming into the sidewalk.  Just as I squinted my eyes, sure of a disastrous pepperoni splattered impact, Dennis would again regain his balance and come back up.  Each stumble and recovery brought him closer to the curb.  No one breathed. 

This precarious bobbing and weaving continued in slow motion for what seemed like a short eternity. It went on so long, a man in the parking spot next to us had time to get out of his car and stop breathing with us.  Arms were outstretched in all directions to help steady Dennis, but his movements were too erratic. He could not be helped.  

What gravity and 9 pizzas could not bring down, the curb finally did.  Dennis’s ankle rolled.  His knee came down hard on the sidewalk. His shin scraped the curb. His body was jarred. His arms lifted up in a sacrificial pose.

Those pizzas did not move. 

Upon impact, everyone concernedly hovered above Dennis and asked if he was okay.  After a few seconds of remaining frozen, pizzas lifted high above the crash scene, Dennis says, “I’m okay. I’m okay. *wincing breath*  I was NOT going to let anything happen to those pizzas.”

Dennis, the truest lover of pizza, sacrificed his body for my $5 Hot ‘n’ Readys.