Stoner's or Soccer Mom's?

Mellow Mushroom. First ridiculous thought my Christian parents had when I told them I worked here, was that I needed to go to rehab. They instantly started freaking out, crying hysterically at the thought of me being a drug attic. After the initial breakdown I explained that it was basically this little hippie pizza place that had great pizza, great beer, and “free spirited” environment. I made them come in to the store to see that we weren’t selling “special” mushrooms on our pizza’s and all was well, but regardless there is a stigma that goes along with my job.

I cannot even count the number of times people have jokingly, or not jokingly asked me if I was high, or if you needed to do drugs to work here, or if we could throw the “special shrooms” on their pizza. It’s cool, I get the joke, I mean we have a giant eight foot tall mushroom jutting out of the middle of our lobby floor (and yes people do take pictures under it). Regardless, I will say that inevitability people come to our store a lot mellower than our staff.

I was sat with a table. They were a young couple that seemed relatively harmless as I made my way over. As soon as I got to the table I broke out into a huge smile, these too were more stoned then Ozzy Osborne. Being twenty years old and seeing as this isn’t my first rodeo I know what it looks like, and these people were loving life. They hadn’t even made it to the menus because they were too overwhelmed by the look of our store. Literally they were analyzing the glass blown lamp that hangs over each individual table, complimenting the job of the “talented blower”. I asked them what they wanted to drink and through the flaming eyes they squinted, laughed, and said they trusted me. I returned with Mellow Yellow and you would have thought I just gave crack to a crack head, they even applauded me.

After some time with the menu I came back to find my job had been done for me. Because they “didn’t want to forget their creations” they wrote a bulleted list of all the things they wanted and set it on top of the stacked menu’s at the end of the table. I read it back to them for clarity, only to find that they were EXTREMELY hungry. As soon as I finished I couldn’t help but myself, I had to laugh. They were even laughing after hearing it back, but regardless of the fact they could have fed a family of six they wanted it all.

Twenty-five or so minutes and three mellow yellows later their food was ready. Like polite little potheads they waited to eat with huge eyes until I set everything on the table. I asked them if the needed anything other than two more mellow yellows and they were more than good. So they attacked, and it was epic. I didn’t even mind the mess because it was too amazing to experience first-hand. Gluttony, as ugly as it may be has its comedic relief.

When I finally returned, the guy was dabbing is forehead and the woman was trying to get the food out of her blouse. They were a mess, and probably didn’t even care. The seemed completely content, and when I brought them the bill with about three boxes they thanked me on the spot for my patience. They cleaned up the table as best as they could and walked out of the store, laughing hand in hand the whole way. Drugs are bad, but that was easier to overlook with the fat tip they left me. I would deal with stoner’s over soccer mom’s anyday.