Now Declared “I Am A Blog Whore” Month.

No, really, I totally whored myself out. One hundred and sixty-three pointless posts. Holy crap.

(…but I’ve still got an hour and twenty-seven minutes to go!!!!)

Generally, because I find memes to be, uh, stupid, I don’t do them. This one on ACW’s blog looked interesting so I figured I’d do some of them, note: not all. I’m paraphrasing (okay, stealing outright) the rules from ACW’s blog now:

Go to Google Image Search and type in the city and state/province of the town where you grew up, no quotation marks. Then select the picture you like best from the first page of results and post it on your blog. Here’s mine:

Town Where I Grew Up (no quotes):

Town Where I Reside (no quotes):

First and Last Name (no quotes):

Favorite Song (no quotes):

We were busy at the Indy. The phone started ringing as I walked in and I grabbed it – lady wanted twenty large pizzas delivered in forty-five minutes. Somehow, we managed it about ten minutes later, and a big gorrilla led me to the back of the complex. As I was about to head back to the car to make my second trip, the woman who ordered intercepted me, handed me a check (I nearly fainted when I saw the tip), and asked if ‘John’ had shown me back. I replied that I didn’t know, but he was wearing a big gorrilla suit. “John, then.” she said. I thought about replying, “I dunno who John is and he wasn’t wearing a nametag on his gorrilla suit” but I didn’t because, well, big tip.

**

Driving home, it seems a majority of the local high school’s student population decided to dress as hookers (the male students, too). Since they’re all underage and wearing just about nothing, I wasn’t sure if I could be arrested for viewing child porn just in trying to make my way home. I decided not to drive home with my eyes closed because I only like to wreck one car a month, maximum, so I’ll risk the pedophile charge. But, like, seriously, it’s almost November, can’tcha at least wear a jacket? And, y’know, pants?

**

I got roped into closing at the franchise. Fuckers.

Halloween is one of the busiest days of the year at a pizza shop. It generally trails Superbowl Sunday and the busiest day of the year: the day before Thanksgiving.

Today (er, tonight) is going to suck.

(Actually, today might kick ass – all the businesses ordering pizza for their company Halloween party and what not).

Tonight is going to suck.

We’re going to be super busy. Not just because it’s Halloween, but also because the Ravens are playing tonight. So we’ll get the “Let’s order pizza because we can’t go out to get food because we’ll miss the trick or treaters” crowd plus the “I can’t watch football without thirty hot wings!” crowd.

At some point I will be tempted to run over a goddamn collection of carved pumpkins on someone’s yard.

We have only three insiders (Steve, E.G., and Zebulon) to handle the phones, the makeline, the oven, and the customers.

We have only four drivers to handle the Halloween crowd and the football crowd, and somehow P. expects to be out by 7:00.

I have the strong feeling I’m going to be roped into working the closing shift to cover for P. (this despite the fact I requested tonight off back in August. I’m such a pushover).

P. has his anger management class tonight, so I’m not entirely opposed to covering his shift if it means he doesn’t pound my face into the floor when he’s dissapointed.

Speeding and what some may describe as “reckless” driving is impossible tonight because of all the little kids on the road, which will interfere with how fast orders can be delivered.

At least one in three customers will answer the door and question if I’m actually “the pizza guy”. “Or are you just dressed up like him?” I will be very patient with the first few people who ask this but eventually I’ll just threaten to walk away with their food and not come back if they don’t shell out some cash.

I thought about buying a company uniform from the 1970′s over eBay because Greg said we couldn’t dress up in a competitor’s uniform for Halloween, but he never said we couldn’t wear outdated uniforms. But then I thought, “Spend my own money for work?” And didn’t.

Too many people will think candy is an appropriate tip.

Some retarted teenage who thinks he or she is cool will throw an egg at my car. Since its a rental, I’ll probably just swerve into them as opposed to chasing them down and bludgeoning the shit out of them with my maglite, as I would if I was driving my car.

At some point I will run over a goddamn collection of carved pumpkins on someone’s yard.