99 Cent Pizza

Tonight, with more time than I expected between the end of working and the beginning of a Children's Media Association event, I stopped for a piece of 99 cent pizza.  (Well, actually, mine had broccoli, so it was $1.50.)

I am no stranger to 99 cent pizza.  The establishment near us has been a good friend, particularly in my months of not working.  On a night when we just couldn't face another home-cooked (i.e., Tracy-cooked) meal, $20 would buy us ample dinner for five plus leftovers to go in the freezer for weekend lunches.

So, why a post dedicated to pizza, specifically 99 cent pizza?  Because, as I stood in the tiny place, sharing the 6 inch by 3 foot counter with assorted other pizza eaters, I was struck by the sheer simplicity of 99 cent pizza.  A few ovens, a few employees, a tiny counter, and cheap dinner.  No waiting for a table or reading a complicated menu or worrying how to dress.  Which, it turns out, is how my new gig is so far.  I go, I work, I make changes, I work some more, and I go home.  Granted, it is only day 3, but the lack of baggage is amazing.

When I was working at One Life to Live, I was there for many hours daily.  That was just the way it was--wasn't every job like that?  (A friend who sold expensive shoes in a Southern city regularly reminded us that no, every job was not like that.)  But that was the way it was for me.  A creative team so intertwined in each others' work and lives that over time, it became a life, so much so, that when it ended, my brother told me not to look for a life, just look for a job.  To me, it has been hard to separate the two, hard to separate the complicated relationship between the work I  do and the baggage that comes as part of it.  But as I stood there tonight, eating my broccoli pizza, not caring how I looked and who in particular was sharing the tiny counter with me, I realized that sometimes simplicity is enough.  Sometimes 99 cent pizza is really all you need.