Last night, we ordered pizza from Glass Nickel. Eileen called it in; when they asked for a name, she said, “It will be Tim,” cuz I’m always the one who goes to pick it up.
So I went there and said, “I’m here to pick up some pizzas for Tim.”
The cashier touched the computer screen a few times and looked confused. “Who’s it for?”
“Tim?” I said, hoping that my inquisitive tone would also connote what I was thinking: Is there a problem?
“Um. . . I’ve got a Teresa, a Bob, and a Bible?”
She laughed. I laughed. She went over to another guy and brought him back to the cashier. He had long, straight, black hair, and he was wearing a tennis-player-style head band pulled over his hair like Richie Tenenbaum. He looked stoned.
“Did you take this order?” she said.
I only heard him say, “uh.”
She turned the screen toward me. “Are you sure you’re not Bob?” she asked.
“What did you order?”
“Um, a deluxe and a fetalicious.”
She touched the screen a few times. “Was it a deluxe with no cheese?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Well then, this has got to be you.”
“Yeah. Not a common combination to have a cheeseless pizza and a fetalicious in the same order, eh?”
She smiled. “Looks like you were Teresa.”
“Really?” I said. “I was hoping I’d be Bible.”