Pizza Paranoia

Every now and then, Z and I like to sneak out on a Friday evening and get a jump on the weekend.

We actually put on disguises, complete with dark glasses, wigs and beards, so as not to be caught.

Okay, I’m kidding about that part…only Z puts on the beard.

You might think this is kind of an odd thing to do, these disguises, but what can I say…we just like to keep our personal business to ourselves.

Well, it’s mostly me…not Z.

Z says she doesn’t owe anybody any money, so she’s doesn’t care what people think. I’m not sure, at all, what that means but she tells me this is something her mom used to say, so it must mean something.

I’ve learned, over the years, not to argue with that kind of logic, so we’ll leave it at that.

But I think it might have something to do with me.

Anyway, I guess you’re thinking I’m a little paranoid.

Maybe…but better to be safe than sorry.

You know….

Not that our neighbors keep a watchful eye out for our comings and goings; they all pretty much keep to themselves, too.

Well, except for the guy down on the adjacent corner who I suspect has a camera equipped with a long telescopic lens set up in his back window.

Or the woman in the house behind us who I’m convinced is using one of those big parabolic microphones to listen in on the conversations I have with myself.

Or the kid next door who is highjacking my internet connection and stealing at all of my personal information and reading all my blogs before I have a chance to post them.

Not that I mind him grabbing a sneak peek, but I resent all the revisions.

So, where was I?

Oh, yeah…Z and I sneaking out on a Friday night.

We went up to a local Pizza place in Greenwich that we’ve been known to frequent on occasion over the last decade or two.

There’s no set schedule as to when we go…so don’t be getting any ideas about following us there. We tend to mix up our routine just to avoid that kind of situation.

Plus you wouldn’t recognize us anyway, even if you did.  You know, because of the wig and the beard.

I know…I’m getting a little off topic again. 

I’m just saying…can’t be too careful.

We’ve been going to this little out of the way pizza joint since sometime in the 90s.  It doesn’t seem that long ago, but these days nothing seems like “that long ago”.

You know…because of the Russians.

We’re actually on our third owners there.

Not that any of the new owners have changed anything about the place except for some fresh paint and a few new menu enhancements throughout the years.

It’s just one of those quirky little spots with an eclectic décor, menu and clientele that you really can’t improve on.

Well, I could, like I told the first and second owners, but no one seems to listen to any of my suggestions about lining the ceiling with tin foil and adding the giant bullet proof Squid tank in the front window or even the puppet show on Thursday nights.

Anyway, I’m a little disappointed to say that this current ownership is still not up to speed yet, in the area of running one of our favorite places, even though they’ve been around now for well over a year.

Just little things like, except for picking up the tips, they’re pretty slow to clean up vacated tables or remembering to bring us menus, let alone wait on us.

I mean yeah, it was a Friday, so it was a little busy but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect to be served a glass of wine and a bottle of beer within the first half hour of sitting down.

Sure, I always require the waitress sample my drink for toxins first, but c’mon. 

And even with the e-coli screening, should we really have to wait 45 minutes for our medium veggie pizza to arrive, which, after it finally appeared, looked mysteriously like a small?

When we complained, that we had ordered a medium pizza, and not a small, the waitress told us that it was just on a large tray, which made it look small.

I don’t know…I suppose she might have had a point, but I’m pretty sure that a medium pizza is somewhat larger than the old 45 rpm of “Sugar Sugar” by the Archies, that I wear around my neck…you know, because it jams all the ultra-sonic frequencies coming from the surveillance satellites.

The new owner noticed we were a little dissatisfied with our order and once he finished updating his Facebook page, came over to our table and offered to make it up to us by bringing us one of his grandmother’s homemade meatballs. He said they were fantastic, and I have to say that they were. However, his grandmother wasn’t quite finished eating them yet and was understandably annoyed, shooting us the stink eye the rest of the night.

So that was uncomfortable.

But it’s just that kind of place.

All in all we spent an enjoyable 4 or 5 hours…waiting for the check to arrive and once it did we were pleased to see that they only charged us for the medium pizza once instead of twice…and Grandma’s meatballs were only half price.

But that’s okay…I paid with the phony credit card that I always use to avoid having my “real” identity stolen when I see the black SUVs parked across the street.

Not that I use it all that often.

But let’s just say Mr. Alfred E. Neuman has been very good to me.