Today you’re going to hear about the mysterious world of pizza ordering, a letter asking about an acquaintance possibly in witness protection, and a note to a great friend.
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- Letter Talk is written and produced by me, and my sister Amy edits my writing. This episode features music from Kevin MacLeod.
Read the letters after the jump!
To Whom It May Concern:
I’m writing you this letter to discreetly provide you with information that may aid in your business goals. While I can give you this information, I will trust that you will properly use it for your purposes.
A little while back I ordered many pizzas from Domino’s. It was taking a long time, so long that I could have walked to the Domino’s and back … and honestly I probably should next time. If I’m going to eat that much pizza, I should at least try to walk some of the calories off. I checked the pizza tracker to no avail. It said the driver was out delivering it. I called to check in, but the voice on the phone gave the same info as the pizza tracker. My living room was filled with hungry men looking at me with questioning eyes and sad faces. I looked at them and shrugged in defeat.
After another 15 minutes or so, I received a call from a familiar area code. I answered. “I’m here,” a deep voice replied. I assumed it was the pizza guy, but had I not been expecting a pizza, that response would have absolutely terrified me. That’s something the scream guy would say as he calls you from your closet if the Scream movies came out when cell phones were more of a thing. And then you’d reply? “Haha, is that you Randall? I’m at Ikea, what are you doing at my house.” To which the scream guy would then scream “Goddamnit! Oh well, you can’t kill them all!” then he’d shrug as he looks into the camera and the credits roll.
When I was outside, I saw a heavily window-tinted car stopped across the street and confirmed it was the pizza guy. One of the hungry men from my living room and I walked over as he was rolling the driver-side window down. He handed my hungry friend a stack of pizzas through his rolled down window, and then handed me a sticker. It looked like he ripped it from the pizza box. He asked me to sign it. At that point I would have quickly signed any goddamn thing, I would have signed his boobs if he wanted me to, because we were still standing in the street with a stack of pizzas and cars were whizzing by us. I gave the torn up sticker my John Hancock, and the pizza guy sped off.
If felt like a drug deal went down … or maybe the pizza guy was delivering drugs too and that was why he took an hour and 15 minutes to travel a mile.
I’m giving you this information because I know that Domino’s is a competitor to your fine establishment, Little Caesars, and I figured you might want to investigate and see if you can dig up any dirt … maybe you can get some intel from the Domino’s pizza trackers. If Domino’s is a gigantic drug front, then I believe the in-house detectives at Little Caesars would be the best people for the job.
Also, while I have you on the horn, I wanted to let you know that when my friends went into the Little Caesars in Charlottesville, Virginia, the pizza was neither hot, nor ready. I hopped onto Google and saw that a few other people have said similar things:
Yo, even the person who does your guys’ costumes is getting slammed.
I wanted to include that one just so you can see the scope of your customers. Clearly this location’s issues are far worse than saying “Can I help you” instead. But Kevin’s priorities are dumb because he’d rather go to a place that’s run by a weirdly bigoted guy rather than get asked if he can be helped. Fuck you, Kevin, you prick.
Tierra was so mad she didn’t even punctuate her review. Or it’s the first time she’s ever used text to speech. She said:
Keith simply said:
Who called in Keith, the fun police? Does the pizza chef who loves his work and throws the dough up in the air wear gloves?
Keith just doesn’t like passion.
Oh Matt! Slam! Slam that pizza joint!
Four stars? What would it take to get that extra mile to 5 stars Ian?
Open further review of Ian’s profile picture, he appears to be a cartoon man, so take what you can from this review.
Initially, I wanted to ask to solve one mystery about the mysterious Domino’s driver in my neighborhood, but actually ended up asking you to solve a second: “Why does the Little Caesars in Charlottesville, Virginia have neither hot nor ready pizzas?” Have they been stolen, pizza-napped? Or are the hot and ready pizzas not available because they’re ghoooossts! OoooOOoOOoOO. Like the scream guy? OoooOOOoooOOo. I know y’all have a lot on your hands, so I look forward to hearing your response. I know you’ll put a great sluth on the case.
Dear Walk the Moon,
First of all, I want to thank you for being one of my favorite bands. I love how catchy all your music is, and how positive your messages are. I do regret to admit that I have never seen you perform live. I’ve been to two of your concerts and was too short to see anything, but you sure sounded great and I will avoid those venues for the rest of time.
