“I had had my last slice”
That’s what my boss, Benny, said about
My last slice of mess-ups
That’s the way he talked
Trying to be cute about serious things
Serious as in getting fired
And it wasn’t even my fault
But you explain that to Benny
Nothing gets through when he’s set on something
And he’d been set on canning me for awhile
Who knows why?
Don’t know, don’t care
It wasn’t my fault
Mr. Sidney Sabin’s pizza party wasn’t my fault that is
Mr. Sabin’s an important person in this area
And he’s had loads of pizza parties before
He entertains a lot and his kids have lots of parties
So why would I question his order for 38 pizzas
Besides
Everything’s automated these days
That’s why it’s not my fault
You see this is how it went
I answered the phone at Roma’s Pizza Palace
I couldn’t quite hear what they were saying
But the number was a preferred customer
Mr. Sidney Sabin
The computer, that fricking blameless booby trap
It reads the number and matches it to an address 
that plugs it into previous orders so if anything is fishy
Like ordering 38 pizzas
It sends up a red flag message
But just last month Sidney’s number ordered 30 pizzas
Twice
Once for his daughter’s birthday
And for some other unknown event
So nothing unusual
The problem was
I couldn’t quite make out what Mr. Sabin was saying
I heard the number 38, clearly,
I am sure of that
And maybe peperoni, I think
I didn’t want to call him back and sound like a dolt
If it was from anyone else ordering that many pizzas
Sure
But the computer showed that he had 17 orders of 20 pizzas or more
Three orders for all peperoni
But the next part is the tricky part
I wasn’t sure if he wanted them standard delivery time
Within 30 minutes of the order
Or at some other specified time
Since I hadn’t heard him specify
I made the assumption
No future date heard
He must want them right away
He got all 38 in 28 minutes
And that’s how I became
What Benny called
“A dropped pie”
Him and his stupid three strikes rule
“That’s 38 strikes and you’re burnt crust,”
he quipped with a grin.
“No matter how you slice it, Cheese Boy, you’re off the menu.”
And he twisted that grin again
How was I to know there was such a thing
As a pocket call?
Stupid cell phones
Don’t get me wrong
I love mine
Couldn’t live without it
But I got the old style fold up kind
My hip will never press a button
That speed dials my dismissal
From the only place of employment I have ever known
Well, at least I won’t have to listen to Benny call me Cheese Boy no more
I wonder Mr. Sabin calls me?
And I wonder if he called himself anything
When he realized he had accidently hip called me
He probably munched on a slice
From one of his 38 pizzas
And thought
“MMMMM, tasty, but it needs more cheese.”