Transcription
The fat man was my least favorite customer. You could smell him come in before you saw him; nearly seven feet tall and at least 400 pounds, the guy had a distinct smell, something like cinnamon and burning hair. I didn't dislike the man because of his appearance or odor, though. No, I hated whenever the customer, Brad, came in because he ate his pizza like he was going to war.
Brad would settle his bulk into a corner table, then order our largest deep-dish pizza to start; that was his appetizer. He liked to work his way through our hot and ready menu; if a particular item caught his attention that day, he ordered double. His mid-meal break was a triple order of Crazy Bread, an order of wings, and all of this was washed down with liters of Diet Pepsi. The way Brad ate terrified children and ran off other customers. He hit the pizza harder than the Allies when they stormed Normandy Beach. Globs of sauce and chunks of crust went flying in every direction. When Brad chewed, it was like someone sent off a hand grenade inside of a lasagna. His shirt, cheeks, and table were splattered. Each session, before he was halfway done, anyone sitting within a dozen feet of Brad was in danger of being struck by debris, and the sounds he made when he ate—I still have nightmares about the slurping, chomping, gurgling, moaning sounds. Suffice to say, no one ever wanted to wait on Brad when he visited our Little Caesars. So, as the manager, that duty usually fell onto me.
We tolerated Brad's scaring away our other customers because there really wasn't a legal reason to ban him. That is, until one morning in January when Brad waddled into the restaurant, holding a small cooler, took his usual seat in the corner, and ordered every cheese pizza that we had in the kitchen.
"Brad, I think we've got about 80 pizzas cooling back there," I told him. "How many do you actually want?"
"80 is a good start, but you'll need to keep them coming. I have an appetite today."
"What's in the cooler?" Brad grinned; his teeth were awful.
"Just some toppings I brought from home."
"We don't really allow that. Do I need to register a complaint with Little Caesar's main offices again?" I sighed. "Fine, whatever, just don't make a mess."
Brad lifted his cooler onto the table and started poking around inside while I walked back to the kitchen to give them his order. When I returned with Brad's Diet Pepsi and first pizza, I nearly gagged when the smell from his cooler hit me. Inside of the box were dozens of plastic baggies arranged around a few ice packs. The baggies were smeared with a thick, pinkish fluid and contained gray chunks of what I had to assume was meat. Whatever it was, it wreaked like it was spoiled.
"You can't eat that," I said, setting Brad's order on his table. "The food in your cooler has gone bad."
Brad just smiled and popped one of the gray blobs into his mouth, then licked the pink fluid from his chin. I retreated before my stomach betrayed me. The rest of the staff and I barricaded ourselves in the kitchen as well as we could. Every few minutes, I would run another pizza out like I was charging across a battlefield, dodging cannon fire. Brad's rotten toppings and wood chipper eating style scared away most of the customers immediately. One brave family tried to stick it out, sitting at the opposite end of the room, but Brad ended up choking on a slice of pizza, then coughing it up. The wad of dough and phlegm shot all over the tables and splattered the family. Brad started laughing, spraying more food. That was too much.
"That's it, you're banned from Little Caesars!" I shouted.
Brad just continued to munch. "Well, I haven't finished."
"Finish up then, eat as much as you want and more, but after you leave today, you're banned permanently." He shrugged and thrust his empty glass at me. "Refill."
The big man continued to eat for hours. I'd never seen him tear through pizza, wings, and Crazy Bread like he did that day. At one point, he slouched over, and I thought he was finally done, but then he popped up and beckoned me over with one swollen hand. I didn't know how Brad could possibly keep eating; the buttons had popped from his shirt, and his belly spilled over his legs.
"I want to try some of my toppings warm," he said, nodding towards one of the disgusting baggies. "Toss those in the microwave for me."
"Absolutely not. If you do, I promise I'll leave here in the next hour." I pulled my shirt over my nose and tried to defend against the stench and gingerly picked up the baggie with a napkin. I hurried back to the kitchen, poured out the vile gunk into a bowl, and put it in the microwave. The odor was overwhelming, and I knew we'd need to air out the kitchen for days to get rid of it. I immediately regretted listening to Brad's request; maybe it was time to call the cops and have him tossed out.
"More!" I heard him yell from the dining room. "Stacked them high, and I need a refill!"
Since I was watching the microwave, my assistant manager, Bianca, was the one who had to run out the next tower of pizzas and a two-liter. The microwave beeped, and I extracted the foul contents. When the steam cleared, I nearly dropped the bowl, not because it was hot, but because outside of the little baggies, I could finally get a clear look at the toppings Brad had brought from home. Most were unrecognizable lumps of pink and brown, but one object was unmistakably, undeniably the bottom half of a human ear.
