Rakeela and I just cleaned out the fridge.
...Dear gods that was disgusting. But now the fridge went from full to mostly empty, and we'll try not to let it get that bad again.
Mostly, I feel guilty about wasting the food. Wasting nearly a refrigerator-full of food is embarassing. I don't care about the money, I care about the waste. At least it's not as bad as some, I suppose; it's "only" two thirds of a refrigerator, in one year. This is apparently a better-than-average rate, relative to what I remember from my parents' habits in St. Louis.
Before we started cleaning the fridge, Rakeela and I ordered a pizza. We'd agreed that this would be our timer: we'd order the pizza, start cleaning, and stop when the pizza arrived, done or not. We actually finished before the pizza guy got here, but it's sort of nice to work and know that it's not interminable, no matter what.
We ordered from a small, almost-independent pizza place (two locations- one here, one in Seattle) that we'd had before: specifically, Padrino's Pizza, just three miles north at Crossroads Mall. They have an in-store-only manager's special- $7 for a two-topping 10-inch pizza, which is not enough for dinner but just right for two people for lunch. I've posted before about Rakeela and me enjoying a day of taking one of their pizzas to a picnic table at the adjacent park and calling it a few hours well-spent; this time, we decided to order for dinner.
It's fun to be recognized. The delivery man turned out to be the person who had taken our orders in the past, and whom we'd identified as most likely to be the manager, based on his apparent relationship with the other employees and his overall conduct. His greeting upon opening the door was "Oh, it's you!", which is a fun way to be greeted. I guess the three other times we bought pizza, he remembered us; possibly because we have come up with (and greatly enjoyed) rather odd pizzas each time. (Broccoli & gyro meat = win.) Or maybe it's just memorable to see a pair of obviously gay nerds wearing bike helmets spending several minutes trying to figure out what they want on a pizza, and enjoying the process of just figuring out what should be ordered.
Whatever it was, it was a cheerful thing, and the man (I don't know his name!) was glad to see that we've evidently become regular customers, and in return I tipped well (I'm in the habit of overtipping pizza guys, actually; pizza delivery personnel have long memories, at least for bad tippers), and went about our business. But it's fun to be remembered, and given the quality of the pizza, and the price, and the proximity, I see no pressing reason to ever order from Papa John's again.