Yesterday kicked my booty.
I finally decided to pull my car out of the garage, and on my way to the car wash, Whitey called me a bit frantic.
“Any chance you can come to work instead?” he asked.
I was there in less than 4 minutes and working ovens. It only took about 30-minutes to get over the hump, and when I left things were back in rhythm.
I went back to my errands, which basically included filling the car with items for the catering job Friday and Saturday.
Whitey and I switched shifts, and from 3:30 on, I was making pizza. And making more pizza. And then? Making even more pizza. We had a couple of moments that we came close to calling Whitey in as back-up, but I really wanted to let him stay home. It was his birthday, and even though he doesn’t “celebrate” things like that, it meant a lot to me to have him just chill at home.
The rush began to die down, we were re-stocking the line and BAM! 32 people walked in. They ordered 8 two-foot pizzas and one 18″ pie. It was crazy all over again.
The group was a baseball team from the Valley, and some of the most polite young men. Front gal was swooning.
It took forEVER to clean up the kitchen. I ended up getting home at 11 o’clock, and Whitey was already asleep. Passing ships in the night…
He’s already at work as I type this on Friday morning, making tons of dough for our busy weekend. I’ll join him in about an hour to prep for catering, make coffee, and begin this crazy weekend.