Katie Doyle, Girl About Town

Wednesday, Apr. 19, 2006 - 12:43 p.m.

So, barring the fact that the line producer waltzed in 2 hours ago and told me she was going to take my phone away to give to someone else, because "your job doesn't entail talking on the phone anyway, and if you want to make a phone call, you can just come stand at my desk to do it," I somehow got stuck with the task of ordering lunch for our little office group today.

Dude.

Pepperoni pizza was settled upon. Edicts were issued (The SE seems to feel that as he eats at the place in question somewhat often, he is the resident expert on the menu and therefore qualified to order for all of us). Detente was reached. I dial the phone, and as I am ordering the pizza, SE pipes up to correct me: "HALF pepperoni." So I, thinking cool office worker doesn't like pepperoni and I somehow misunderstood the ordering situation, correct myself to the pizza guy: half pepperoni, half cheese. Cool guy pops up with, "wait: how did I get stuck eating cheese pizza?" What? I say? Cool guys says he doesn't want cheese, he wants pepperoni. Pizza guy gets impatient, as it's lunch, and he's BUSY. I apologize, tell him we'll be coalating our feces, and we'll call him back. I hang up, and it turns out the fucking SE has decided that as HE wants some slices of pepperoni and some with just cheese, HE wants half pepperoni and half-cheese. The rest of us are all, well, *I* want pepperoni, dude. I ask him if I can get one with just 1/4 cheese only, is that okay? Fine, he pouts. If that's what he has to have, he guesses he'll just have to accept it. I say if they can't do that, is pepperoni (which he has already said he likes) acceptable. If he has to settle for that, he guesses he'll have to, he sulks further. So I call the pizza place back for the 3rd freaking time and apologize yet again and ask the guy if he can do 1/4 without pepperoni. He is vastly freaking irritated and makes sure I know it. (Frankly, I was hoping he'd say no, he couldn't do that, but alas, the stars were not with me.) The pizza guy very grudgingly tells me he guesses he can do 1/4 cheese. I thank him profusely and order the SE's caesar salad with no parmesan, because the SE regalled me with a 5 minute dissertation on how much he hates parmesan and how he feels the place in question really goes overboard on the amount of parmesan they put on their caesar salad. (I've had it, and it's the normal amount, but whatever.) I thankfully and happily hang up the phone and then somehow am made responsible for collecting the monies with which to pay for the pizza, and of course, both the SE and the asshat want to give me twenties....for a $24 pizza order for which their shares are $6 and $8, respectively. I mentally resolve NEVER to fucking eat lunch with these dipshits again, and am now blogging the frustration so that sometime later today I don't suddenly snap and kill someone. Namely, the whiny fucking narcissistic prick in charge of storying this fucking trainwreck. I'm sure there will be more to this story later, as I'm pretty fairly certain however the pizza arrives is going to make someone unhappy. My money is on the Whiner.

Thank you all for serving as my therapists today and yesterday. I have a feeling we're going to be seeing a lot of each other over the next 3 weeks. You have my undying love and appreciation.

xo,
kd

2 comments so far

On the rapid rise to fame:
It just seems that because I live in Los Angeles and I did one celebrity, it became kind of an accordion effect.

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Yesterday's News - Next Stop

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In which Katie asks you to write your congressman again. - Monday, Jun. 02, 2008
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