So, I’m up to my pits in pizza sauce and cheese these days but right there next to me is my new business partner, Jimmy. He’s an old friend of Johnny’s that I’d only met once prior to this mutual venture.
HOLY SHIT BALLS.
He’s the worst kind of hillbilly, folks. A smart one. We don’t always agree or even see eye to eye, but I tell ya what, I don’t ever wonder what he’s thinking or opine about his viewpoint on something, no sir. He’ll tell you unapologetically and flat out. He can be an asshole and he’s totally okay with that.
Here are a few snippets. He and I are in the restaurant all day, every day, for better or worse. In a way, we’re married to the pizza shop. We have had some hilarious afternoons and some hellish lunches, but I laugh every single day. These are just the ones I can even publish.
Me: I don’t want to talk politics with you, Jimmy. You know where I stand.
Jimmy: Yeah, I do. And you’re standing in the wrong spot.
Me: Whatever. I’m pretty far left and I know you’re pretty far right so let’s just let it go.
Jimmy: Pretty far right? Shit. I’m so far right that if I look left I see Hitler about two miles back.
THE GREAT OUTDOORS
Jimmy: So why do you and Johnny need this weekend off?
Me: We’re going camping! To Hot Springs!
Jimmy: Camping? Why?
Me: Because I love it and it’s fun.
Jimmy: No, it’s not. I tell you what, things are always worse when you’re camping.
Me: What the hell are you talking about?
Jimmy: Your little toothache you’ve been complaining about? It’ll be waaaay worse when you’re camping.
Jimmy: Trust me, EVERYTHING is worse when you’re camping.
Me: I don’t get it.
Jimmy: It’s simple. If you’re fat, you’re fatter when you’re camping.
Me: Oh. I totally get it.
Me: Jimmy, we’re almost out of trash bags. The big ones in the kitchen.
Jimmy: *counting money* Okay.
Me: What are we going to do?
Jimmy: About what?
Me: The trash bags.
Jimmy: What about them?
Me: We need to order more.
Me: Do you want me to order more?
Jimmy: JESUS CHRIST AM I COUNTING MONEY RIGHT NOW?!?!
Me: Yes, I know, but I’m worried about the trash bags.
Jimmy: Well, for fuck’s sake Jen, you’re not packing a parachute, here. You can get in your car and GO BUY SOME. I ASSURE YOU, WE’RE GOING TO BE OKAY.
Jimmy: So who counted down the drawer last night?
Me: I did.
Jimmy: Well it’s wrong.
Me: I called Johnny and he said I didn’t have to count all the change, just ballpark it.
Jimmy: Oh for God’s sakes. That might work at Papa Johnny’s but it ain’t gonna fly at Papa Jimmy’s. COUNT ALL THE CHANGE, DAMMIT.
We have a regular customer that is a young gal with crazy jet-black-purple hair, multiple facial piercings and covered in tattoos. She’s beautiful but she’s also visibly a little manic and like I enjoy saying, “shithouse rat crazy”.
Jimmy: What’s her story?
Me: She’s broke. Always gets the same thing. Never tips.
Jimmy: Well, I know how she can make some money.
Me: Yeah, really? Cool!
Jimmy: It’s gonna be all at once though.
Me: Good Lord, Jimmy.
MORE TO COME, I promise.