A true story, by Chris Nash
Beware the Pizza Man
November 21, 2006
Once upon a time, I was in Toronto.
I was visiting the mall with a good chum, and we had just finished picking up our weekly supply of comic books. Life was good.
“Hey, would you like to enjoy a slice of fresh pizza with me?” my Good Chum asked. Never one to turn down fresh pizza, I accepted his offer and we veered off to the left in search of a triangle of meaty-cheese-bread.
Mmm-mmm.
Good Chum and I entered the delicious pizza establishment and ambled towards the counter.
“What would you like, Good Chum?” I asked him, “It’s my treat.”
“Why, thank you. I would like a triangle of pepperoni,” he responded. “Also, will you be my soul mate?”
We looked at each other with eyes of heterosexual camaraderie.
“Of course I will,” I said. “Of course I will.”
So, my newfound Soul Mate and I sat down with our triangle-shaped slices of meaty-cheese-Italian-hot-bread.
That’s when everything went haywire.
I was immersed in heavenly bliss, so I did not notice the insanity that followed.
My eyes were closed in enjoyment when I said to him, “This pizza is delicious, isn’t it, Good Chum?”
But Good Chum-Soul Mate didn’t answer. Why? Because he was choking, that’s why.
I was concerned.
“Are you okay?” I asked him. “I’m concerned. Do you need aid?”
But he just kept choking and choking. I furrowed my brow. What was going on? Was my Good Chum dying? Was there some sort of foul play afoot?
So many questions.
Suddenly, Good Chum-Soul Mate pointed toward the counter, which was right next to us. Being the great detective I am, I followed his finger with my gaze. What I saw shocked and terrified me.
Standing there at the counter, looming over us like an infuriated gargoyle, was a tall, scary, Middle Eastern man. To make matters worse, he was staring directly at us angrily while he made the pizzas. Well, that’s not exactly true – the truth is that he was half-staring at us because he only had one eye! One freakin’ eye!
Let me assure you that I am not one to make light of a person’s handicap. Not usually, at least. But this man was out of control. Not only was he missing an eye, but he also didn’t mask his disorder in any way. No glass eye, no eye-patch, no nothing. There was just a big, gaping hole in his head where an eye should have been.
And, honestly, had we seen him on the street, it probably wouldn’t have caused us to shriek and riot as we did. So call me discriminatory, but if you’re making someone’s food and you don’t have an eye, it’s a little unnerving.
Did we learn a lesson that day? Of course not.
Am I going to try to guide this story to some sort of biblical allusion or a call to redemption? Not a chance.
I’m simply here to serve as a warning: be careful when you go to pizza joints because there could be eyeballs in your food.
The End.
Now you go...
2 Responses to “A true story, by Chris Nash”
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I was there on that day.
I watched it all go down.
I saw the man with no I.
I am the I without a face.
Ivan, your insights are astounding. Please… tell me more.