Things I think about

Tonight is pizza night. Lovely, lovely pizza night. Our standing order at Dominos.com is an extra-large ham and pineapple and a large cheese pizza. Mike and I share the Hawaiian pizza, with me sometimes getting up to 3 slices. Annabelle focuses on the cheese pizza, but Mike helps her out when the Hawaiian is all gone. He eats our crusts, and Annabelle generally has a couple slices of leftover pizza for the following day. It works for us.

Anyway, I think being able to order pizza online is easily one of the greatest technological advances of our time. I am especially fascinated by the online pizza tracker, where you can follow your pizza through its creation and delivery.

I'm starting to wonder though if it's for real. I can't help but notice that EVERY week, "Melissa" makes our pizzas. I suppose there could be a real Melissa who is on the schedule every Monday night, but don't you think she would get sick occasionally or maybe be in the restroom when I place my order? No, week after week, Melissa helps us out. The cynic in me wonders, if I were to get in my car right now and drive over to Dominos, would I be able to meet this "Melissa"?

And I would do exactly that but . . . it would kind of defeat the purpose of having supper delivered.

UPDATE: "Jan" is on her way here with our pizzas. I'm going ask Jan about Melissa!

UPDATED UPDATE: Oh, me of little faith! I'll admit it. I was feeling very cynical when our pizzas were delivered by a man somewhere in age between my dad and my grandfather. I took the pizzas to the table and then returned to the porch to sign my charge slip.

I'm sure the delivery guy probably thought I was checking him out, but what I was really doing was looking for a nametag. Finally, I decided to go for it and just blurted out: "So are you really Jan?!"

Yes, indeed he was. He even whipped out his wallet and confirmed it with his social security card. And what's more, he confirmed the existence of Melissa. In fact, it turns out that there are TWO Melissas working at that location.

He was a nice guy, long retired from the Army, and we stood on the porch and discussed duty stations for a little while. He told me a funny story about being ordered to report for duty to the Women's Army Corps. When he showed up, they asked why on earth he was there, and he replied, "I'm assuming stud service."

When I finally made my way to the table (to find half the Hawaiian pizza already gone), Mike asked, "Good grief, what took so long? Did you pay him in change or what?!"

The pizza was a little cold tonight yet somehow tasted a little better.