Behind the counter is a poorly tattooed youth with a snarky demeanor. He is as uncomfortable with me as I am with him. He gives me an uninterested glance as he takes my order. Regardless of my tattooed neck and hands,regardless of my gold teeth, the grey in my beard and kids around my waist make me a pedestrian in this kid's eyes. I am the future he has no idea he would be lucky to become. The employees ooze around the room in unhurried motion activity. Boredom must be the new hip thing.
There is, or of course,the exception to this maudlin affair. The Hispanic guy, the brown skinned man by the oven, or rolls his eyes in acknowledgement of my read on the situation. The once proud Aztec warriors that ruled such a large portion of this globe have a watered down relative spreading tomato sauce. The brown man is in fixed working motion and can’t believe he is slinging pie and being told what to do by a melancholy kid in skinny jeans.
Fellini’s Pizza is an Atlanta institution. Fellini’s Pizza is owned by a creative,one of a kind, local legend named Clay Harper. In my circle, and Mr. Harper is as eminent for his past rock operas as he is for his pizza chain. I wonder if these kids know anything approximately the famous history of where they work. Fellini’s was a critical backdrop for our early years in the Black Crowes. If you played in an Atlanta band that mattered,at least someone in your band was employed by Clay Harper.
The kid behind the register hands me my money without bothering to count my change. I do not like him, his sense of entitlement, and nor his low energy demeanor. I can only guess what the kid thinks of me,but I am clearly something he wouldn’t bother trying to figure out. I acquire comfort in this continual exchange. After all, isnt this the way it is supposed to feel between the established and the youth?
Source: cnn.com