The Pizza Truck

Thursday May 20th 2010
The Pizza Truck, Memphis and Sergeant, Philadelphia, PA

Shortly before I moved up to Philly my friend Davey (the same one with the wise words about Plaza Pizza) told me about a pizza truck, like an ice cream truck except with pizza, that drives around North Philly selling slices. Naturally I was amazed, excited, and eager to flag it down and scoop a couple slices.
“How’s their pizza?”, I asked him.
“It sucks!”, he was blunt about it. “It’s so bad, but every time you hear that bell your like ‘oh shit, pizza truck!’ and you gotta grab a slice.”
I’d passed up many opportunities, watching it pass down my street, hearing them ringing their little bell from up in my room, never actually stopping them and trying it out. I mean, the review I’d heard wasn’t the best.
Freshly home from the Log/Mag U.S. tour I was driving home from the grocery store, and abiding by the law I came to a complete stop at the intersection of Memphis and Sergeant. And who would have the right of way? Who’s turn was it at the stop sign? The pizza truck. From the drivers seat I got a good full view of the whole thing as it slowly passed in front of me. This is the time, this is the place. I grabbed a parking spot down the block and ran back up the road. Luckily a couple yokels had already flagged it down, so I got in line behind them.
My order for one slice was placed with the crabby old lady who runs the operation, and evidently isn’t enjoying herself very much. The way she threw the slice in the oven was with such disrespect for the food, that even if it had been a tasty slice of pizza before, it wasn’t going to be now. Her negative energy and abuse tactics were most certainly going to translate right into my dining experience.
“Can I help you?”, her co-worker asked me in the type of tone you would use to address someone urinating on your front steps, apparently having missed the exchange between the woman and I. I didn’t respond. I don’t understand how these people could have been so bummed out. Your in a giant truck, just driving around, making pizzas. To me, it sounds like a lot of fun. Make a sharp turn, pizzas go flying across the truck. You don’t even actually have to stop if someone flags you down, you could just keep going, it really sounds like an enjoyable job to me.
After a good minute and a half heat up she handed me my slice, said a quick thanks, and turned her back. This slice was $1.50 and I’d given them $2, no change had been received. Did they assume they’d be getting tipped? For this nonsense?
“Hey.” I said in my most authoritative voice, standing there outside the truck, holding my sad piece of pizza. “Fifty cents.” She grabbed a couple coins and handed them to me, no excuse, no apology, it wasn’t a mistake, they were trying to rob me. And they basically did for the $1.50 that I paid. Look at this joke. The shape of the cheese shreds is still visible after cooking, meaning they’re using some really low grade stuff.

I ate it in two bites, and don’t get me wrong, it was terrible, but I just felt indifferent about it after eating it, like as soon as I was done with it I didn’t even have a memory of it. I think if your going to make good pizza, then good for you, do it well, but if your going to make bad pizza, and trust me those people know they’re making bad pizza, then do it right, make it one to remember, make it so disgusting that at least people will be talking about it. This was just bland, boring, I guess the best word to describe it would be ‘stupid’. I ate a totally dumb slice of pizza.