A Ridiculous Concept Still Worthy of Sociological Study, No?
a review of Pizza Girl by Jean Kyoung Frazier
I walked into Homeslice with my food service targeted resume, wearing a red-and-white striped shirt dress that I thought was chaste but have since cut into a shirt because I realized it barely covered my butt. The bro-ish owner (heretofore referred to as “bro-wner”) told me to come back at 4 for the evening shift. The worst part about the job was when I knocked a glass of red wine on a woman’s white pants, a vignette that’s so comically bad I’m worried it was conjured by my subconscious and never really happened. I was like “omg I’m so sorry” and the woman was like “oh it’s fine! It happens!” as if it were a sun shower or errant bird poop. The best part was the illicit breadsticks the chefs left me underneath the heat lamp, which I crammed into my mouth with the gusto of an underfed shelter puppy. The job was cool; at a party I told this girl I was working there and she said “oh my god that’s like my dream job,” to which I thought “you gotta aim higher girly-girl.”
Jean Kyoung Frazier’s protagonist, Jane, also works in a pizza shop, albeit one that seems less instagrammable with fewer gluten free options. She is pregnant and sad but no one seems to notice the latter, not her mom or her boring but doting white boyfriend, who I can only assume looks like Topher Grace. I have this disease where whenever anyone references a male character, I immediately assume they look like Topher Grace. The diagnosis is dire; everyone’s boyfriend/cousin/hinge match/dentist/uber driver looks like Topher Grace to me. But truly worse things have happened to better people and I must press on.
Me if my mom was less supportive.
On a pizza delivery, Jane meets this kooky suburban mom type named Jenny, who is absolutely shitting the bed when it comes to parenting. I mean obviously parenting is a 5,000 piece gradient puzzle that you’re doing in the dark of night with ski gloves on, but still. I know this not from being a parent, but from having them near me all the time. On vacation a few years ago, my mom was watching me lose a game of pool to my cousin because I play pool maybe once every 2 and a half years. It was carnage. My cousin was sinking every ball and I was growing more sour and frustrated with every passing minute of this supposed “leisure activity.” Finally I hit one good shot, and my mom was like “that one was good!” and I was like: UGH, MOM! Maybe if you hadn’t been so blindly SUPPORTIVE of me all my life I would be BETTER AT POOL!!!” Which is such a ridiculous concept but I think still worthy of sociological study, no?
According to a brief internet search, middle aged moms find this a dark and unsettling read but to me it’s like… another Tuesday night, baby! Good night to everyone except my mom, who doomed me to be bad at pool by being so supportive.