Soon he will be ready to face the Trials

"Remember, young padawan, extra cheese is $1.50 more."

(Listening to: The Mars Volta, De-Loused in the Comatorium)

We had a new driver begin work today.

The story behind the departure of our previous two drivers is both irrelevant and boring, so we won't get into that. Suffice it to say, this is a new guy. There are those who call him...Tim.

While the managers gave him vague pointers -- "This is the oven," and other such helpful tips -- his on-the-job training was left to me. Though I started to protest, citing that these things really should be the responsibility of the managers -- they're the ones who get paid for it, after all -- I realized logic was futile in this situation, as it is most of the time at the Inn. So, begrudgingly, I took him on as my padawan learner.

There wasn't much to it -- frankly, my job isn't that complicated. When dirty dishes are brought to the back, wash them. ("How do I run the dishwasher?" "See that button, padawan?" "Yes, master." "Push it.") When an order is ready, take it to the address on the ticket. When the phone rings, answer it. Since the majority of our duties are self-explanatory, I spent much of the time fielding idle questions from my young apprentice. The first one -- as it always is, with anyone who starts working there -- was "Do we get free pizza?" and I, of course, was forced to reply in the negative. He was slightly disappointed, but I think he'll feel better after he actually tastes our pizza for the first time.

One of the managers came up with the idea of sending the youngling along with me on a few deliveries -- he'd ride along in the car beside me and watch the Pizza Master in action. This idea was quickly and decisively shot down on account of it being incredibly stupid. ("You see, padawan, you take the pizza to the door, and ring the doorbell." "Oh, that's how it works. I was going to throw rocks at their windows until they came outside. Thank you, master." "And make sure you get their money." "Oh, so I can't trade the pizza for baseball cards or bottle caps, then?")

I spent the evening holding his hand (metaphorically speaking) and answering his innocent queries ("How much do you make a week?" etc.). Things would have been smoother without the plumbing emergency that prevented our use of the dishwasher for the last hour of the night. ("I have a very bad feeling about this." "Calm yourself, padawan. Fear is the path to the dark side.") But all things told, it was an uneventful experience. And he is now certainly better equipped than I was after my first day -- I didn't have the fortune to be trained by someone who spoke fluent English, so it took a while to get my feet beneath me.

Tomorrow, there will be more training -- he must be schooled on the technique of cutting the pizzas, and he must pass the ordeals of answering the telephone, taking orders, and not screaming at the customers who ask if there is pepperoni on the Veggie Max pizza.

After that, he will be ready to face the Trials alone. And then he will be a Pizza Man. The Force is strong with him -- I forsee him becoming the greatest of all the Pizza Men.

Or, more likely, quitting in disgust after his first few paychecks. Either/or.