"Pizza makes me think that anything is possible." - Henry Rollins
I've been overcome with guilt since July 2, 2016. My karma is most likely irreparably damaged, and I'm probably going to come back as a cockroach in my next life. I did something so awful, so cruel to someone that I don't know if I'll ever be the same. And I need to get this confession off my chest and onto the Interwebs because I can't hold it in any longer:
I stole someone's pizza.
Yes, it's true. I did what could possibly be described as the most heinous crime in the history of ever. And I'm so ashamed.
It all started, as most terrible mistakes do, with day drinking. Watermelon sangria a la Katherine, specifically. After drunkenly doing yoga by the pool all day (which resulted in various non-serious injuries), Brad smartly suggested we eat some food. I say smartly because we probably hadn't eaten all day... woops.
We decided on a delicious pizza place only a few miles from the house. We knew it was closing soon, so Katherine said she would call in the order while we rode over so we could get it before they closed down. There were too many people for one car, so I hopped in with fellow yogi John while Katherine, Brad and Calton (aka Stepchild) rode in another.
A short car ride later, we arrive at the restaurant. We wait a few minutes in the car, and when Katherine and company don't arrive as quickly as I suspected, I figured I'd better run inside and get the pizza before the place closed.
At the register, I informed the hostess that I was picking up an order, either under Katherine or Reece.
"Wait, do you mean Richard?" she said. At least I think that's what she said, it was really loud and hard to hear in there. And I was a little tipsy (understatement).
"Yeah, that's probably it!" I replied. Katherine probably said Ricci knowing I'd pick it up and they got confused about the name; happens all the time. That rationale seemed to make sense to me at the time. I paid for the pizza (surprised, actually, that it was only one pizza), and went back out to the car.
Katherine and company still have not arrived. Suddenly my phone is ringing, and it's Katherine calling from Brad's phone.
"I got the pizza! What did you order? I thought we were getting the Mediterranean?" I said.
"I didn't order a pizza..." said Katherine.
"What do you mean you didn't order a pizza? You said you were going to call it in, and now I have a pizza."
"...that would require me to have a phone," she said.
"Oh my God," I replied, realizing what happened. "I stole someone's pizza."
By then, we were at the point of no return. The warm, delicious pizza was in my lap and I was starving, and ashamed. Too ashamed to return this poor person's pizza. Only thing to do was destroy the evidence.
"You didn't steal it!" argued John. "Technically you paid for it."
All I can think about now is poor hungry Richard or whomever ordered the pizza that night, and didn't get it. Also all I can think about now is pizza in general because I'm currently very hungry.
My hope is that this blog article a) will never be found by the person from whom I stole the pizza and b) that confessing my guilt will somehow save me from the guilt I feel each and every day for my crimes. I'm so sorry, pizza person. I hope they made you a new, even better pizza. Maybe they even gave you a free one for the mix up. I sincerely hope I didn't ruin your night or your life and that you didn't yell at the poor hostess because it wasn't her fault, it was mine.
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