I took a left to get into the shoebox-sized parking lot. Then I pulled all the way to the right before backing into a free spot. The family in the pickup two spots over watched me as I demonstrated my math skills. I turned a three-point turn into a four-point turn. Then I followed the family into the pizza parlor.
The family veered off to a long table covered with one of those plastic table cloths. I shuddered for two reasons. First, those long tables are treacherous for the hard of hearing. We’re at the mercy of The Fates. Our conversation partners will be whomever sits next to and across from us. Trying to hear someone at the end of the table is a laughable endeavor. I usually try to sit at the end of one of those. That way sound is only coming at me from one side. The second reason was that that meant a gaggle of kids were inbound for a pizza party. The background noise was about to be turnt up to eleven.
I scampered up to the counter, hoping that everything was ready. Tom had saved me from having to do battle with that terrifying ne’er-do-well, the telephone, and called it in for us. Being a Friday during dinnertime, there was a clanging and a banging coming from the kitchen behind the counter. There was no half-wall to play the role of buffer, either. The cooks and the cashiers were all doing the busy-time foxtrot in the tight space. One good thing was the absence of a line. I was spared the anxiety of what I’m going to miss whilst waiting my turn. I did have to wait for one of the cashiers to see me. Luckily I’m a big guy.
After only a few seconds, one of them made her way to one of the cash registers and said…something. I took it to be “I’ll be right with you” because after a brief glance Brad-ward, her fingers did a jig on the register. I certainly did not hear what she said. And this was with but one family making a ruckus behind me. Fortunately, another cashier wove her way to a second register and, based on my lip-reading, asked if she could help me.
I told her I was there for pickup…then realized I forgot to ask Tom whose name he gave. I gave her both. Then I chanced a lean. Like I said, I’m a big guy and whenever I lean in to hear better, I risk looming. This was not one of those times and I was able to make out each word as she repeated the order. I did not see a pizza box with a bulging bag atop it behind the counter, so my fear came to fruition. Our pizza and apps wasn’t ready yet. When the cashier gave me the receipt – Tom also saved me from another battle with another ne’er-do-well, poverty, by buying it for us – she said what I took to be, “You food ain’t ready yet, so get outta the way and lemme serve this dude who just came in behind you.” Or something to that effect.
I called to mind my long-table strategy, and I scurried over to the side of the counter. Then commenced the game I hate most in the world. More than the ice-breaker-tell-us-one-thing-about-you game. The waiting-for-your-name-to-be-called-in-a-crowded-place game. This is one of the things that should have been banned by the Geneva Convention.
There were a few stacks of pizza boxes on the counter next to the cash registers. So that’s where I glued my eyes. One had a small bag atop, and I immediately feared it was mine and the woman at the cash register was wrong: it was ready. I’ve had that happen before. Where there was a communication breakdown, and my food got lost in the shuffle forcing me to bluff my way through a clarifying conversation. A dude came in and picked up that one, so it looks like I was going to be spared that extra challenge.
As he left with his dinner, another family entered the fray. The background noise immediately spiked. They joined the family I followed and my heartrate picked up. I looked passed them to the door, watching fearfully for any signs of any families about to join the cacophony. I was beginning to fear that the pizza party would start before my name would be called. If it did, what little I could hear from the cashiers would be taken from me. That’s when I realized I wasn’t looking at the counter.
With a jolt of panic I whipped my head around. There were still the trio of pizza-warming bags and the lonely naked pizza box. Same at when the dude left with his order. I cast a glance at the two cashiers. Nope. Neither one of them had a pizza box in their hands. I didn’t miss anything. Thusly chastised, I resumed my stakeout. A stakeout that mercifully ended a short time later.
The first cashier that said something I missed, took a bag from a cook and turned around. She placed it atop the lonely naked pizza box and looked and read the slip. She looked up and looked right at me. I saw her lips form the name Tom. I jumped forward with a rambling “That’s me! Well, that’s not me actually, but that’s my brother. Same thing.” She smiled politely at my gratuitous information and handed me dinner.
All-in-all, it was one of the easier rounds of the game I’ve played.
Though I’m part of it,
The conversation’s unheard.
Context clues abound.
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