(as seen at the evil empire, but I just had to liberate it)
So, uh… what’s your pizza-disaster story, y’all? I’ll go first.
Me, I used to deliver for Domino’s, and it was tonnes more fun than I’d imagined. First order of business was getting myself this freakin’ awesome powered-spotlight that plugged in to the cigarette lighter in my car, nominally so as to throw a spotlight on street addresses, at need. But hoh-my-god, that sucker was fun to play around with in general.
Also, like Ed Grimley, “I must say” that the tips were unusually good, to supplement the standard shit-wages of a delivery-boy. This was in 1990 btw, so wow… 36yrs ago, now. Tempus fugit, nonne?
Anyway, my most awkward encounter ever was the time I made a delivery, placed the pizza directly in to the man’s hands, and… for whatever reason(s) he dropped it. Right in front of me. Right between us. Probably one of the earliest scammers I ever dealt with, but it was hella embarrassing and awkward, dammit. I sure as heck didn’t know what to do or say…
How about you. Got anything…?
So, which slice did your father choose for himself?
“Je déteste la tranche qui me rappelle la France.”
Translation says it’s something like “I hate the slice that reminds me of France.”
C’est vrai!
(eh, my French sucks; it was a joke meant for my friend, above)
La prochaine fois que vous mangez une pizza ensemble, découpe-la en parts de forme hexagonale pour le punir.
Haha, ça marche !
Ce qui est intéressant, c’est la forme hexagonale. Les États-Unis ont globalement une forme assez particulière, c’est sans doute pour ça qu’on ne leur attribue pas de forme bien précise.
Prolly one of the ones with five.
Maybe all three