It was the first week of July in 1978. I was fresh out of high school and my dad had painfully pointed out that sitting at home waiting for that Bank Manager job to call for me wasn’t going to put gas in my car.
The ad was in the Help Wanted section of the Salt Lake Tribune; “Driver wanted for pizza delivery”. Hey, I liked driving, been looking forward to it since I was 4. And I liked pizza. Whatta deal.
I got dressed in my best t-shirt and nicest Levi’s, put on my shoes with the least number of holes in them and drove down 939 E. 2100 South. A dusty little store in the corner of a car dealership-turned-auto parts store.
The first thing I remember seeing was a 4 foot-nothing 20-something lady standing on a stool putting a pizza in an oven that was way too high up for her. I think her name was Jo. I told her I was there to apply for the driver job, she handed me a menu, flipped it over and told me to write my name, phone number and some other info I can’t remember now.
A few days later, it was a Friday night (July 7th the records told me later), I got a call sometime around 3 in the afternoon. It was Mike, from Free Wheeler and he wanted to offer me the delivery job. Yeah, ok, haven’t heard from the bank yet, so why not.
“Can you be here at 5?”
“No problem, I’ll be there.”
A career was born.