Conversation I Had With A Pizza Guy While Ordering Stoned

Conversation I Had With A Pizza Guy While Ordering Stoned, OR

This Is Why You Shouldn’t Do Drugs, Kids.

Here’s a nice, polite, marijuana-influenced conversation I inflicted on an innocent pizzeria recently.

Before we go any further, let me tell you now, I rarely go "one toke over the line". I've had years of dedicated practice. However, that fateful evening my brain was reduced to a quivering goo by what turned out to be a super-strong strain of 'wheelchair weed'. I'm not exaggerating when I say it was POTENT with a capital POT, and it led to the most fucked-up telephone conversation I’ve ever had in my life.

My balance, common sense, and phonebook were just three of the things I lost that evening along with my dignity. And it's a real shame that the phonebook didn't stay lost, because if I hadn't tripped over it and almost brained myself against the nice cushy TV set, I would have never found that unsuspecting pizzeria's phone number and everyone involved would have had a much calmer evening.

But, dear Reader, please understand: I had to order a pizza. HAD TO. My stomach was screaming like a megaphone rammed down a cheerleader's throat. I couldn't let the small matter of being almost terminally stoned stop me, so like an idiot I picked up the phone. Why, Lord God, do you let me do such stupid acts? Do you enjoy watching potheads infuriate hard-working restaurant owners? Did the following, uh, 'conversation' ENTERTAIN YOU?!?

(Comment Of Forewarning: If the words below entertain you, I’m sincerely glad ‘n gratified. The following literary masterpiece is for pure humor only; smoking cannabis is a matter of personal choice in my opinion (and practice). However, if the following conversation serves as a cold reminder of What Not To Do While Stoned, maybe that ain’t so bad, either.)

SCENE: INTERIOR LIVING ROOM. Your typical bachelor's cluttered living room. It is evening and the lights are off.

Cannabis smoke is thick in the air. I'm sitting on the sofa. I take the last pull off a joint and put it out in an ashtray.

I stand up.

I collapse.

I lay in a fetal position for a few minutes and make plaintive whimpering sounds.

ZOOM IN SLOWLY on my stomach as it suddenly starts to grumble.

ME: Must eat pizza...must find phonebook...must remember to buy more pot...

ZOOM OUT

I stand up.

I take two steps and trip over phonebook on floor. My head strikes the television set and both make an unhealthy noise.

I collapse.

I lay in a fetal position for a few minutes; a small trickle of blood appears on my forehead.

I stand up.

I pick up phone book. This takes awhile. I then grab the phone and sit back down on the sofa.

I stare blankly at nothing for awhile as the blood continues to trickle slowly down my head. My stomach grumbles again and

I pick up the phone and dial 411.

(PHONE RINGS: 411 operator answers)

Me: Hello.

411: Hello, information.

Me: Hello.

411: Hello, sir?

Me: Hello.

411: Hello, can I help you sir?

Me: Yes, I need to order a pizza.

411: Sir, this is directory assistance.

Me: Can you you direct me to a pizza?

411: Well...I'm not allowed to suggest a place of business to eat, sir.

Me: But you're the phone number lady and I need the phone number pizza...uh, I mean, the pizza phone number. I mean,

a phone number for a pizza. Please?

411: Sir, you don't understand. I cannot give out that kind of information!

Me: (pause) (disbelief) Don't you like pizza?

411: Yes I do, sir, but that's not the point. Do you have a phone book?

Me: Yes.

411: Then why don't you look up the phone number to the closest pizzeria near you?

Me: That's probably a good idea.

411: Yes.

(A trickle of blood trails down my cheek. I move a hand to my head and see that I'm bleeding.)

Me: Who should I call if I tripped over the phonebook in my living room and hit my head on the television set and now my head is

bleeding?

411: Probably 911, sir.

Me: Would they know the phone number to a good pizza place?

411: Probably not, sir.

Me: Okay, thank you.

411: Sir, are you ok? You don't sound well and you said your head is bleeding...

Me: I'm okay. The bleeding will stop once I get a pizza.

411: Sir -

I hang up the phone.

I turn to the pizza section of the phonebook and dial the first pizzeria's phone number on the list.

(PHONE RINGS. PizzaGuy answers.)

PizzaGuy: Hello, AAA's Pizza.

Me: Hello.

PizzaGuy: Yes, hello?

Me: Hello.

PizzaGuy: Yes, hello, Sir?

Me: Hello.

PizzaGuy: Hello, sir? Would you like to order a pizza?

Me: Yes.

PizzaGuy: Okay...(waits for order).

Me: (silence)

PizzaGuy: Hello, sir?

Me: Hello.

PizzaGuy: …SIR, do you want to order a pizza?

Me: Yes.

PizzaGuy: What kind of pizza would you like to order??

Me: A really LARGE pizza. And I do mean, LARGE.

PizzaGuy: Heh, okay. What do you want on it?

