Ladies and gentlemen, this is the first episode in the series I would like to call: About Me Monday. As I want to get more personal with you, the viewer, I decided that sharing personal stories would be a step in the right direction. These stories could be about a mess of things. They’re about me. Nothing too grand or dynamic, just stories that I’d like to share with you. These posts will not replace Movie Monday. Movie Monday will simply be posted only when there is news to be shared. Please feel free to ask me any questions and request new topics in the comments below. The first episode of this series is lighthearted for the most part, and it isn’t a story with a ton of substance. I figured that we’d start up easy. Without further delay, sit back, relax, and enjoy! (I would recommend putting down any food you may be consuming for the duration of the post.)
Pizza is my friend. Or so I thought. This is the story of how pizza betrayed me.
My dad used to own a couple of pizza places in New Jersey, both by the name of Fox’s Pizza Den. They were the first Fox’s locations in New Jersey. I believe I mentioned this in my post about how I nearly died. That’s here if you’re interested to hear about my near-death experience, which is an entirely different story.
Anyways, my dad owned two pizza places. He and my mom were in Vegas for the weekend, and so my aunt was watching my sisters and I. I was at my grandmother’s house with my cousin Robert. Conveniently, the pizza place was not even a minute away from her house. Robert and I were getting hungry and so my aunt drove us to Fox’s to get some pizza.
We decided to get a White Pizza, pizza with no tomato sauce. I was never that type of kid who was picky, but we decided to switch it up.
We went back to my grandma’s house and went to the basement. We turned on the TV, opened the pizza box, and began to devour the pizza. After a good half hour of working on the pizza, there was just one more slice left. I looked at Robert and he shook his head, reclining back with his tongue hanging out. We demolished that pizza. I ate my half of the pie, and Robert had a slice remaining. I never took wasting food lightly, but I was ready to tap out. There was no way that I would eat his slice. I brought the box up to my aunt and told her that we were done.
As I turned around to go back to the basement, she called me back. I told her that there was no way that we could finish the pie. Still, she insisted that I eat it. Sighing, I took the last piece of pizza and brought it downstairs. Slowly, I ate it. Every bite was like torture. The pizza was so good, but I had already eaten my half of the pie. The plan was to split it in half, but Robert didn’t pull through with this half. He would soon regret that decision…
I finally finished the last slice of white pizza, and I suddenly became quiet. For the rest of the night, I felt kind of out of it. I didn’t think that it was from the pizza. I simply felt tired, and I wasn’t in a very social mood. A few hours after eating the pizza, I found out that I’d be sleeping over Robert’s house. Cool. So his dad came and picked us up. Before I left, I took a water bottle, as I was starting to get hot. I sat in the back of the car, silent. Robert wanted to stop at Barnes and Noble to pick up a strategy guide for Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn.
I didn’t mind, of course. I was so out of it that I don’t think I could have physically cared. My uncle kept starting conversations with me, but I took a few seconds to actually respond to him. Like I said, I was out of it.
Then, out of nowhere, I let it all out. After blowing chunks on the car floor, I looked up and was surprised to see that neither my uncle nor Robert reacted to my episode. I said, “I’m sorry,” my throat still burning. My uncle said, “It’s okay, just wipe up the water.” The water? Then Robert turned around and cringed. He was speechless.
I finally realized what happened. They thought I spilled my water. My uncle then smelled my regurgitation and turned around. He reassured me that it was okay, and he pulled into a gas station. We vacuumed up what came out of my mouth and then got back into the car. I used my shirt to cover my nose, as the sour smell of my vomit was embedded into the carpet. Throughout all of this spur-of-the-moment mayhem, I saw the look on Robert’s face. He wanted to get his strategy guide. I insited 100 times that I was okay. We could still stop to get his strategy guide.
Well what do you know? We get into the store and it turns out that the guide wasn’t anywhere to be found.
Fast forward a year. There was still the lingering smell of my vomit in that car, despite the amount of times the car was washed and aired out. Did I mentioned that when I barfed in it, it was a new car?
That was the story of how pizza betrayed me. Pizza, who I thought to be my friend, stabbed me in the back. But I can’t blame it all on the pizza. My aunt was the one who made me eat that last slice. But that last slice wouldn’t have been left if Robert had manned up and eaten it. (Yes, Robert, I partially blame you) I decided to share this story because this is a memory that I always equate to Robert, one of my many cousins. I am sure that many stories in the future will mention my shenanigans with the rest of my cousins as well.
The moral of the story? Finish your food, because if you don’t, someone else will have to eat it. They will then give the food back to you on your car floor.
Thanks for reading! What other experiences would you like me to talk about? Let me know in the comments below!