Okay, they requested the story about the Apt B Pizza. Well, first of all, this is underground pizza.
Underground doesn’t mean it is physically underground, it’s just not something everyone knows about.
Oddly, I was thinking about this story the other day while at an underground soda lounge, sipping upon mixed sodas.
You think it’s weird, I think… theme park memberships are weird and how they offer something like this underground soda club.
It's Seattle, 2010, I'm looking around in this packed in, dirty, but creatively interesting, apartment.
“Apt B pizza? What is that?!” I ask D, looking at the all kraft box with a slick, logo stamp in the corner.
“Oh you don’t know about Apt B Pizza?”
Ah, this is made for this type of cool, marketing moment.
She moves her Bette bangs, grinning, “It’s underground pizza.”
Well, let’s explain D. She is.. involved in my work with my boyfriend and our company.
At my day job, my coworker M is an East Coast girl like me with an immigrant mother.
She’s from Jersey, her mamasita is from Jamaica.
M and I have an awesome routine at work. We regularly will swing the door and do alternating improv routines making fun of each other, coworkers, our managers.
I bring her a gigantic cinnamon roll most mornings from a coffee shop near my apartment.
We just have a good routine, the comedy, the work, the friendship.
One day, M saw D riding through dropping off some random fast food order I’d never pick.
“Yo Peg.. D is like.. she is your arch nemesis right?”
I watch trash reality TV, so this reference is beyond me.
I think about it though. “Wait a minute..she called me Pam.. she gives my boyfriend all those stupid scifi books.. she ordered that weird burger I’d never get... M, you are right! D isn’t trying to take me to sesh and sauna... she is my arch nemesis!”
“Hmm.. not good Peg..what are you going to do about?”
“Destroy her? No… I will watch her like a hawk, I will destroy her when I need to.”
“Good plan.”
Back to her apartment.
“Okay D, yeah what’s the deal with the pizza? I want in. It is a.. speakeasy of pizza? Where do we go, what is the password?”
“No..Apt B pizza.. my friend C handles the Delivery and you have to Email him.. I’ll Forward his Gmail.”
“What does the guy not have a proper kitchen or something?”
“Right.”
“Okay this makes sense.. what does he send?”
“Fridays he drops the menu first thing, you email him, PayPal him, he delivers the pizza in his Subaru.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes!” She is excited, I am excited now, but.. I watch her.
The pizza guys… wow. It was perfect to have had, for it’s moment in time before going away, given to me from an arch nemesis.
The salads had squash blossoms, and the pizza had salt on the crust I usually think about when adding salt myself now to pizza over a decade later.
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