I got a text message at 4:50 p.m. When are you getting home with the pizzas? I knew the family had to leave by 5:30. I will be there by 5:10, I promised, although I had just pulled up to the pizza shop.
I ran in and placed my order and sat down at a table to await our supper. I could see right into the kitchen and kept looking to see how things were going. Things were going well.
All of a sudden, there was a scream as two of the pizza makers in the crowded kitchen collided and then looked sorrowfully at the floor, eventually bending over to clean up what was obviously a spill. Also obvious was the fact that these were my pizzas that had taken a dive.
The pizza makers quickly started putting together more pizzas and I knew I was in for a wait. They kept shooting me furtive glances, which confirmed the fact that my original pizzas were gone.
I arrived home, new pizzas in tow, too late. My family was just pulling out of the driveway, intent on getting to a show on time.
“They dropped my pizzas,” I yelled. And the dog ate your homework, their skeptical looks suggested.
Curses. Foiled again.
©2012 Jim Hagarty
