I went to Domino’s to pick up my pizza.
An old lady was working carryout. She looked like she’d had a whole life before Domino’s and was wondering how the hell she ended up there.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
I looked down and noticed I’d been stained by watermelon lemonade earlier that day. I must’ve drank it poorly. It was right on the center of my chest. White t-shirt. Pink spot.
“Pickup for Jonny,” I said and pulled one side of my jean vest all the way across so she wouldn’t notice.
She looked like me when I usta work at Domino’s. Half happy to have a job, half embarrassed to be there.
She went and grabbed my pizza off the heat rack and put it down on the counter with the credit card receipt. I held my vest firmly over the stain as I signed.
“Have a great night,” she said passionlessly.
“You too,” I said even more passionlessly.
I took one last look at her. She was not a beautiful person.
I kept holding the vest with one hand as I walked out the store. The other hand held the large pizza box, and it wobbled.
When I got inside the car I finally released the vest.
“Hooo,” I said, “she didn’t notice.”
