Working At Little Ceasar's

Working at Little Ceasar’s is a trip and a half. Sometimes it’s not so bad, but when it gets busy… I can’t even describe it. So picture you and your friends are out partying during the weekend. You get a little tipsy, or totally trashed out of your mind, and you and your friends are hungry. It’s one thirty in the morning and almost everywhere is closed, and the places that are open don’t take walkers through the drive through, (I.E.: Burger King). Guess what, Little Ceasar’s does take walkers. “Let’s all,” (and by let’s all I mean you and twenty other people you’re partying with), “Go to Little Ceasar’s and get some $5 pizzas!” So there are now twenty-one drunk people stumbling and yelling in various drunken stages in our parking lot. Excellent idea! There’s really nothing I love more than to be reminded that I can’t party because I’m working, by a whole bunch of drunken people demanding a lot of different pizzas and not making any sense. And I know it’s my job to give them what they want, but some people should be more courteous. For staying open and making pizza for a small price, they shouldn’t treat the workers the way they do. Besides the unruly customers, I don’t think people understand how hot it can get to be in there. We have an oven, taller than me, about five of me wide, and like seven of me long. It’s hot as hell in there, please excuse my language. So, maybe you’re thinking, “O.K., this really is not a big deal, she works at a pizza joint, rough.” But I really don’t care what you’re thinking; otherwise I’d be reading your blog as opposed to you reading mine. And now that I ended this rant, in what appears to be an insult, I shall bid you ado! (Ado!)