Points in Case |
| The Dollar Bill on the Wall of This Pizza Shop Is Sick of Being Out of Circulation Posted: 01 Mar 2022 05:00 AM PST Hey. Over here, next to the receipt holder. Look up. Nope, now down. Below the framed picture of Italy. Yes! It is I, the dollar bill hanging on this sauce-splattered wall of Anthony's "Authentic Italian" Pizzeria. I watch people pick up their pies. I hear the staff ask "bleu cheese or ranch" on wing night. I see customers make sure the person at the register is looking before they shove a dollar into the tip jar. It might look like I have a pretty good gig, but don't you think this is kind of fucked up? I feel like Jesus on the crucifix up here. My god, my god, why have you forsaken me by using thumbtacks to attach me to this drywall? I weigh a single gram, Anthony. A simple piece of Scotch tape would have sufficed. Or you could've gone with the double-sided stuff. Low profile. Sleek. Do you know some business owners even have a frame for their first dollar? Those bills have luxury homes, but I'm exposed to the grease, the grime, and the garlic particles floating through the air. My quality of life is low—almost as low as your standards for a house salad. The view from up here is not good, my friend, not good at all. The cockroaches keep a low profile during the day, but they're executing elaborate routines at night. It's actually quite impressive what they can achieve. Unfortunately, I don't think the health inspector would find their performance very inspiring. Take some business advice from me, a literal piece of currency: you're not going to sell any cannolis when your trattoria looks like a trash heap. What am I doing up here, anyway? What even is this? Flaunting the capitalism that you all hold so dear? Oh wow, you earned a dollar. Congrats. No one cares! This isn't a meritocracy. Laurie Loughlin's daughters got into USC because she had the dough for bribery, and you got me because your father gave you his pizza shop. It's the same thing. I might be the first dollar you accepted as legal tender, sure, but there were years of generational wealth before me. I wish I could shoot the shit with my fives and tens again. They were jealous of my position at first. They thought I was given pride of place, but they don't know what it's like to wither under fluorescent lighting every day of your goddamn life. (Have you ever heard of ambiance, Anthony? Some wall sconces would do wonders here.) Oh, how I long for the safety of an ATM, the warm embrace of a genuine leather wallet. A pedestal can become a cage, and being perpetually showcased is absolutely destroying my psyche. Throw me in the tip jar! Those bills are having an orgy and I'm the sad single on the sidelines. Put me in the skill crane! Go for the Minion that's been in there since 2011. Save us both. How does this end? Do you one day get so desperate, the business failing, that I'm all you have left? Do you admit defeat and finally release me from my thumbtack shackles? Do you contemplate your life as you shut the lights off one last time, and then decide to use me on a pack of Ramen at the corner store? Just like the staff getting $2.83 an hour without tips, I deserve more. Send me back into circulation, Anthony. I must be tendered. |
| Posted: 28 Feb 2022 05:00 AM PST It says this produce is farm to table but "farm to table" doesn't tell the whole story. First, it's money to farm. Labor to farm. Toil to farm. Chore to chore. Hour to hour. Day to day. Week to week. Month to month. Season to season. Year to year. Life to farm. Sunup to sundown. Sea to shining sea. Lamb to slaughter. Sacrifice to gods. Sunlight to farm. Rain to farm. Gods to harvest. Harvest to profit. Profit to seed. Profit to cattle. Profit to farm. Hopes to farm. Dreams to farm. Blood to farm. Sweat to farm. Tears to farm. Sunlight to farm. Day to day. Week to week. Month to month. Drought to farm. Prayers to farm. Starvation to family. Winter to farm. Cold to family. Farm to bank. Family to streets. Dumpsters to eat. Life insurance to