A Pizza Romance
Nathan's back and neck moaned in pain after 12 hours of screen time, but he managed to finish the project by the Wednesday deadline. He dragged himself to the new pizza parlor his neighbors had been raving about. His belly screamed for hot pizza and a cold beer while watching Netflix. A high school server hurriedly greeted him as he passed through the dining room to the carryout counter. A customer ahead of him waited for his order.
A frazzled brunette woman, looking quite old in a sea of teenage faces, robotically called out, “Thanks for ordering Jerry’s Pizza. What’s the name on the order?”
As he studied her face, he uttered, “Nathan Clark.” She was his age and, despite her overworked appearance, seemed beautiful to him. Her silver nametag read "Carrie" and marked her as a manager, unlike the white plastic tags worn by the other employees.
“You have a few more minutes on your order. Would you like to pay now?
Nathan nodded his head and held up his debit card. $12.75 appeared on the screen, and he tapped the card on it and said, straight-faced, “My friend drank a whole bottle of invisible ink.” Carrie looked up mildly curiously, and he finished, “He’s in the emergency room waiting to be seen.”
The cook hollered through the window, “Clark pizza is ready.” Carrie instinctively turned to grab it, and then she snorted. Not a polite chortle, but a full-on pig snort, deep and guttural. She turned back with a pizza in hand and smiled. “I wasn’t ready for that, but I needed it,” her eyes shining for the first time.
For a moment, they stared at each other, both still holding the pizza. “Thanks.” Nathan half-smiled, then stopped. Before he could think better of it, he asked, “Would you like to go out with me?”
Carrie stared at him, trying to figure out if he was safe. The stare lasted only five seconds, but seemed like an eternity before she asked, “Why do you want to date a girl who just snorted like a hungry hog?”
He shrugged his shoulders and confoundedly answered, “It was honest, not fake.”
She ran the receipt paper up two inches and tore it off. She pulled a pen from her back pocket like a samurai sword and scribbled quickly. Then managerially stated, “I work Friday nights, but have every Saturday off. Call me, and we can make plans, unless you are busy this Saturday night.”
“Hang out with my guy friends or go out with a pretty girl? When is the best time to call?”
“Tomorrow, around noon.”
Nathan smiled, stepped around the next pick-up order, and left with a hop in his step.
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