Frank Gorshin
April 5, 1934 - May 16, 2005

Ogre likes to brag, loudly, that he cares about the pizza business. That he cares about working in the store and doing a good job. He liked to emphasize how he will go above and beyond the call of duty in the process of working his shifts. It’s important for you to understand this, because his defense when he takes too long to make a pizza, answer the phone, or fails to tend the oven properly (resulting in half a dozen pizzas landing SPLAT! on the floor) is that, “I’m trying, I’m trying.”

Greg defended Ogre for the first six months or so of his employment. Lately, that attitude has begun to change. “He keeps saying he’s trying … dammit, he just needs to do it already!”

Ogre got in some trouble today.

Well, Monday, but I heard about it today.

Seems at 10:55pm Saturday night, five minutes before closing, someone called up wanting a delivery. Ogre told them the shop was closed, and hung up on them. After being confronted on this, his excuse to Greg was that it would take him longer than five minutes to make a pizza, and he wanted to get out of the store as soon as possible.

As it was explained to me by Greg, “Look, it’d be one thing if he’d had everything done and had one foot out the door … but he didn’t get out of here until a quarter after one!”

Ogre worked at the Papa John’s franchise across the street for an entire week before coming here. Somehow, despite all the internal bickering and lousy delivery times and outright atrocious sales at that franchise, I have the feeling they’re still laughing at how they managed to pawn him off on us.

This game kicks ass!

I made it to level ten, slaughtering zombies with my radical six-shooter, before they finally got me.

Use your mouse to aim and fire the weapon. The tiny guys usually need two hits — one to the body, one to the head, I’ve found. The big guys … yeah, well, they need more. Spend your ammo like you’ve got a ton of it, and click the left mouse button to reload. Happy hunting.

HT: Linda.

For the cheap ass, the easiest way to get out of a tip is to tell their secretary that they are in a meeting from which they cannot be disturbed. That way, when the pizza guy shows up with their $100 order, the secretary is forced to be the one to say, “I’m sorry, he only left $100 and I’m not allowed to disturb him.” Don’t worry, hon, I don’t blame you — I know who the cheap ass is.

To the person that flipped their SUV onto its roof at International and McCormack: It’s called “higher center of gravity.” It isn’t a sports car, and you shouldn’t drive it like one.

To the employee of the Shell Station at Ashland and York: call the fire department when you spill copious amounts of gasoline, because while I’m sure you weren’t happy when they finally did arrive (along with Maryland’s Department of Natural Resources), I wasn’t too pleased — and I dare say I wasn’t alone — to see you trying to wash the gas away into the sewer system with buckets of water. At least use cat litter to try to soak the stuff up. I hope your station gets fined.

If you order from a company called, say, “Kodack Dental”, please do not tell the order taker that you work at a company called “Placement Works”, especially when you fail to give a suite number.

And finally, a reminder for myself. When you have a nightmare that it’s 10:55 and you’re going to be late for work, and then you wake up and its really only 9:14, do yourself a favor and set your alarm clock, because today you didn’t, and then you woke up at - you guessed it - 10:55. Whooops.