Friday, February 26, 2010
I am a storyteller. I love to hear a good story, and even more, I love to tell a good story. Looking back on the last few years, it feels like more and more the good stories have stopped flowing. I'm not sure if this is a part of growing older, and possibly being more responsible, or if I have simply run out of good stories, but I'm in a dry spell. So lately, I have taken to making up stories as my life is going on. Take tonight. I work at a chain restaurant that just so happens to deliver pizza. Currently you can see an ad for our $10 dollar deal on just about every channel or website you can find. This has led to what I can only describe as a frenzy for what I will deem "Crappy, oily, cheap" pizza. It has led to many a stressful night dealing with customer complaints, lack of tips, and general negativity in my workplace, and has led many of my coworkers to seek other employment. I had at least four tell me tonight how they had leads on other jobs. I couldn't help but imagine myself as an undercover consultant hired by the company to improve performance. I would go home tonight, change my clothes, shower, and in the morning wake up to a freshly pressed linen collared shirt, preferably with french cuffs, and maybe a stripe pattern, and grab my morning smoothie and jump into my midsize midclass luxury sedan. (Think Nissan Maxima or similar...) I would fire up the beast, as the latest mix between jock rock and nontrendy pop music blared from my satellite radio, and cruise on down to the Las Vegas company headquarters. Armed with cell phone pics and notes taken while navigating the mean streets of St. George, I would dissect live in front of a conference table of executive looking men and women exactly where things were failing. Calling my coworkers by codes like "Subject A" and "Manager X", I would lay out entirely the plan that I had pieced together over the last few months, adding the dramatic pauses and vocal inflections to prove my points. "THESE AREN"T JUST PIZZAS WE ARE SELLING HERE!!! dot dot dot.....then in a hushed tone...these are happier lives." The room would burst to applause and then I would get the dubious wink and handshake from the company head, as if to say, Atta Boy, Bryan, this is gold! Everyone would leave, and I would stare across the empty room much like Alexander probably did a battlefield, victorious and briefly satisfied by today's accomplishment. But, in reality, I delivered nine orders, had a rich old man ask for a free pizza, and tried to pull one of the waiters through the drive thru window in a fake wrestling match/fight while Creedence was blaring from my car radio. And I made a few bucks tonight in tips. I mean, it's not the good life by any means, but hey, it has its' perks.