I’m a New Yorker, which means I’ve consumed a lot of pizza in my life. Of all the places I’ve gone, my favorite—my absolute favorite—is Mariellea Pizza on 16th Street and Third Avenue in Manhattan.
Back when I lived in the city, I probably ate there once or twice a week. Grab a slice … grab two slices. The sauce is thick and tangy, the crust slightly burned (in the perfect sense). To say I love Mariella’s slices is no exaggerations. I love Mariella’s slices.
Because I’m working in the city today, I stopped at ol’ Mariella for a couple of slices and a Diet Dr. Pepper. While sitting there I thought to myself, “I should take some pictures of the place for a blog post.” So I whipped out this laptop, opened up PhotoBooth and snapped a couple of harmless images.
As I was completing the task, the restaurant’s owner and/or manager started yelling at me. “You gotta ask first!” he shouted. “You can’t just take pictures of the people who work here!”
I looked, dumbfounded. Not at the message—understood. But why are you screaming at me? Dude, I love your pizza.
I explained to the man that I was writing a post for my blog about my favorite pizza in the world, and that I didn’t snap any images of the employees (not a total lie, though some appear as background extras in the shots); that I focussed on the pies. His response? He kept yelling. In fact, his voice raised even higher. “I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU’RE DOING, YOU HAVE TO ASK … BLAH GROWL BLAH GROWL!”
I shut my laptop, packed my bag and said, “I love this place. I’ve been coming here forever. But you just lost a customer.”
He really did.