pigeon heads, snorting ants, bouts of insanity. Now Ozzy was in Beverly Hills living here with his wife and
two of his children.
I’d delivered to celebrities before so I wasn’t
starstruck. Still I was intimidated. Delivering to stars can throw
you off. You must get past the whole “they’re famous” part so you can
effectively take notice of the fact that you’ve got their food.
I delivered to Jon Stewart at The Four Seasons.
I was totally off-guard. He is one of my comic heroes and I didn’t
realize it was him until he answered the door.
All it said on the ticket was “Jon”, and a room number. I felt
unprepared. As if I needed to break through my muted, taciturn exterior
and impress him somehow. I couldn’t get the words out. I was
so used to being on mute all of the time I panicked when I was all of the
sudden thrust into the presence of my lord.
As I handed him his pizza I tried to make a
political joke that made no sense and may have accidentally telegraphed some
type of unintended sexual advance. I panicked and back- stepped, mumbling
to myself, nearly tripping, looking even more crazy ,
erratic and to the naked-eye perhaps even pre-masturbatory. Which is what
everyone needs to see in their delivery man. To
show how decent he was he still tipped me big and offered not one moment of
judgment or indictment over me. He was purely decent. I
looked like an idiot. Oh well. I’d kill for a do-over. Hand
him his food, exchange money, exit . Perfect.
One must reconcile the past the only way they know how.
Raquel Welch was a regular. Gorgeous
woman. Sometimes she’d come in to pick up her food in person. She’d smile
at me. It turned her on when I spoke spanish to
the cooks. I’d raise my voice an octave just for effect.
“ Aye Geraldo! Necessita La Pizza para
la bonita mujer! PRONTO! ”
“ Chupo mis juevos, pendecho... ” Geraldo
would mutter under his breath at me as he would ring
her up. But Ms. Welch loved it. I was a chummy,
unthreatening, bald, jewish man who physically
resembled an entertainment executive, only I was dirt poor, poorly dressed and
yelling at Mexicans in their own language, and handing her food. She was
a seductive, hungry half-Bolivian with a firm “Jews run this town” belief
system. Thus, to her I was a dream come true. There was no one else
on the planet she wanted to hand her food. I was perfect casting and for
less than thirty seconds I was Raquel Welch’s dirty little secret. She
smiled big at me, grabbed her pizza and whispered a sultry “ adios ” to me
and only me. I was high for a week.
A word of advice, if you want
to make a good impression on someone in showbiz make sure
of two things. One, they are hungry and two, you are
the one handing them their food. I delivered to all of the top agencies
and management companies in Beverly Hills for years. William Morris, CAA,
ICM, UTA, Brad Pitt could have been strolling past but it didn’t matter, I was
the one with a pizza.
Adam Arkin would call in his order a lot, he lived right near the store. I pissed Jerry
Vale off because I was late with his food one time. Traffic was hell.
I swear I could hear the swish and swerve of his adult diapers as he
stormed out from his apartment and into the hallway to meet me. Maybe he
had just dropped a load in his pants or something. We’ve all been there.
James Spader had to be interrupted by his wife
and housekeeper while he was trying to strum his guitar in his man-cave
simultaneously with a house full of family waiting for him in the living room.
He was the only one with cash. He seemed to be removed from the
whole thing. Didn’t want anything to do with anyone in the rest of the
house. Just wanted to play his guitar. A nice new Fender
Stratocaster that you could tell he was still getting to know. The rest of the house loud and blaring. If I didn’t know
better, I’d have
two of his children.
I’d delivered to celebrities before so I wasn’t
starstruck. Still I was intimidated. Delivering to stars can throw
you off. You must get past the whole “they’re famous” part so you can
effectively take notice of the fact that you’ve got their food.
I delivered to Jon Stewart at The Four Seasons.
I was totally off-guard. He is one of my comic heroes and I didn’t
realize it was him until he answered the door.
All it said on the ticket was “Jon”, and a room number. I felt
unprepared. As if I needed to break through my muted, taciturn exterior
and impress him somehow. I couldn’t get the words out. I was
so used to being on mute all of the time I panicked when I was all of the
sudden thrust into the presence of my lord.
As I handed him his pizza I tried to make a
political joke that made no sense and may have accidentally telegraphed some
type of unintended sexual advance. I panicked and back- stepped, mumbling
to myself, nearly tripping, looking even more crazy ,
erratic and to the naked-eye perhaps even pre-masturbatory. Which is what
everyone needs to see in their delivery man. To
show how decent he was he still tipped me big and offered not one moment of
judgment or indictment over me. He was purely decent. I
looked like an idiot. Oh well. I’d kill for a do-over. Hand
him his food, exchange money, exit . Perfect.
One must reconcile the past the only way they know how.
Raquel Welch was a regular. Gorgeous
woman. Sometimes she’d come in to pick up her food in person. She’d smile
at me. It turned her on when I spoke spanish to
the cooks. I’d raise my voice an octave just for effect.
“ Aye Geraldo! Necessita La Pizza para
la bonita mujer! PRONTO! ”
“ Chupo mis juevos, pendecho... ” Geraldo
would mutter under his breath at me as he would ring
her up. But Ms. Welch loved it. I was a chummy,
unthreatening, bald, jewish man who physically
resembled an entertainment executive, only I was dirt poor, poorly dressed and
yelling at Mexicans in their own language, and handing her food. She was
a seductive, hungry half-Bolivian with a firm “Jews run this town” belief
system. Thus, to her I was a dream come true. There was no one else
on the planet she wanted to hand her food. I was perfect casting and for
less than thirty seconds I was Raquel Welch’s dirty little secret. She
smiled big at me, grabbed her pizza and whispered a sultry “ adios ” to me
and only me. I was high for a week.
A word of advice, if you want
to make a good impression on someone in showbiz make sure
of two things. One, they are hungry and two, you are
the one handing them their food. I delivered to all of the top agencies
and management companies in Beverly Hills for years. William Morris, CAA,
ICM, UTA, Brad Pitt could have been strolling past but it didn’t matter, I was
the one with a pizza.
Adam Arkin would call in his order a lot, he lived right near the store. I pissed Jerry
Vale off because I was late with his food one time. Traffic was hell.
I swear I could hear the swish and swerve of his adult diapers as he
stormed out from his apartment and into the hallway to meet me. Maybe he
had just dropped a load in his pants or something. We’ve all been there.
James Spader had to be interrupted by his wife
and housekeeper while he was trying to strum his guitar in his man-cave
simultaneously with a house full of family waiting for him in the living room.
He was the only one with cash. He seemed to be removed from the
whole thing. Didn’t want anything to do with anyone in the rest of the
house. Just wanted to play his guitar. A nice new Fender
Stratocaster that you could tell he was still getting to know. The rest of the house loud and blaring. If I didn’t know
better, I’d have
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