fiction

O.M.G. Moments

pizzaWaking up on Friday mornings isn’t so bad, perhaps because I know that it’s pizza night. The world may have gone to hell in a handbasket while I slept, but tonight we eat pizza. Maybe that’s a simplistic world view to you, but we do what we gotta do to get through this life. Bad things happen and we can’t control them, but pizza night? That’s up to us.

We could eat pizza any night we want, but somehow we fell into a pattern of marking the end of another week by treating ourselves to a pizza. It’s good to have goals, don’t you think? Be a better person, be kind to animals, give to charity, quit swearing so much, be less selfish– those are all such hard things to do. But making it through the week so that you get your pizza– that’s brilliant and Pavlovian at the same time.

So on this particular Friday, I’m in a good mood freezerfor all the aforementioned reasons. Around mid morning I get an instant message from S.

you know what tonite is, right.

r u crazy. it’s pizza nite. gotta get back 2 wrk, see u ltr.

I arrive home from work at the usual time and even though it was a somewhat frustrating day in terms of getting done what I needed to get done, now I can put all that behind me. The big decision is whether to go with plain cheese thin crust or the pepperoni thin crust. The mood was bright and full of promise.

And then it happened– something so horrible we could not have contemplated such a catastrophe. S. opened the freezer door and we both looked inside.

“Oh. My. God.” The words come out slowly, one after another, like aftershocks from an earthquake. S. was in shock. I felt weak in the pizza boxknees. There were no pizzas in the freezer. We had carelessly allowed our standard compliment of 3 pizzas to deplete to zero. We had no pizza. Say it with me. NO PIZZA.

S. couldn’t talk and I could only stare at the empty place where the pizza should have been.

“I knew we were low but I thought there was one left,” I moaned.

“What will we do?” S. asked.

I knew the answer, but I hated the thought. We had lost control of our pizza destiny.

“There’s only one thing we can do,” I replied. “Call Pizza-Bolis.”

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. He's written a mystery novel, which therefore makes him a pre-published author.

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