Mariella Pizza on 8th ave does a brisk lunchtime business – step in the door, the guys in Giants hats are demanding to know what you’re having. “One slice pepperoni, one slice sausage, to go” I call out, and my friend says she’ll have the same. He turns to his pizza slicer and announces
“One pepperoni, one sausage, two times.”
We snag a table and he manages to shout across the entire restaurant but it’s totally obvious he’s talking to us “Ladies, you want drinks? And you’re to stay now?”
Two diet cokes, two excellent slices later, he comes over to apologize but say he needs the table and we’ve got to book it.