Me: What do I want on it?

PizzaGuy: Yes, what do you want on your pizza?

Me: My LARGE pizza?

PizzaGuy: Yes. What toppings do you want on it?

Me: What is this “it” of which you speak?

PizzaGuy: The large pizza you're ordering!

Me: Oh. Ohh. The LARGE pizza. Yes. I'm sorry, I'm having a rough day. I'm bleeding heavily tonight.

PizzaGuy: Oh. Oh my. I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am. I hope I wasn't too difficult with you. My wife gets it too every month.

Me: She gets pizza every month?

PizzaGuy: No...like you, she gets a tough period every month.

Me: I get a tough period every month?

PizzaGuy: Ma'am, you just told me you were, uh...

Me: Stop calling me ma'am.

PizzaGuy: Uh...what should I call you?

Me: Call me hungry for pizza.

PizzaGuy: Hey, wait...are you a guy or a girl?

Me: I'm a guy.

PizzaGuy: Then why are you bleeding?

Me: I hit my head on the television. It made a sound like an aluminum bat striking a Buick.

PizzaGuy: What?

Me: Hello.

PizzaGuy: Sir, I….okay. (sighs) You want a large pizza?

Me: No, I want a really LARGE pizza. You're not saying the word 'LARGE' loud enough to make it a truly LARGE pizza.

PizzaGuy: (speaking slowly as if to a child) What….would…you….like…on…the…LARGE…pizza?

Me: Cheese.

PizzaGuy: Cheese goes on every pizza, sir.

Me: But I just want it on my pizza.

PizzaGuy: What?

Me: What?

PizzaGuy: Sir, what else do you want on your pizza?!?

Me: My LARGE CHEESE pizza?

PizzaGuy: YES! Sir, would you please…(he yells off phone) Hold on Tony, I’m dealing with a re-tard here!! Gimme a

moment for that delivery order, okay? (comes back on phone). Sir, PLEASE, do you want a large pizza with no

toppings?

Me: No.

PizzaGuy: What? You DON'T want a large pizza??

Me: I DO want a large pizza. A LARGE pizza. A LARGE CHEESE pizza. You forgot the cheese. And I WANT toppings. I DON'T WANT a LARGE NO-CHEESE pizza with NO toppings. Or, for that matter, do I want ANY pizza that's not LARGE or doesn't have CHEESE on it in the first place...

PizzaGuy: (talking slowly and carefully again) I...didn't...forget...the...cheese. What...I'm...asking...you...is...what...top-

Me: Why are you talking so slowly?

PizzaGuy: (sighs heavily) Sir. Sir. What other ingredients do you want on your large pizza besides cheese, please?

Me: More.

PizzaGuy: More??

Me: Yes. I want...more on the LARGE CHEESE pizza. Therefore, like I just said, I WANT toppings...

PizzaGuy: I just ASKED you FOR the toppings, sir!

Me: Oh. Sorry. I want a LARGE CHEESE pizza and…and...

PizzaGuy: (silence)

Me: I'm thinking. Wait. And….

PizzaGuy: And?

Me: And. And. Wait! And...

PizzaGuy: And? Sir, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm very busy here and-

Me: And...

PizzaGuy: Please, sir, no more “AND”, okay? What else do you WANT?

Me: On my LARGE CHEESE pizza?

PizzaGuy: YES!

Me: Oh, I got it. Sorry for making you wait while I was trying to remember.

PizzaGuy: No problem, sir. What is it?

Me: I want CHEESE.

PizzaGuy: JESUS CHR...(silence for a few seconds) Please, sir, I've been asking repeatedly what other ingredients you want

on your large...your (emphasizes words) LARGE CHEESE pizza besides (almost yells) CHEESE! You just have to

tell me one word...is it pepperoni? Green olives? Ground beef-

Me: I…want…more?

PizzaGuy: FUCK! (realizes he's still on the phone) I'm sorry. Sir. I don't mean to be rude, but I'm getting very, very upset here!

Me: At what?

PizzaGuy: You! I'm really trying to be polite but you're just not telling me what kind of pizza you wa--

Me: A LARGE, CHEESE Piz-

PizzaGuy: YES, I KNOW. I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME. AND I'LL ASK YOU YET AGAIN. WHAT ELSE DO YOU

WANT WITH YOUR PIZZA?

Me: Root beer.

PizzaGuy: WHAT?

Me: Root beer

PizzaGuy: (sighs) THAT'S NOT A TOPPING BUT FINE! BE THAT WAY. YOU WANT THE FUCKING ROOT BEER THEN?

Me: Yes. Yes. I want the fucking root beer.

PizzaGuy: OKAY! One large pizza, and a root beer...

Me: Cheese.

PizzaGuy: (ominous silence)

Me: One LARGE CHEESE pizza. You forgot the cheese on the pizza again.

