Pizzarama

I quit work early today to come home and cook pizza for the birthday party we had tonight, or should I say birthday parties. When we young staff at Fountainview have birthday parties we have it for whoevers birthday was during that month, makes things easier. Ellen had been working with me, but she had to run get some pizza sauce.
I was chopping away at my mushrooms for the pizza, when the phone rang. I picked it up answering, "Hello."
There was a young guy on the other end, who sounded like one of our young staff on campus. He asked "Hi, can I order a pizza?"
Thinking it was one of the guys coming to our party who was just joking around, I answered enthusiastically, "Coming right up!"
He seemed a bit confused and then he asked, "This is Pizzarama right?"
I laughed, "You're kidding right?" I asked incredulously.
"Uh no," He replied sounding even more confused. It was at this point that I began to realized that he was actually serious!
"You totally have the wrong number!" I informed him. "But the funny thing is, I'm actually making pizza right now!" I laughed. He didn't.
"So do you have their number?" He questioned.
"No, sorry I don't." And with that our conversation was over, and I had a good laugh.

The Letter

Cold, biting winds whipped around Ceri and me as we struggled to pull the small boat towards the frigid dashing waves of the ocean inlet. Snow crunched under our feet and I clutched my jacket closer to me. With the salt water spray stinging our eyes we positioned ourselves in the little dinghy and began rowing on our treacherous journey. Again I double checked to see if I had the letter. That letter was the whole reason for this foolhardy trip.

Had it really only been yesterday that we had realized that the letter must get to our contact many miles away at the opposite end of the inlet, near the sea. Sending it by regular mail service would be much too slow at this point in time and possibly compromisable. Flying it in was out if the question as severe winter storms quickly arose at this time of the year, and well hiking in would take much too long. So here we were rowing amid the icy ocean waves. "Alissa," Ceri called, "do you think perhaps our boat will not be able to withstand all these waves?" fear laced her words. I too was worried. If our small boat capsized there would be no way we would be able to swim to shore without dying of hypothermia, being smashed by the towering waves, or drowning. As the waves continued to roughly toss the dinghy as though it were a toy boat, Ceri and I desperately attempted to make some headway. It seemed our rowing was doing no good. We quickly discussed our dire situation and decided that despite the extreme importance of the letter, we simply could go no further. If we did, we would die and the letter wasn't worth dying for. So maneuvering our craft around we headed back to shore, though we could hardly see it for the waves. With a death grip I clutched my oar, silently willing us to move more quickly towards the safety of solid ground. And then I looked up.