Domino’s And Me

I worked at a Domino’s franchise in Lawrence, Kansas for a few months in 1993. I was a delivery driver.

My driving job involved a lot of sitting around on my ass, waiting for an assignment. While waiting, I usually was not expected to perform any other duties, so I would bring a book to work. One day, I came through the door to start my shift, and the owner said:

“….and you can leave the book in the car,” as if it had been the end of a long sentence, one that he had, perhaps, started months ago. During my interview, maybe. But I couldn’t remember that happening. I walked back to the car with my book, and then I returned to the store empty-handed, and then I sat there with the other drivers and watched the cooks make the pizzas.

Some of the cooks were really fucking good at making fast pizzas. It was a point of pride. One guy in particular was so fast at distributing toppings with his nimble fingers that, in a crunch, it was understood that he would be the one to make the most complex pizzas, the “problem pizzas.”

One day, a casual conversation among bored employees led to a challenge: could the fast cook have the most complicated pizza on the menu ready for the oven in less than three minutes? The cook good-naturedly accepted the challenge. Read the rest of this entry »