farmer. Farmer to suicide. Money to family and so on. That's the classic tale but it's not the only story. Sometimes it's profit to seed. Seed to ground. Sunlight to farm. Rain to farm. Day to day. Week to week. Month to month. Ground to machine. Machine to machine. Machine to truck. Truck to facility. Facility to truck. Truck to store. Store to stockroom. Stockroom to aisle. Customer to aisle. Food to cart. Cart to conveyor belt. Conveyor belt to cashier. Cashier to bagger. Bagger to cart. Cart to car. Food to trunk. Cart to cart. Car to lot. Lot to road. Road to road. Road to road. Road to road. Road to road. Car to driveway. Food to house. Hour to hour. Day to day. Week to week. Month to month. Smell to food. Food to dumpster and so on. And there's more action-packed stories than those. Sometimes it's food to trunk. Car to lot. Lot to road. Road to road. Road to road. Road to bank drive-thru. Bank drive-thru to road. Road to road. Road to road. Road to pharmacy drive-thru. Pharmacy drive-thru to road. Road to road. Road to boulevard. Boulevard to street. Street to lane. Lane to avenue. Avenue to drive. Drive to way. Way to terrace. Terrace to court. Court to place. Place to road. Road to road. Road to road. Road to road. Road to traffic. Bumper to bumper. Bumper to bumper. Bumper to bumper. Bumper to bumper. Bumper to bumper. Traffic to road. Road to road. Car to car! Airbag to customer. Blood to windshield. Glass to road. Ambulance to customer. Customer to ambulance. Ambulance to road. Road to avenue. Avenue to boulevard. Boulevard to street. Street to hospital. Hospital to emergency room. Emergency room to coma. Day to day. Week to week. Month to month. Nurse to plug. Body to hole. Money to family and so on. Occasionally, the story arrives from farm to table with little to no drama. Then it's table to plate. Plate to fork. Fork to knife. Knife to fork. Fork to mouth. Mouth to teeth. Teeth to teeth. Teeth to teeth. Food to throat. Air to throat. Air to throat. Air to throat. Hands to chest. Hands to chest. Hands to chest. Hands to chest. Fist to chest. Food to floor. Air to lungs. Lungs to air. Air to lungs. Lungs to air. Tears to eyes. Air to lungs. Lungs to air. Air to lungs. Mop to floor and so on. In an alternate timeline, it would be farm to table. Table to plate. Plate to fork. Fork to mouth. Mouth to teeth. Teeth to teeth. Food to throat. Air to throat. Air to throat. Air to throat. Hands to chest. Hands to chest. Hands to chest. Hands to chest. Hands to throat. Hand to phone. Finger to “9.” Finger to “1.” Body to floor. Head to floor. Phone to floor. Finger to floor. Blood to floor. Minute to minute. Hour to hour. Day to day. Week to week. Month to month. Smell to neighbor. Neighbor to door. Neighbor to kitchen. Eyes to body. Hands to mouth. Tears to eyes. Neighbor to body. Hands to chest. Hands to chest. Mouth to mouth. Vomit to face. Mouth to sink. Hands to sink. Hand to phone. Finger to “9.” Finger to “1.” Finger to “1.” Neighbor to pockets. Hand to wallet. Paramedics to door. Wallet to pocket. Neighbor to door. Paramedics to body. Body to ambulance. Paramedics to pockets. Body to morgue. Family to morgue. Tears to eyes. Body to crematorium. Crematorium to urn. Urn to mantle. Year to year. Decade to decade. Kids to room. Football to kid. Kid to football. Football to kid. Kid to football. Football to urn! Kids to vacuum. Vacuum to ashes. Sand to urn. Urn to mantle. Ashes to garbage and so on. But sure, in a perfect world the story goes food to table. Family to table. Conversation to family. Love to family. Food to plate. Plate to fork. Fork to mouth. Mouth to teeth. Teeth to teeth. Food to tongue. Tongue to taste. Taste to reflex. Reflex to mouth. Food to napkin. Beverage to mouth. Smile to face. Compliments to chef and so on. |
| You are subscribed to email updates from Points in Case. To stop receiving these emails, you may unsubscribe now. | Email delivery powered by Google |
| Google, 1600 Amphitheatre Parkway, Mountain View, CA 94043, United States | |
No comments:
Post a Comment