PizzaGuy: SIR, I TOLD YOU I didn’t forget the CHEESE, okay, PLEASE? I put the CHEESE on EVERY FUCKING PIZZA...

(yells off phone) TONY! I SAID I’LL GET YOUR ORDER READY! JESUS MOTHER OF FUCK!

THIS GUY ON THE PHONE IS MURDERING ME, OKAY?!? WHAT??! JUST CHILL OUT! ?? YOU'RE NOT

THE ONE TALKING WITH THIS FUCKING IDIOT!!

(comes back on phone) ...EVERY PIZZA I MAKE! AND THE ONLY TOPPINGS GOING ON YOUR

"LARGE CHEESE" PIZZA IS CHEESE BECAUSE THAT'S ALL I'VE BEEN ABLE TO GET OUT OF YOU

FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! NOW, SIR, WHERE...(takes a long moment to calm down) Okay. I apologize for swearing, sir.

Where do I send your order?

Me: Two.

PizzaGuy: WHAT?

Me: Two root beers. Please.

PizzaGuy: OKAY, FINE! One LARGE pizza WITH THE FU...with the CHEESE, AND two

root beers. PLEASE, is that everything??!?!

Me: Yes.

PizzaGuy: Thank GOD. Okay. Okay. We're almost through this. Where...do… I…send…it?

Me: What is this “it” of which you speak?

PizzaGuy: (shrieks) THE-LARGE-CHEESE-PIZZA-AND-TWO-ROOT BEERS!!!

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

Me: I just want a pizza.

PizzaGuy: WE'LL DELIVER IT.

Me: I’m at home.

PizzaGuy: YES, GOOD! THANK GOD FOR THAT! Where is your house??

Me: 132 Blackstone Ave, Toronto Ontario, M1V 2N8, Canada.

PizzaGuy: 132 Blackstone. What area of the city is that about?

Me: It's in Toronto, Canada. In the M1V 2N8 region.

PizzaGuy: (sighs) Okay, is 132 Blackstone an apartment building then?

Me: Yes.

PizzaGuy: Okay, and WHAT is that apartment number?

Me: I am on the second floor; therefore, I live in Apartment 2.

PizzaGuy: Okay, 132 Blackstone Ave, Apartment 2.

Me: The rest of my address is…

PizzaGuy: Okay, that’s fine, I don’t nee-

Me: Toronto…

PizzaGuy: Sir, I GOT IT.

Me: Ontario.

PizzaGuy: I SAID-

Me: M1V 2N8

PizzaGuy: (angrily confused) I don't need the postal code! Do you think I'm going to mail your pizza to you?

Me: You're going to put my pizza in the mail?

PizzaGuy: NO! NO! We're going to DELIVER it to you, what do you think?

Me: With my two fucking root beers?

PizzaGuy: YES! (composes himself) Okay, it’s gonna be about half-hour or…

Me: (pause) The LARGE CHEESE pizza?

PizzaGuy: YES!

Me: Canada.

PizzaGuy: WHAT?

Me: The rest of my address is: Canada.

PizzaGuy: I...SAID...I...don't neeeeed to know that, okay?

Me: Okay.

PizzaGuy: What’s your phone num…oh, never the fuck mind.

Me: Okay.

PizzaGuy: Good bye, sir!

Me: Good bye?

PizzaGuy: (pause)...Good bye!

Me: Good bye? (not hanging up)

PizzaGuy: GOOD-BYE!!!

Me: Wait! One more thing.

PizzaGuy: What?

Me: I need to order a LARGE CHEESE pizza with two roo...

PizzaGuy: FUCK YOU!

(PHONE CALL IS TERMINATED AS PIZZAGUY SLAMS RECEIVER INTO CRADLE WITH INHUMAN FORCE)

Me: Good bye.

Epilogue: The LARGE CHEESE pizza surprisingly arrives forty-two minutes later. The DeliveryGuy, almost certainly warned by the enraged PizzaGuy, seems extremely wary of me and stays out of arms reach while handing over my order at the door. He extends his arms ridiculously out from his body to presumably keep the soft tissue organs within his torso out of my reach. He looks like he's memorizing all my facial and bodily features to report back to PizzaGuy, or just in case he needs to be a court witness.

Not a calm man at the moment, DeliveryGuy really really wants to get the hell away from me. I give him the twenty-dollar bill I had made sure not to lose (I had held it out in the center of my field of vision while waiting so as not to lose it). By this time he's staring at the blood on my head so to distract him I ask, “Is the change left over enough for a suitable tip? Because I really cannot handle a complicated financial transaction at this point in time”. DeliveryGuy nods with a terror-stricken expression just to be safely agreeable and retreats after thrusting over a fiver as change, not bothering with the tip, and never turning his back to me even when he gets into his car.

The pizza is good and LARGE and CHEESY, just the way I like it, although it appears they forgot to put the pepperoni I was sure I ordered on it.

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