Spin Towards Me, Pizza
I wanted to pick up a pizza.
I wanted it to be a place I’ve never been to in Chicago. Given there are about 249 places to choose from within a five block radius, I just picked the one that always torments me on my way home from the gym. Oh Sarah, I see that you worked really hard pretending to do anything on that elliptical machine. You deserve a pizza. A WHOLE MEDIUM PIZZA COVERED IN PEPPERONI, BASIL AND MOZZARELLA. ALL. TO. YOURSELF.
It was when I returned to the pick-up counter. This is because I, as an adult woman who has ordered plenty of pizzas in her life (hold for applause), forgot that once you put the order in, you must wait 30 minutes for the pizza to be made. A mother was also waiting patiently for her order of pizza with what I presume was either her three daughters, who were very close in age or triplets (because I’m bad at children’s ages) — or, most likely, her daughter and some friends. One of the girls, though, was not waiting patiently. Not patiently at all.
Out of boredom or some weird form of protest, this girl — who was thin and blonde and probably going to grow up into everything I wasn’t — was spinning in circles. Her [maybe] mother did not stop this. She looked tired. Probably picking her battles, she waited it out. She ignored it. She asked once if she would like to stop. The girl didn’t stop. She just spun. Staring at the floor while her sister-friend yelled at her to quit it. It was irritating. This girl, at her young age, did not give a shit.
I, on the other hand, thought it was hilarious. This poor tired mother. This stupid, bored child. There was nothing better to do and there was no real reason to use energy to stop it.
She spun on.
Until she stopped. She started to cry and ran to the bathroom. Her friend yelled, “Get her water. She’s going to barf,” and ran after her. The mother, both in her indifferent but yet stressed state, opened up the display refrigerators to grab a Sprite to hand to the sister-friend. She then opened up her wallet, threw a ten dollar bill at server working the take-out counter, grabbed her child[ren], nabbed those goddamn pizzas and left.
The server asked me what the cash was for. I laughed.
“Where is my pizza?”
Originally published at www.sarahramler.com on July 6, 2016.