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“I’m pretty sure your brother’s a Ninja,” I said.

I was by the prep area talking to the Monk. The dishes were done (for the most part.) I had a moment to make the comment.

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” he said, but in much more scatological terms.

“Because stuff is just gets done around him. Poof,” I said, moving my hands outwards in an explosive gesture. “Like this one time, I was going to the front of the restaurant while he was going to the back. Then I went into the back again, like, ten seconds later and all the dishes were done.”


The Monk laughed. Monk’s sister – also Warrior/Ninja’s sister - is a driver like me. She got a kick out of that, too.

“Don’t tell him I might be catching on, though,” I said. “He might have to kill me.”

Then it was back to dishes. They are my second favorite thing to do. Dishes. My first favorite thing to do is deliver pizzas. Turns out I’m an old-timer at both. In the year and three months I have worked at this pizza restaurant, I have seen a dozen other drivers, customer service people and managers come and go. Cap’n remains, of course. So does the Warrior/Ninja. And the Michoacana. (She isn’t from Michoacán, by the way.) Everyone else is gone.

The most recent departure was the Leprechaun. Believe it or not, that man give himself that nickname. The tale is a sad one.

Several weeks ago, a local postal branch ordered a billion pizzas. This man had worked that night, but had not received any of the tip. Whether that is correct or not, I don’t know, but it bothered him. I watched him become very bitter. I found out he was telling some interesting stories: managers using drugs at work, managers using surveillance cameras for nefarious purposes, coworkers and managers being racist because he was the only non-Mexican in the store. (I’m sure you remember that post I made with the picture.) One coworker who actually is Mexican became a focus for his bitterness. Cap’n told me about it.

Last week, the Leprechaun called the police on that coworker. Why? Because the Mexican coworker was a gang banger and had tagged his car.

With what, pray tell? Spray paint? A key? The blood of gang violence victims?

Nope. Streaks in the dust on his door. You know, like when your car is filthy and someone writes “wash me”? But there weren’t words. It was just streaks.

Anyway, Leprechaun called the cops. They showed up. To the restaurant. They listened to him. They asked him questions. They asked the Mexican coworker questions. Then, after our Mexican coworker answered their questions and it was clear he was not going to be arrested or punished for the perceived injustice, the Leprechaun reported to the police that he doesn’t do dishes when he should.

Cap’n - who, as the head hauncho, was obviously involved in this whole thing - threw her hands up in the air at this and declared, “Thank heavens, the DISH POLICE have finally arrived!”

The police laughed, ordering people to do the dishes as they left.

“You, citizen: do the dishes.”

“And you: do the dishes!”

No charges were filed. No arrests were made. The Leprechaun was not cowed nor placated. He added more on top of other offenses and left unemployed.

It’s definitely interesting having tenure at a pizza place. And there’s more than just debt-free gold – and definitely no more leprechauns - at the end of this magically delicious pizza rainbow. I’ll take my relationship with Ninjas and Cap’n’s and Dish Police. I’ll treasure them all the way out of debt and beyond.



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