So, I bought a pizza....

I start a new, second job as a baker at a well-known bagel-joint in Scottsdale tomorrow. Tomorrow at 4am. Not complaining, just saying... Picking up a second job, unless you count my sporadic employment as a troubadour, which would make this a third job, is a means to earn funds to complete the paperwork necessary to gain my wife admittance into this country, which has become not only more difficult, but much more expensive. Do I really need her here? This is debatable, but a different topic for another day - until this is decided in a negatory manner, I must earn these funds and dedicate them to the cause. On the plus side, once accomplished, I should never have to beg for oral sex. Just sayin'.

If any of my rich and powerful readers would like to donate the six thousand dollars this endeavor is going to cost me, please feel free to contact me via email. Then I will feel free to resume my comfortable schedule of sleeping in best I can and scoffing at my laundry on the weekends. Until then, a-baking I will go.

However, this is not why I am writing this evening.

In anticipation of my new, secondary role as a bagel-baker, I treated myself to the delight of delights - a fresh, hot pizza. What the hell, I'm going to work a second job, I deserve it. I walked into the Domino's by my house and ordered a large pepperoni for $5.00, which seemed like a great deal that will feed me for at least two days. I then proceeded to walk over to the local saloon next door to enjoy a Jameson's and 8oz. draft beer with which to chase the Jameson's while I waited for my pie to cook.

A note - the small, 8-oz. beer should be brought back into circulation, because it is not only a delightful addition to the shot of Jameson's, it has a certain old-school sensibility. There is nothing cooler than drinking an 8 oz. draft beer with a pinky-ring bejeweled hand, regardless of the cost. I understand that we base all of our judgement on value and that the huge, 72 oz. buckets of beer is the way to go, but I beg to differ.

But I digress.

I strolled over to the Domino's after enjoying my extremely over-poured shot of Ireland's best and its mini-beer companion and picked up my pie. "Do you want any peppers?" the flamboyant pizza-boy asked.

"What do you mean - crushed red peppers?" I asked, making sure that he wasn't going to send my pizza back through the oven with a handful of jalapenos.

"Yes - do you want any crushed red peppers?"

"Yes," I said. "And some little packets of Parmesan."

"We don't have those." He replied.

"What do you mean - no Parmesan?"

"No, they're like sixty-four dollars..." He flitted away and I left with my pie, four packets of crushed red peppers and no Parmesan. And I ate. I spent most of the time wondering if the sixty-four dollars was the cost of a case, gross, pound, hogshead or dram of Parmesan. The different options made me smile.

Here is my problem: First off, did the sexually ambiguous cashier/pizza maker need to dismiss my request for Parmesan so flippantly? My guess is "no". I think he could have handled my question with a little more authority, especially given all the flamboyance and dismissiveness in evidence.

Second of all, what is Domino's doing skimping on the Parmesan packets - if they want to cut costs, let them change the pizza recipe from one and a half cups of mozzarella on the pie to a cup. Then we get a healthier pizza and this gives Domino's the cash to spend on the Parmesan packets, which granted are mostly ornamental, are also a large part of our pizza heritage. There are places to skimp and places to remain firm in our pizza-beliefs. Keep the packets, I say. No one will notice the missing half-cup of mozzarella, but let them deny us our Parmesan packets - revolt is imminent.

I had my pizza and I will enjoy it again tomorrow, but the damage has been done - there will be no more Parmesan offered with my Domino's. And because of this new, cost-saving change, the next pizza I order will be from Papa John's, who not only includes Parmesan packets, but also the delightful garlic butter, which will continue to be my dietary Achille's Heel.

And I only have Domino's to blame.