Getting More Personal

Starting at the tender age of 16, I began working at Marios Pizza as a dish washer - a tenure that would last 69 months. In real time that equals five years and nine months, in teen-age time that equals almost an entire lifetime. At the time of my hire, I was nothing to be proud of—far from it actually. I had just been expelled from Owego Free Academy for making "terrorist threats," my clothes looked like something straight out of an inner-city gangsta movie, and my attitude toward people was generally less than acceptable. I was the typical adolescent—only a little more deviant.

My first few months at Marios were borderline pathetic. I broke dishes, I was careless with equipment, and my attitude toward fellow employees was just plain disrespectful. If something did not go my way, I would throw a fit, staining the air with more "colorful" language than a George Carlin HBO comedy special. To this day, I am still baffled that Marios kept me around. Perhaps they saw something in this brash, foulmouthed punk kid or maybe they were just desperate for help at the time, whatever the reason - I'm glad they did.

As the years passed, I changed . . . and so did my relationship with the people of Marios. Gone were the days of the angry, cold, and calloused Keith Zimmer. Upon replacing those old feelings with the emotions of caring, love, and compassion, a new Keith was born. Without the people of Marios, my change would never have been complete. Whenever I needed a crutch, someone from that kitchen was always there to give me the support I needed–something that I will never forget.

Even though every person in that kitchen has touched my heart in a special way, there is one man that sticks out above the rest. That man is Mr. Tony Pettinato–or "Mr. P" as he is often referred to by the kitchen staff. It is hard for me, as I sit here choking back tears, to put into words just how much this man has done for my life and contributed to the man I am today.
Mr. P is 75 years old . . . and he has not missed a single beat. I would love to see anyone challenge the man to a push up contest. Mr. P once told me that he often does more than 1,000 push-ups "just" for a morning workout. Most 75-year-olds cannot even walk, let alone do 1,000 push-ups every day at 6am. I do not know about, you, the reader–but if I even attempted 1,000 push-ups, I would be like a fish out of water, flopping around on the floor in unimaginable amounts of pain. Oh yeah, and did I mention that Mr. P still works at Marios . . . every day? I cannot remember a night when I did not see Mr. P out in the dining room working his PR magic or busing tables with the rest of the dishwashers; the man is truly amazing.

Plain and simple, Mr. P is an idol to me. Under his wing I have learned so much about work ethics, respect, and unconditional love. Over the years Mr. P became like a grandfather to me, a relationship with memories that will live on in my heart forever.