I’m writing you today because at a job back in Reno, I worked with a guy that many of our co-workers thought was a bit dishonest. The thing about his dishonesty was that it was about stuff that seems… Google-able. He claimed to have been on the college football team (a friend looked it up, and couldn’t find evidence). He said he was in a popular indie band, and I looked it up and couldn’t find evidence of that either. I remember him saying that he was on Warped Tour with the band one year… I combed his Facebook for that year and didn’t see anything. Surely, if he were on Warped Tour you’d be able to see some of the places he played in… or he would at least brag about it, or share a picture? I actually do tend to go by the “pix or it didn’t happen” rule. Especially if you’re going to try to talk up the breakroom with your escapades into the adventures of pop-punk. Was he embarrassed to be on the pop-punk event of the year? Possibly. I’m afraid I will never know. Honestly, I Googled him just now and one website said he was a “Southern boy” and I immediately thought, “I thought he said he was from Ohio.”
I’m not going to say his identity. I don’t want to blow his cover, in case his background has many discrepancies because he’s with the witness protection agency. If that’s the case, I might try to get back in touch with him, out of curiosity. I’ve always wanted to witness protection agency protocol; fascinating! Instead I will find a picture of someone who sort of looks like him on the internet. As shown here:
I’m writing you to ask if you know this man, or a man that looks like him, who is from Ohio but moved to Reno. He said he was friends with you all. I looked on Facebook and tried to cross reference to see if any of you were at least Facebook friends with him, but I didn’t find anything. I assumed you guys were probably just still LiveJournal pals, and let it go.
I feel bad that that is all the information I can give you, but if you can confirm this, I’ll know that he wasn’t lying about being in that band or being on the college football team. A few times while your band was in DC, I tried to reach out to this person and ask if he could hook me up with backstage tickets or something because before he said you guys were friends, but he didn’t respond.
Again, I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more details at this time, but if you write me back I will understand that you’re interested and I can let you know more about him. I just want to make sure that if he is hiding from the mob, drug dealers, dirty cops, or protesting teenagers his cover will be intact. I’m sure you understand. I wouldn’t want to witness that protection have problems.
Thanks for your time!
I’ll be honest, I’ve been putting this letter off for a while, just because I keep doubting my ability to properly write something for the magnitude of this letter. In order for me to really do our friendship justice, it would probably take me multiple letters, and possibly an interpretive dance. So while, I’m training in interpretive dance, this letter will have to do.
I’m just really happy that I met you! You’ve been such a good friend to me for years. We had a lot of great times when we worked together, and that’s one of the main things I miss about that old job.
Our trip out to DC a few years ago is such a great memory for me. I remember us getting drunk at the TGIFridays during a layover in the Dallas airport. Prior to being seated the server had to ID us and said that we looked like we were 17, and we both had the same “OMG stopppppp” flattered reaction. She said, “No really,” and we did it again, “You’re too nice.” I still look back on that and can’t tell if she was complimenting us, had bad eyes, or genuinely thought we looked that young. Maybe Dallas is one of those places were people age like Benjamin Button, so she was just saying what she knew.
I’m happy you’re out here, too! It sounded like it was a good move for you, and I’m sure it’s a nice change of pace. I am pretty excited that I can come see you and it doesn’t have to involve a plane. Mostly because I have a dog, and I would rather get dragged out like that guy who wouldn’t give up his seat than put her in an overhead compartment. If airplane people don’t want AJ underneath the seat in front of me, they will get her in the aisle, on my lap, or wrapped around my neck like those u-shaped pillows they sell at the airport.
I probably should apologize for bombarding our chat all the time, though. Sometimes I type something and say, “Well, nobody needed to know that, it wasn’t even interesting.” At my “old” age, I can’t imagine having a better friend than you to bug all the time. I know I rant and rave all the time about weird stuff, and go on tirades, and you’re there listening and being a wise old owl. I really appreciate your ear and your views on things. It probably helps that you have a very mellow attitude toward life, and you treat people well wherever you can, because you understand that we’re all just kind moving our arms wildly in this world, just trying to stay afloat.
I admire you a lot for your ability to have what I call “fuckin’ bullshit” thrown at you in life, and not be a jerk because of it. I admire you for being such a great, kind person, and for treating people with respect, fairness and openness. The world needs more Emilys in the world, and lord knows we need more of them on the East Coast, where I think people should maybe “cool it, a little bit.”
Anyway, I hope you and your sidekick Bailey are doing great in the new apartment, and I hope you’re loving the Magnolia brand mango ice cream I got from the Filipino store that I accidentally left behind. As you said earlier, “I figured you left it on accident. It’s too good to leave behind.” I promise that if Magnolia Ice Cream sponsors this podcast, I will split my ice cream bounty with you.
More to come, and much love,