Yeah, I've been away for a while - okay, almost a decade - but some things don't change.
And one of those things is wondering what the @#$% is up with pizza joints that they can't sell you a slice without burning it, cutting a small slice, or worse. Worse, like jamming it in a bag like it was your 15th betting shirt from the same damn team.
There isn't a rower (in America at least) who has not survived or recovered from a hard practice thanks to a slice of pizza, so there isn't a rower in America who has almost lost it on a pizza dude.
First they slice up a pie into eight completely unequal sections, so one customer gets a massive slice, and another about a half-slice. If you just finished 3x3 miles, with your blood sugar completely bottomed out, getting the small slice could almost send you over the counter after the pizza guy.
Anyway, you say "not too hot," so the dude throws it in the oven to warm up and disappears into the back of the shop. By the time he gets back, the sauce is boiling and sizzling under the cheese, and the crust looks and feels like slate.
Throughout, customers are looking at each like "what the ... is going on here" - even when it comes time to pay, you gotta beg for the guy's attention. And if you are getting stuff to go, well, good luck.
But the thing is, pizza dudes don't give a rat's. And you are going to need another slice at some point, so you're gonna go back. It's like a pusher/addict relationship; Lou Reed is gonna write a damn song about it. Or you can change the lyrics yourself - god damn the pizza man.