I placed the bowl on the counter, my face cold with shock. Before I could decide how to react, there was a shriek from the dining room. I made it to the kitchen door just as Bianca came running inside, clutching her arm. At first, I thought she'd gotten pizza sauce all over her hand; there was so much red. Then I realized all of her fingers on her left hand, except for her index and thumb, were gone—nothing but raw stumps.
"He bit me!" Bianca screamed. "I tried to put the pizzas down for him, and that monster snapped!"
I heard the sound of falling tables in a loud crash. Not one part of me wanted to go look, but I was the manager; the staff at Little Caesars were counting on me.
"Wrap Bianca's hand in a towel and keep pressure on it," I instructed one of the cooks. "You call 9-1-1," I said to another. "We need an ambulance and the police."
I took a breath and walked out into the dining room to find Brad on the floor. He'd fallen from his chair and knocked the contents of his table everywhere. He had half of a pizza in his mouth, his jaws trembling as he chewed, and he was crawling towards another pile of slices.
"What did you do?" I whispered. "What is wrong with you?"
Brad spit out the pizza long enough to laugh. "She wouldn't have gotten so close to my food. You don't mess with a man's food. My food. Where are my toppings? What are they? Friends and family. I've been saving them up for a while, for something special."
Brad army-crawled on his elbows, dragging his descended gut along the tiles. He made it to a nearby pile of pizza and began devouring it. His whole body looked swollen, as a blood-drunk tick.
"The police are on their way, Brad."
He nodded and started eating faster. I couldn't believe what I was seeing; the man shoveled food into his jaw, swallowing without chewing. I couldn't help but stare. Once all the pizza was gone, Brad laid on his belly, licking his fingers. "More!" he demanded. No more for someone that big. Brad crawled fast. He came at me, pulling his bulk along with his bloody fingernails. I ran, tipping over a table and crashing to the floor. There was a tug at my foot; Brad had a hand wrapped around my ankle. He dragged me towards him, and I reacted on reflex, kicking out. My shoe connected; a crack, and Brad jerked away, his nose bent at an unnatural angle.
"More!" he growled, leaning on a table to stand up, but the table couldn't take his weight. The stand cracked when he was halfway standing, and Brad slammed into the floor, gut first. There was a horrible ripping sound, and I saw Brad's eyes go blank. He tried to rise again, but something was wrong. When he got to his hands and knees, it became clear that his body had finally burst from the pressure and the force of the fall. His stomach had a tear right around the belly button; purple intestines and undigested pizza all spilled out into a wet pile on the floor.
"So hungry," Brad whispered before collapsing.
They had to bring in a professional disaster cleanup crew to dispose of the body and mop up the mess. We had to close the restaurant for 48 hours. To this day, Brad's last meal remains the second or third worst shift I've ever had managing at Little Caesars.
I'm a 25-year-old, petite woman working in an advertising agency. My office is in a secluded area outside the city. It was a recently built department; hence, the number of employees is not more than 10 to 12 people. I shifted for this job; the work pressure was so high sometimes that most nights a group of us had to stay back for projects; hence, my regular dinner was takeout foods. I am a smoker in my non-smoking group, so I often preferred walking to the Little Caesars pizza place while taking a smoke break. Most of the time I went alone because I like their pizzas.
So it was one Friday night, and I was still working late. We were a group of three, and everyone was trying to finish quickly so that they could jump into the weekend. After an hour, I finished my work, but my colleagues were still stuck. We were all planning to leave at once, so I decided to wait for them while they worked. I went out for my usual break; the Little Caesar shop was at the end of the road. There weren't many cars that night. I crossed the street and lit my cigarette. I was walking on the footpath when a car came from my direction and flashed its bright headlights on the opposite side of the road. A man, about 40-50 years old, was seen standing there. He was dressed in a very poor way; his khaki trousers were muddy and torn in places. He was too lean and looked pretty pathetic. There was no expression on his long, pointy face; he was just standing there watching me. I turned my head away, feeling extremely uncomfortable, and increased my pace. I didn't look back and went straight inside the pizza store.
I was about to go in when that man yelled from the back, "Pizza pizza!" [Laughter] I turned back in shock and saw he was still standing at the same spot and watching me. I rushed inside and closed the door of the shop. An old woman was sitting at the counter wearing a t-shirt of the franchise. She was in her late 50s and wearing too much makeup to look young; her wrinkled face still couldn't hide the fact that she was about my grandma's age. I was a bit surprised because I'd never seen her before; generally, a guy named Simon always attended the night shift, and I'm pretty familiar with him.
