And I’m not that big of a guy, so it felt like a big deal to me. Not only are they expensive, they’re also heavy. I don’t want to talk about it, but it took a lot of effort and involved lots of work. I’d like to say that I quit for ethical reasons, but that wasn’t the case. He would buy low, sell high, like any other businessman. The fat man’s business wasn’t just the escort business. I’m not saying pizza wasn’t there, but we ordered it from other pizza parlors. Like a taxi company, we had a dispatcher - the fat man - and we hung around the parlor, a parlor that never, ever served pizza, waiting for girls and calls. “For the books,” he said.īut beggars ain’t choosers. The johns paid the girls, the girls paid me a percentage, and the only cash I ever got out of the fat man that hired me was minimum wage. I took her to a hotel and waited an hour. “What the fuck are you standing there for? You waiting for me to thank you? That’s like me thanking you for breathing.”
I ask him about it and he tells me that he’s getting it fixed, but until then could I drive one of his girls to an appointment? Which I agreed to do. So I show up the next day, and again, no pizza oven. “You want a job?” And, again, I did.ĭelivering pizzas? “Ha-ha, yeah, sure, kid. But as I walked out, he said, “Hey, you got a car?” As luck would have it, I did. It was probably not a normal pizza parlor since the first words from the one guy in there were “Get the fuck outta here.” So I walked into this pizza parlor, me and a friend, and asked for a job. Overslept, and so it was either get one or get out of the house, according to my father. Blew one that they had for me over at Sanitation.
In this occasional series, OZY takes to streets and neighborhoods across the globe to ask a simple question: “ How was your day?”
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