We ordered in - Day 4

At the end of our block, there is a pizzeria.  It is owned by a husband and wife team.  The food is everything you hope for in a neighborhood pizza joint - made fresh, tasty, and inexpensive.  Every day, Little Eater and I walk by this store.  Every day the owners are there, opening early, prepping the food.  Most afternoons, their two kids can be found sitting at one of the two tables working on homework.  Every night, the family closes up shop, not finishing up until well after 11 PM most days.  I never thought much about them, except when I wanted pizza, until this winter when Uncle Eater shared a conversation he had overheard while waiting there to pick up our order one evening.
A woman, also picking up an order, was, essentially, berating one of the owners for being closed New Years Day.  "Don't you know you could make some money," she said.  "You should have somebody in here."  "I could have ordered something and now what will I do?"  And so on and so forth until, finally, in her typically reserved, flawlessly courteous manner the owner responded, "Ma'am.  We are only closed three days a year, Easter, Christmas, and New Years Day."  It had, of course, little impact on the woman.  She left shortly thereafter with her food, doubtless grumbling into the night about some other offense the universe had visited upon her.  It had a great deal of impact on all of us, however.  362 days a year, this family works.  There are no vacations.  There is no sleeping in.  There is work.  And they care about the work they do; it's obvious.  They care about their customers as well.  I remember once when I actually called for delivery.  I was so embarrassed to be asking for a pizza to be brought to me when I can see the restaurant from my driveway.  But, Little Eater was asleep in bed, I was home by myself, and too exhausted to cook.  Before I had a chance to explain myself, the owner recognized my voice and knew right where I lived; she had seen me walk down the street many times.  She, too, was on her own that night but, she made my order, locked up the store, and walked it up the street to me.  "I remember what it was like," she told me.  "No reason to be embarrassed."
Try, if you will, on your next family pizza night, to go a step beyond Domino's.  See if you can find a special place.  Extend yourself and learn just a little of somebody's story.  Use your dollar to take care of them and enjoy the care you receive in return.  Spending locally is about a lot more than just the food, it turns out.