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A Personal Account Of Ordering Pizza On Superbowl Sunday
Pineapple on Pizza? Yes, Please!
February 5, 2012 at 1831 Hours
I am hungry. I had gone to work for eight hours, forgot to eat before I went and during my day, and have just returned home. The time is now 6:31 (or 1831 hours). Therefore, I have been almost 22 hours since I last ate last night, and I am hungry.
But, I am also lazy. There is plenty to eat in the house, but I have to cook most it. I don't wanna cook. Whenever I cook, I turn it into a production the equivalent of the effort put forth in to making a Hollywood summer blockbuster. Spaghetti isn't just noodles and sauce for me; there will be hamburger, sausage, various spices, various cheeses, and the cheesiest garlic bread you could ever imagine. Plus, I would figure that while I am directing this masterpiece, I might as well go all-out-American and make a cake, too.
I know this about me. And I don't have the patience or energy to deal with my own shenanigans. There is only one conclusion: order out. But what to order out for? I could order the Chinese food from the best place in my town. The downside of that is the amount of calories I would be ingesting. Only other option in my book is to get pizza from a newly-improved pizza franchise that has been around forever. I'll give you a hint: the name starts with the letter "D" and they actually made their cheesy bread worse than what it once was (in my humble opinion).
Although I am a Patriots fan and have been one since I was a little fetus in my mother's womb, I forgot today was Superbowl Sunday. Pizza restaurants are going nuts right now, with all the parties that are ordering from them. If I ordered, I may just be rejected flat-out because the place can't handle the volume of orders, or the pizza will take a million years to get here.
I gave it a shot. I went online (because I couldn't be bothered to use my phone--I'm lazy, remember?) and ordered a pizza. The website accepted my order, so the only thing that could go wrong would be me aging to the point of having to dye the grey out of my hair. I'm up for a challenge.
I refer to it as my very own hunger game, much like this one written by a fellow hubber. I am starving. I haven't eaten since 2000 hours last night. But instead of just suffering through what Siskel and Ebert would give two thumbs up and describe as a "riveting" piece of culinary action from a 24 year old in a kitchen, I have simply decide to play my game.
How long will it take to make and deliver my pizza on Superbowl Sunday? I'm just hungry and lazy enough to find out.
Touche, pizza place.
February 5, 2012. 1855 hours.
The pizza has arrived, pipping hot and full of gooey cheesy-ness. It only took 25 minutes for my pizza to make it's delicious way to me, on Superbowl Sunday. And there was even time for football banter with the delivery guy.
At first, I was scared that I would be hunched over with osteoporosis by the time my pizza had arrived. The website lagged horribly due to the amount of traffic on it and some of it's "high-tech" features just didn't even bother to load for me. But yet, less than half an hour later, my house has the smell of food that I didn't cook and laden with garlic.
After a quick check of the merchandise, I must concede that "D" did it's stuff right. I wasn't given a different order and my cup of garlic sauce was present (which they forgot the last time I ordered it). There was no mistake in anything but the website. But thinking about the website, what I said earlier was true: it just has a lot of traffic on it to slow it down. So I really can't blame "D" for that.
Touché, "D". You have risen way above my expectations, which were honestly low to begin with. You were very prepared for Superbowl Sunday. I commend you, Sir.