The pizza incident

     I love pizza. Even more than gas station hot dogs. I could eat pizza every day. I can count on one hand the number of times that I said I did not really feel like pizza. I LOVE PIZZA.  Easy, cheap, fast and filling.

     I like spaghetti too. I could probably eat spaghetti every day as well. Pizza for breakfast spaghetti for dinner, and both as leftovers for lunch. Then flip flop them every other day.
     I crashed at Rich's late winter one year when I was living in the van. I came up from Key West for a job that kind of disappeared when I got back in town, so. I crashed at his place. We had spaghetti every night for at least a week. Yummy.

Pizza has evolved into a wild array of comestibles. It is not just pepperoni, sausage, cheese, or anchovies anymore. No sir! Sun dried tomatoes, Alfredo sauce, feta cheese, and other Avant-garde ingredients dot the pizza landscape.

     Let’s get one thing straight: there is no such thing as bad pizza. Some are not very good, but any frozen pizza or Dominoes is a welcome port in a bachelor night food storm. While Dominoes and other chains may be close to eating the cardboard wheel from a frozen pizza with sauce and cheese, it is still better than going without.

     On night in the not too distant past before I had the magic DVR, I was on a bachelor night sabbatical. My wife had gone to visit her mom, aunt Ferne, and her cousin Ryan, so I was on my own. The first thought that came into my head was the WINGS are on!! My next thought was food. I checked the cupboard for some chunky Clam Chowder, but was rebuffed. And then it hit me like a wedge of deep dish pie. I NEED a pizza. The WINGS start in 20 minutes. Pizza stat!

      I did what any guy would do. I checked the freezer. No time to go pick one up. I could have it delivered but funds were scarce. I was dreadfully low on cabbage. Bummer dude! I opened the freezer and found 40 pounds of chicken breast. (It must have been on sale, so load up the tiny freezer with chicken. Ya gotta love a sale; why else would there be 40 pounds of chicken breast with rib meat?)

I also found 20 something bags of assorted frozen veggies, a couple Ziploc’s with freezer burned Eggo’s, For some reason Norman, the spell checker knew what Ziploc’s were but not Eggo’s…well, he knows know! Some items were not describable, because they had so many layers of freezer burn that they looked like baby glacier. I think there was a Petoskey Stone buried in one of those masses. Either that or those masses were the spawn of the hellish icemaker that does not understand when it has pushed up the shut off bar, it is time to stop making f-ing ice cubes.

    Not one single GD frozen pizza. WTF!!! Bummer dude. WINGS starting in ten minutes. I did what anyone would do; I looked for a phone book. Gotta call in the Calvary. Damn the electric bill, the fatty needs his pizza!!! Nine minutes to puck drop. For some reason I do not know where my wife hides the phone books. I know where the phone is. It seems a bit reasonable that the phone book would be near the phone. Nope. Eight minute to puck drop. Think, Bruce, think!! What is the number for information? If I were hip I would know it is 411 but I am so far from hip, I am a discarded prosthetic leg. 6 minutes to puck drop. Seriously. Bad news.

     I decided to try to order on the interweb. I have heard such things can be done. I fired up the lappy, only to find that the interweb was down. "Houston, we have a problem." Damn, I have no time for this foolishness, puck drop in three minutes.

I go to the hub of the interweb, a mass of cobwebs and dustbunnies, wires and antennas, blinking lights and quite desperation. Unplug all the gadgets, and reboot the system. Two minutes to puck drop. While it is rebooting, I fire up the big screen, and hear, “Puck drop is next.” I run up the stairs, and still f-ing waiting…..

     Time stands still when you need something to do what is supposed to do, and it refuses. It stares blankly back at you. It defies logic. It just plain pisses me off!! As I hear Mickey and Ken start to call the game I notice finally a flashing monitor icon. Signal!!

     I will kill two birds with one stone, so I grab the laptop and unplug it. Bummer dude. The screen goes blank. Black as a moonless night. No, strike that, blacker. The battery has been dead for a bout two weeks and in my hungry state I forgot this fact.

I plug the miserable machine into the one plug in the basement that you can easily get to and then the television goes blank. In my hunger haste I knocked the plug for the power strip out of the wall outlet. Low blood pizza will kill you. Seriously.

     Finally, I have power to the TV, the lappy and I am surfing for a pizza place. I find a Hungry Howie’s, not far from home. I order on line. I sit back and relax. I watch the first period and the first intermission. Still no f-ing pizza.

     I start the second period in low blood pizza delirium. Near the halfway point of the game, my stomach howling like a banshee, I fumble with the cell phone. The touch screen doesn’t acknowledge my touch. I think it tells me, “I only work on human touch.” Finally, I find the land line and I resort to 411ing and calling the pizza place. No record of my order. The words sound distant and far away. You gotta be absof-inglutly kidding me. No record of my order. I order again. On the phone. I talk to a person. It will be 45 minutes. I watch the rest of the game. The WINGS lose. I am starving by the time the pizza arrives.

I once ordered pizza on line. It got lost in cyberspace. There will not be a second time.

Just another day in paradise