Pizza Nista

I had to share this...

I'm currently shooting a movie in Los Angeles.  It's got it's strengths and weaknesses, but I'm having a good time through it all.  Last night, we were filming in the tunnels downtown, and after a solid 5 hours of shooting, Bart (the writer/director/producer) took us all out for pizza at Pizza Nista.  At this point, I think everyone was a little tired and hungry.  We got our pizzas, Brandon knocked the garlic rolls out of the server's hands, chuckles were had, whatever.  As the meal came to an end, plates were stacked, napkins were scattered akimbo, and there was a piece of spinach (from the fantastic spinach/goat cheese pizza) left on the table, sprinkled with a little bit of hot pepper.

Taylor says "Hey Brandon.  I'll give you seventy cents to eat that spinach."  You know, just to say something.

Before he has a chance to answer, Sarah butts in.  "What?  What's wrong with it?"  My ears perked up.

"Oh, I was just telling Brandon I'd give him seventy cents to eat that spinach."

"Seventy cents?" Sarah says, clearly interested.  "I'll do it."

"I don't even have seventy cents."  Taylor is forced to admit.  Her bluff has been called.

"Well then I won't do it."  I've clearly found my soulmate.  After a beat, Sarah continues: "What should I eat?"  I'm obviously first to answer her call.

"I'll give you five dollars to eat half that hot pepper shaker."  I fear it was a low-ball, but I only had six dollars.  But that's now important.  What's important is that she was serious, and so was I.  She grabs at it.  Murmurs of "Whoa, that's a lot..." and "No way..." dance from the perimeter of droopy-eyed mouths at the table.  I'm blocking them out.  Sarah weighs out the possibilities, but ultimately, she really wants to eat something for money.

"How about I eat a big handful?"

"Two bucks."  I tell her.

"Two bucks?"  She pours herself a respectable handful.  The consensus around the table is that this is worth more than two dollars.  Three at least.  But this is no longer their game into which they can chime  and chirp.  This is between Sarah and myself.  I don't budge, and she doesn't ask me to.  We know what this is.  Those other fucks don't.  With confident whiplash, she downs the handful of red pepper.  She's not phased or grossed-out.  She's not pulling a face or even sweating the heroic load of spices she just ingested.  She's chili, baby.  Goat cheese gravy.  Emotions have never been so genuinely present and connected (which is a shame, seeing as how we're shooting a fucking movie).  I hand over my double-Washington, knowing full well that I would be doing so on one knee were she not already involved with Bart.  I knew Sarah wasn't doing this for the two dollars.  She wasn't even doing it for the attention.  She was simply doing it for the silent glory of eating something that there was no reason to eat for a meager, purely symbolic reward.  A beat of my own heart, blown in from the same winds that move me.

Bless you, Sarah.

Touched,
-LS^2