If you’ve been to Pita Pit on Marshall Street past 10 p.m, you’ve seen me.

You probably don’t remember me, but oh, do I remember you.

I’ve seen you sprawled across the counter, begging me to put whatever I think is yummiest in the pita because, intoxicated and silly, you can’t make a decision.

I’ve seen you proudly announce to your friend that you want everything on your pita, practically banging your fists on your chest, as if having the biggest pita of them all ultimately confirms your superior masculinity (or, more likely, provides necessary compensation).

“Everything?” I’ll ask you, raising my eyebrow.

“Everything,” you’ll repeat, a dopey smile spread across your face.

“Pineapple?”

I’ve played this game before.

“Well, no.”

“Jalapeños?”

“Yuck, no.”

This will go on for a minute or two until your pita is just what I expected: lettuce, tomato, green peppers, onions, chicken and secret sauce, just because you like saying its name.

And before you can even think about hitting on me, your pita is wrapped, handed to you and I’ve moved on.

Badda bing, badda boom. Who’s next?

When I originally went into Pita Pit looking for a job, my interview came down to one question:

“Will you work the night shift?”

Without hesitation, and in a way only the desperate do, I rambled, “Oh yes, yes, of course. Any night shift. I’m a night owl. I literally don’t need any sleep. Working from 10 p.m. to four in the morning is actually an ideal time for me.”

Who would possibly want a pita at 2 a.m., you ask? Drunk college students, that’s who.

The following is a list of shout-outs to customers who gave me my most memorable moments at The Pit.

1. To the guy who started the “Sarah” chant:

You asked me what my name was, and I told you. You then proceeded to tell your friends that I was the “best.”

“Isn’t she the best?” The whole store seemed to agree, and before I could slink into the back room, it started: “Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!” The store was screaming my name, and I could do nothing but pretend to be avidly cleaning the grill, trying not to blush.

I’m sorry I refused to dance when you then starting screaming, “Dance! Dance! Dance!” I really was prepared to jump onto the counter and start slowly untying my hummus-smeared apron, but my boss was in the room. Maybe next time?

2. To the guy who threw his pita on the counter because I didn’t give him enough tzatziki sauce:

Sir, it’s a pita. Your immaturity is almost impressive for a man my father’s age. You’re that guy who threw a beer bottle when your favorite cast member got voted off of “Survivor,” aren’t you?

3. To the guy talking on the phone in front of me like I wasn’t there:

You asked for barbeque sauce, so I complied. When I looked up to see what you wanted next, you said to whoever was on the other line, “this white girl put too much sauce on my pita.”

“Sir, do you want less sauce?” I asked, sincerely not sure if you thought I couldn’t hear you, or you were the most passive aggressive person on the face of the earth.

“Green peppers…” he said as he continued with his order.

I hesitated, but kept going. He was the one with too much barbeque sauce on his pita.

4. To the guy who asked me what I was “doing after this”:

Going home with you, obviously! Just hang on until 4 a.m. and then you can take me to your place and help me scrape the tzatziki off of my arm. Then you can help me pick yellow peppers out of my hair until I inevitably pass out because I’ve been awake for about 20 hours.

Don’t worry, the onion smell will wear off eventually.

Published on February 6, 2013 at 10:21 pm