It started out with pizza
I was having a hankering for pizza the other night. Not just a craving, or a mere burning desire. I'm talking an out and out basic PRIMAL NEED. Luckily for me, the magic word of the day was DELIVERY, it was Saturday after all. I suppose in hindsight, I should have driven or walked to the nearest pizza joint, a short drive by car (or long drive, with a slight dogleg with my #1 wood), but I thought I couldn't get away from the house.
So I play a little yellow pages roulette and my finger lands on "Sylvia's House of Pizza and Discount Lumber". Haven't tried that one before. The ad (featuring a beaver holding a pizza cutter) mentions an "If our pizza doesn't burn your tongue by the time it gets to you, we'll burn your tongue free of charge at a later date!" deal, so I figure I'll take a chance and give them a call.
I'm greeted with "You want a pie or a cord?" I have to think about it for a moment, as hunger has so fully gripped me that the thought of eating reduced-priced wood is almost palatable. I go for a Bavarian Rounder instead. The ad said that this was their specialty, so, feeling adventurous, I order three (one to eat now, one to eat later, and one to file away as evidence).
I queued up a DVD, (The Meaning of Life, if you're keeping score) and went into the kitchen to grab something to drink. I put down an entire bottle of IBC and grabbed a second, when I noticed a raccoon on the bird feeder, just 3 feet from my face. An old, brittle window was all that protected me from potential eye-gouging and rabies. I didn't know whether to try to scare it off, or let it enjoy the all you could eat buffet. I banged on the glass, he looked at me, paused, and got right back to business. He was bigger than both my cats put together, and clearly not to be trifled with. I decided I'd leave him be. Besides, If I let him fill up on the oily black sunflower seeds, he wouldn't mug the pizza man, and make off with my dinner.
About 15 minutes later, I hear--no, make that FEEL--an unholy rumbling, coming from outside. I peek through the blinds and see a giant lumber-hauling 18-wheeler slowly making its way down our narrow dead-end street. It's hydraulic brakes spit out a rude exclamation and the behemoth comes to rest at the end of my driveway, blocking out any potential traffic on my street, as well as the sun. A sawdust-spritzed driver climbs down from the cab and makes his way up the driveway, carrying my gastronomic salvation.
"You order the pizza?" he asks.
I'm tempted to tell him no, I ordered a cord of butt logs, but in my weakened condition the best I can come up with is "Yeah."
We make the munch-to-moolah exchange and before I can ask about his beaver-shaped hat, he's back in the big rig, deftly backing it down the hill and onto the main road. I watch him all the way down, and never once do I see a 2x4 or anchovie fall out of the truck. He's good.
Okay, the pre-game is over. Now it's time to slay the beast, to crush the revolution, to....uh, eat. I pop the top and gaze at what has to be the most unique-looking pizza that has ever been delivered to me by a guy with a beaver hat in a lumber truck.
to be continued...
So I play a little yellow pages roulette and my finger lands on "Sylvia's House of Pizza and Discount Lumber". Haven't tried that one before. The ad (featuring a beaver holding a pizza cutter) mentions an "If our pizza doesn't burn your tongue by the time it gets to you, we'll burn your tongue free of charge at a later date!" deal, so I figure I'll take a chance and give them a call.
I'm greeted with "You want a pie or a cord?" I have to think about it for a moment, as hunger has so fully gripped me that the thought of eating reduced-priced wood is almost palatable. I go for a Bavarian Rounder instead. The ad said that this was their specialty, so, feeling adventurous, I order three (one to eat now, one to eat later, and one to file away as evidence).
I queued up a DVD, (The Meaning of Life, if you're keeping score) and went into the kitchen to grab something to drink. I put down an entire bottle of IBC and grabbed a second, when I noticed a raccoon on the bird feeder, just 3 feet from my face. An old, brittle window was all that protected me from potential eye-gouging and rabies. I didn't know whether to try to scare it off, or let it enjoy the all you could eat buffet. I banged on the glass, he looked at me, paused, and got right back to business. He was bigger than both my cats put together, and clearly not to be trifled with. I decided I'd leave him be. Besides, If I let him fill up on the oily black sunflower seeds, he wouldn't mug the pizza man, and make off with my dinner.
About 15 minutes later, I hear--no, make that FEEL--an unholy rumbling, coming from outside. I peek through the blinds and see a giant lumber-hauling 18-wheeler slowly making its way down our narrow dead-end street. It's hydraulic brakes spit out a rude exclamation and the behemoth comes to rest at the end of my driveway, blocking out any potential traffic on my street, as well as the sun. A sawdust-spritzed driver climbs down from the cab and makes his way up the driveway, carrying my gastronomic salvation.
"You order the pizza?" he asks.
I'm tempted to tell him no, I ordered a cord of butt logs, but in my weakened condition the best I can come up with is "Yeah."
We make the munch-to-moolah exchange and before I can ask about his beaver-shaped hat, he's back in the big rig, deftly backing it down the hill and onto the main road. I watch him all the way down, and never once do I see a 2x4 or anchovie fall out of the truck. He's good.
Okay, the pre-game is over. Now it's time to slay the beast, to crush the revolution, to....uh, eat. I pop the top and gaze at what has to be the most unique-looking pizza that has ever been delivered to me by a guy with a beaver hat in a lumber truck.
to be continued...
