the first time we Met
i was 19 years old and had dropped out of college to pursue a career as a pizza slinger.
as you can see i was a man of great ambition.
T was just 15 and a recent transplant from Arizona out looking for a summer job. so she stopped by little Sneezers and put in an application.
she was 6’1″ with legs *clear to here* [hand leveled @ neck height] and a pixie-mischievous face so pretty that i barely noticed that half her hair was plaisterd up on her head with six pounds of aqua-net and the other half spiked like a nervous hedgehog.
eh-whatcha gonna do?-it was the eighties. we all had silly hair. being the oldest employee (only the manager and asst. manager were older) it was my duty to train new crew members, so meg, my manager, let me look over the *new girl’s* app.
as you know, my wife is dutch and her name was one of those lovely dutch tongue twisters, but i managed to earn brownie points by actually pronouncing it correctly (2 yrs of german in hs served me well).
she litterally floored me at first glance.
i trained her at work, got to hang out with her a bit when our boss took the crew out for late night bowling one weekend (i spent every dime i had buying a new pair of jeans for that event and regretted miserablly that i didn’t have a spare nickle for a new shirt) then one day i even got up the nerve to wander on over to her house.
how did i know where she lived?
yup. you guessed it. the application. snaked her address. i was soooooooo a stalker long before teh interweb made it kewl.
out of my beige and orange polyester uniform, i was a bit more presentable and was even allowed in the house.
and her parents, out of naivete’ or neglect, let me hang out with her in her room.
and i soooooooo shouldn’t have been there.
i had a girlfriend and we’d been together for about 3 yrs at that point.
but i couldn’t stay away.
while i was there, T went and put on some music and sang to me.
the moment held the gentle quality of surprise, like being suddenly kissed by a dear freind you didn’t quite realize you loved yet.
i left there in a daze.
yet in the end i didn’t try to make anything of it.
i was good friends with susan, the asst. manager, and i bopped over to her house to ask her advice. hell she was almost thrirty. i figured she must know everything.
she listened to my love-lorn tale and then asked me one very penatrating question ::
if you hadn’t met this new girl . . .
. . . would you still be considering leaving the girl you’re with?
i knew i wouldn’t.
so i walked away.
ended up leaving little Sneezers, and T and i lost track.
a bit less than a year later i ran into her again.
in a backhanded sort of way.
i was back in the employ of little Sneezers after a summer abroad (that was the summer my dad committed suicide, so – busy year) and her mom called to order pizza.
out of habit, she started to spell her name for me, but i stopped her and rattled it off. she was surprised (it really is a barstid of a name) and i said (confidently-i mean how many of them could their be?) “your daughter used to work for us”
she brought T with her to pick up the pizza.
this time i had a totally different answer to susan’s question.
it took a little doing, getting back into her life, but not much. she tells me she didn’t know she loved me off the bat (though i was pretty sure i loved her).
her realization came a little later.
perhaps she will tell the tale on her blog of the night she called my mother a bitch and got us both tossed out into the snow 😉
my wife is so cool.
but that’s it. that’s how we met . . . and how we finally made a go of things. the whole story would read like a bad soap opera, and would take many, many episodes to unfold.
i suppose i’ll get to it bit by bit.
but not all at once.
otherwise i’d miss the memories we’re making now.
bonus story of my wife back in her little Sneezers days ::
way back when, when little Sneezers was still pizzaPIZZA and you always got two pizzas for the price of one whether you wanted it or not, the pizzas went side by side on a flat board and we slid a bag over the whole thing and stapled it closed to contain the pizzas.
well, once you did it for awhile it was second nature. land the pizzas on the board, cut them, open the bag at the far end, put your hip against the near end, and slide the bag over it all.
the average employee’s hip is about table height.
my wife was 6′ 1″ . . . her hip was considerablly higher than the table.
so the first time i’m showing her how to bag the pizzas i tell her to put the board against her hip and slide the bag on . . .
the pizzas slid together like two messy kids going down a slide and landing in a mud puddle.