Blown
One of the best parts of growing up in a small town is all of the stories you can tell. You have a solid collection of familiar characters. You have a timeline of events that everyone knows about and remembers by heart. And then you have several key locations that resonate with anyone who grew up around you. Given those elements, it's not too hard to tell a good story.
A lot of classic stories about North Bend start or end at one location: The Pizza Place. Anyone who played baseball or soccer in the Valley will tell you about the end of year parties they celebrated in the side room. A table loaded with pizzas and several pitchers of your favorite soda, along with a trophy, were the rewards you got for the sweat and tears you sacrificed out at the Complex field. It was a big deal when my family headed to the Pizza Place for dinner. I have fond memories of the strange Chicago photos on the walls and the Andes mints we all got when they brought out the bill. Sometimes my mom wouldn't want her mint and I would get two.
In high school, I took my first big job as a cook there. Even though I could now eat as many Andes mints as I wanted, it was tough at first. I spent many school nights and weekends scrubbing dried pizza sauce off dishes that just kept coming and coming. Most of my Friday nights were wasted waiting for late dinner parties to finish their food and beer so we could close. The sound of the receipt machine printing out several orders at a time on a busy Saturday night still gives me nightmares. But the stories are endless. It was there I learned many key lessons about responsibility and reliability. It was there I first learned how to work hard to perfect a skill. And it was there that I fell in love with pizza.
I worked at the Pizza Place through high school and even during breaks in college. I eventually parted ways for good, but in the end I had so many good stories. The restaurant closed down a few years back, and nothing really happened to the building. Every time I drive by while visiting, I look up at the Pizza Place sign that still advertises some deal we had on pizzas a long time ago. It always brings me back.
Recently, someone finally bought the place and was remodeling it to open up a new restaurant. But early this morning, a massive explosion destroyed the building and all those surrounding it. The photos are heartbreaking. The Pizza Place was an important setting for many great narratives, but now it's just a pile of debris. The explosion shot debris about three blocks in each direction and flattened just about everything. It woke up almost everyone in town. But despite the force of the blast, there's one thing still standing: that Pizza Place sign. Maybe they should leave it up as a reminder of what used to be and what still lives in the hearts of everyone in the community: a great story.
A lot of classic stories about North Bend start or end at one location: The Pizza Place. Anyone who played baseball or soccer in the Valley will tell you about the end of year parties they celebrated in the side room. A table loaded with pizzas and several pitchers of your favorite soda, along with a trophy, were the rewards you got for the sweat and tears you sacrificed out at the Complex field. It was a big deal when my family headed to the Pizza Place for dinner. I have fond memories of the strange Chicago photos on the walls and the Andes mints we all got when they brought out the bill. Sometimes my mom wouldn't want her mint and I would get two.
In high school, I took my first big job as a cook there. Even though I could now eat as many Andes mints as I wanted, it was tough at first. I spent many school nights and weekends scrubbing dried pizza sauce off dishes that just kept coming and coming. Most of my Friday nights were wasted waiting for late dinner parties to finish their food and beer so we could close. The sound of the receipt machine printing out several orders at a time on a busy Saturday night still gives me nightmares. But the stories are endless. It was there I learned many key lessons about responsibility and reliability. It was there I first learned how to work hard to perfect a skill. And it was there that I fell in love with pizza.
I worked at the Pizza Place through high school and even during breaks in college. I eventually parted ways for good, but in the end I had so many good stories. The restaurant closed down a few years back, and nothing really happened to the building. Every time I drive by while visiting, I look up at the Pizza Place sign that still advertises some deal we had on pizzas a long time ago. It always brings me back.
Recently, someone finally bought the place and was remodeling it to open up a new restaurant. But early this morning, a massive explosion destroyed the building and all those surrounding it. The photos are heartbreaking. The Pizza Place was an important setting for many great narratives, but now it's just a pile of debris. The explosion shot debris about three blocks in each direction and flattened just about everything. It woke up almost everyone in town. But despite the force of the blast, there's one thing still standing: that Pizza Place sign. Maybe they should leave it up as a reminder of what used to be and what still lives in the hearts of everyone in the community: a great story.
posted by Daniel T at 5:22 PM
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