For Otis's birthday on Saturday we ended up going out for pizza to Flatbread. As usual, the pizza was delicious, but as usual, the service was hideous. It always makes me slightly tense to be there, partly because it reminds me of waitressing and how there was always one other waitress who just completely didn't get it. At Flatbread, the entire staff is utterly clueless. This is how I imagine their interview process:

Q. Are you a hippie?

Q. Do you seem somewhat stoned all the time?

Q. Do you promise to forget at least one person's drink, preferably the crying baby's milk, plus possibly the birthday celebrant's beer?

Q. Do you like to disappear partly through service?

Q. Are you physically incapable of hurrying or speaking quickly?

Congratulations! You are hired! Only people who answer yes to the previous five questions are incompetent enough to be hired in service roles at Flatbread!

The funny thing is, the people who actually make the pizza seem to be fairly together. Although in truth one of our four pies had to be remade because they dropped it, or burnt it, or something.

But they were all delicious!