"Is everything all right, dear?"
"Huh? Yeah, I mean, yes. What would you like to order?"
"Yes, of course." I embarrassingly walked up to her and started to look at the menu above the counter. "I'll have one small pepperoni pizza and a Sprite."
"Very well, take your seat; I'll bring it to you."
I sat on the corner table right beside the big glass wall. I could see the road outside; there was a lamp post on the opposite foot; it was constantly blinking annoyingly. I was trying to look closely, searching for that creepy man.
"Pizza pizza!" What the hell?
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. The guy you are looking for is a homeless madman. He often walks these streets late nights and screams 'pizza' whenever a customer enters the shop. He's not harmful, just a bit crazy."
"Uh, yeah, I see. Here's your order; enjoy your food."
She left the tray in front of me; the pizza slices were unevenly cut. She went back to her seat, and I grabbed the biggest slice to eat. I gave a big bite. I was just enjoying chewing the soft bread soaked in sauce and cheese when I felt something stringy in my mouth. Something was rolled around my tongue. I grabbed it and pulled it out from my mouth; it was a curly strand of hair. My organs whirled in disgust inside my stomach, and I coughed out everything on the plate. The hair seemed highly similar to the old woman's hair. She looked at me like I was rude, coughing out the food. I could have screamed at her for providing a pizza with her hair as toppings on it, but I'm not that confrontational by nature. I got my [__] together and was deciding to leave when I heard footsteps outside. I looked at the glass and freaked out immediately; that crazy man was staring at me through the glass; his entire body was leaned over the glass, making his facial features look even more disturbing than before. He remained like that for some time, then started walking away.
There's no way I'm going out while that man is out there. I couldn't eat the pizza after what I discovered, so I thought to call my colleagues to see if they were done by now. I plan to wait here and tell them to come meet me so that I didn't have to walk back to the office. I took out my cell phone and called them. Luckily, they were ready to leave as well. I told them to meet me at the Little Caesars pizza shop and noticed the lady at the counter watching me with a weird smile. Once I disconnected the call, she said, "You're such a scaredy cat."
I didn't want to answer her back because I had to wait for a few minutes more, and I wanted to do that without any trouble. I couldn't eat the pizza, so I grabbed the Sprite to take a few sips, but before I could open the bottle, the seal was already broken. No sooner did I open the bottle, a foul smell of urine choked the air inside the restaurant. I got up and started vomiting on the floor.
"Hey, hey! You were ruining the place! Stop it!" The old woman started yelling at me. She rushed towards me and pushed me back. While I was feeling sick, I couldn't take it anymore. I somehow kept my balance and then started shouting at her. "What the [__] is wrong with you? You gave me urine to drink! Are you insane?"
"What? Don't lie! I know girls like you trying to blame the employee for everything! Just pay the bill and get out of here!"
I took out a 10 bill and threw it at her while rushing towards the exit. I was walking past the counter when I saw someone lying on the floor behind the counter. I didn't fail to recognize the person on the floor in a fraction of a second; it was Simon, no doubt. His head was hurt badly, and there was blood on the floor. I turned around and saw the woman standing behind me with a huge, evil smile.
"Seems like he likes you, dear," saying this, she pointed at the entrance, and I saw that freaky man standing outside obstructing my way. He chuckled and said, "Pizza pizza!" and lunched at me with a massive rock in his hand. He hit me on the cheek real hard, and I felt my jaw break. Blood and teeth sprung out of my mouth all together when the woman grabbed me from behind and started to strangle me. I kicked my hands in the air to free myself when I grabbed the woman's hair and pulled it with all my strength; a bunch of her curly hair along with a patch of bloody scalp came out. She screamed in terrible pain and set me free. I then kicked the man, and he fell to the floor. I jumped and came out of the shop when I saw my two colleagues running towards me at full speed. They saw me struggling with this duo from the end of the street. We called the cops and guarded the exit until the cops came; there was no way I was letting these people go. The man remained to lie on the floor unconscious while the old woman kept cursing at me, walking back and forth like an injured wolf. When the cops came and arrested them, they gave a shocking news: this man and woman are husband and wife; they're both deranged criminals who were on the run for the last eight months from the local asylum. They pulled off some robberies and assaults throughout the city after escaping prison. I stood there and watched the cops taking them away before getting inside the car. They both looked back at me and said, "Pizza pizza!" [Laughter] You.