April 21, 2006 7:23pm

I'm starting to realize that nothing in my life will ever go according to plan. It doesn't matter how big or small my plan is. Stuff just doesn't work for me.

Take tonight...

I wanted a pizza. So, off I go to the Greenbrier Valley Baking Company to get my awesome pizza.

So there's this kid behind the counter who I've never seen before. I hate the be judgmental, but sometimes you just know from someone's hair cut that dealing with them is going to be a challenge. His hair was...different. Layered in the back like a girl's and long and whispy in the front. His bangs were in his eyes. I wanted to fix that for him with one swift chop.
Can I get a large pizza please? Half spinach. Half mushroom.
"No problem. That will be about 10 minutes."

Perfect. That's just enough time to take a little walk through town. I head up Washington Street and look in the windows for a bit. Make it up the big ass hill and go around the block. I pass a woman sitting in a bright yellow Mini Cooper. She's eating something, or maybe she's just licking her fingers for no reason. Anyway, back down the hill. I check my watch. It's been exactly 16 minutes. I walk back into GVBC.

Whispy haired guy is still behind the counter, but the store has now filled up a bit.

"Can I help you?"
Now, my short term memory isn't that good either. But I think I'd remember someone 16 minutes later. There's still only 4 other people in the store.
Uh...yeah, my pizza?
"Oh, right. Let me check on that."

He goes into the back where there seems to be an argument between a guy wearing an oversized beret and a really cute young girl over where a pizza has gone. There seems to be a missing pie. Now, picture this... it's a open bakery...meaning you can see the ovens and where they do all the prep work. There's a wall of ovens. Five to be exact. They seem to be putting the pizzas into the middle two ovens. As they are arguing, smoke starts billowing out of the bottom oven.

Whispy hair is trying to break into their conversation and alert them of the growing smoke condition, but he's rather soft spoken and can't seem to get a word in. Beret man finally turns around and sees what's happening. The flaming pie is removed from the oven.

The burnt pie actually wasn't mine. It belonged to a family of 5 who were planning to eat there. 3 boys, mom, and dad. The boys were totally out of control. Mom and dad were in the middle of some kind of fight. Now their pizza is burnt. What struck me as odd, though, is that they had only ordered a small pizza. One small pizza to feed 5 people, including 2 adults. I've seen this before. Maybe my family is strange, but that amount of food would never hold us. Yet somehow, other families manage to have a loaves and fishes miracle occur every time they order food. Or they just go hungry. I don't know.

Whispy hair has now found out that my pizza will be "a few more minutes". I thought about going back out walking, but I really don't want to miss this show.

Now Beret guy is busy making another pizza. More orders are coming in. All hell is breaking loose because they have to do more than two things.

Someone comes in and wants two slices. Whispy hair takes the two slices and puts them in the oven. He then stands beside the oven and waits for them to get hot. Beret guy doesn't like this. Tells him to go back out to the counter. He does.

Tic Toc. Tic Toc. Now I'm 30 minutes post pizza order. More orders coming in. Whispy hair guy is getting nervous. I see Beret guy take out two badly burnt slices from the oven and put them on a cooling rack. Whispy hair remembers his slices and runs to the back. Awww, poor kid. So he comes back to get two new ones. But he's stopped making eye contact with me.

Puts his two unburnt slices in the oven and stands next to the oven. Beret guy is mad again. Whispy hair sees that I'm watching this whole thing and stands on the opposite side of the oven so I can't see him. But every few seconds he pokes his head around the corner and looks at me, then hides again. Wow.

We're approaching 45 minutes post pizza order. I'm considering ordering a Tirsmisu before my blood sugar drops any further. Whispy hair comes out with the slices, but still won't make eye contact with me.

I'm seeing pizzas come out of the oven. None of them look like mine.

1 hour post pizza order. I finally see my half spinach, half mushroom pie come out of the oven unburnt.

Beret guy boxes it and brings it out to me.
"Thanks for hanging out with us."

What? I was visiting?

I get in my truck and drive around the block. there's the lady in the yellow mini...still licking her fingers. In this experience, I like to think of her as the little girl in the red coat from Schindler's List.

See...nothing is ever simple for me.