The shop is staffed by several men whose ethnic origin I have never been able to establish. Their pizza and cinnamon sticks are a gift I give myself every once in a while when I'm particularly stressed or hungry, and when I open the door to pick up my fare they recognize me and greet me with great enthusiasm. The short smiling man asks me about my haircut/my boyfriend/my schooling, or at least this is what I think he asks me; I've never been able to understand the phrasing through his thick accent.
But Pizza House is just how my day ended; here's how it began:
7:07 a.m. my final alarm goes off like a starting gun.
Midmorning, my 7-year-old mentoring buddy invited me to go roller skating with him. My heart soars; not because I could actually accept the invitation, but because the younger generations are keeping my roller skating dream alive.
At some point after 11:00 a higher-up in the echelons of OCU refers to the pile of papers on her desk ask "this shit". I love having the opportunity to hear someone I admire employ a well-placed curse word.
Near noon a particularly heavy box of papers headed for the recycling bin, a dolly and I ride the wheelchair lift in the Administration building.
One of my bosses gives me permission to borrow any one of the bounty of new nonfiction novels stored in her office. I die a little bit - blissfully.
Late afternoon I witness a young man in the library trying hard to peer over his dark sunglasses at the computer screen in front of him. In the library.
Moments later, upstairs at my job, I notice a note left by a worker in the office notebook: "I turned the book into Rod Jones." I think somebody forgot a space.
While preparing a mailing list I have the opportunity to listen to the latest episode of This American Life. This is what good radio journalism/art is.
Early evening. I go into class thinking that the only thing standing between me and an all-around ok day is 80 minutes of head-nodding and note-taking.
7:30, I leave so wracked with tension that my hands are shaking. I am suddenly reminded that confrontation makes me feel like I'm on the verge of a heart-attack.
Wasn't expecting that one.
Nighttime at last. I eat pizza.
Moxie gets his head stuck in a plastic cup.
I wash the dishes.
Wash my face.
I call it a night.