It was supposed to be a quiet Tuesday night. Then Karen walked in.
Before the door even closed behind her, she was yelling. “This is the worst pizza I’ve ever had!” She threw the box on the counter, sending pepperoni slices sliding everywhere.
My nonna, who’s seen every type of customer in her 40 years running the shop, just wiped her hands on her apron and smiled. “Let me see, cara.”
The whole restaurant watched as Nonna examined the pizza. Then she did something amazing – she started laughing. Not a mean laugh, but the kind you make when a toddler insists the sky is green.
“Sweetheart,” Nonna said, pointing to the box, “this isn’t ours.”
The woman’s anger evaporated like steam from fresh dough. She looked at the box, then at our logo on the wall, then back at the box. Her face turned the same color as our marinara sauce.
The best part? The staff at Tony’s Pizza across the street saw everything through the window. As Karen slunk out of our shop, they were already holding their sides laughing. She took one look at them and power-walked down the block, pizza box and all.
Nonna just shook her head and went back to rolling dough. “Some people,” she muttered, “just need to taste their own medicine.”
