Pizza Point

At this very moment I'm in a hotel room in Steven's Point, Wisconsin. I'm very hungry. Because I'm a stubborn idiot, I decided to make the entire four hour drive in one sitting, even though I had to pee at around hour two. By the time I finally arrived in this booming metropolis I wanted one thing: pizza. Unfortunately, even though there was a Rocky Rococo and a Pizza Hut within three blocks of my hotel, ordering pizza proved almost impossible.

Rocky Rococo. For those of you who did not live in My Hometown circa 1992, you may not understand the joy Rocky Rococo enduces in this former fat kid. It's the greasiest pizza you will ever find. In fact, it is so greasy the pepperonis actually curl into little bowls to hold extra grease. Suffice it to say, as soon as I started to see Rococo signs in Wisconsin, my inner obesity started to tingle and say, "FEED ME." I arrive at my hotel at 8:40. I'm checked in by 8:43. I call my ladyfriend to let her know I'm alive until 8:47. I then call Rococo. I order a pizza for carryout and they say, "Um, we're closing in like ten minutes and aren't making any more pizzas tonight." Determined not to let this stop me, I hop in my cool rental station wagon and drive to the restaurant. I walk in and the cashier looks at me like I'm holding a chainsaw and the head of his mother. I say, "Can I still order a pizza." The cashier says, "Uh...a pizza?" I say, "Yes." The cashier says, "We have, um, some slices available, but only cheese. Also, they're about an hour old." I say, "I take it you close at nine?" The cashier says, "Yeah..." I say, "I won't be a dick then. Thanks anyway." I leave Rocky Rococo pizzaless, but I can't really blame them. If I worked at a pizza joint that closed at nine, I certainly wouldn't want to make a ten minute pizza past 7:30.

Little Caeser's. Also closes at nine. I should point out there is a college in this town. What the hell kind of pizza place closes at nine?

Godfathers. Out of lettuce for the taco pizza. As delicious as a Dorito pizza would be, I prefer my taco pizzas with some illusion of health thank you very much.

Pizza Hut. Open until 10 and all ingredients in stock! I thought I struck gold. I ordered a pizza for carryout because again, the restaurant is two minutes away from my hotel. After I give them my phone number, my name, and my pizza order the phone lady says, "That will be available in twenty-five minutes." I say, "Oh. Can I switch that to delivery?" The phone lady says, "Well yeah, but I'd have to back out of the screens and enter in your information again." I tell her to just cancel the order then, and if I feel like Pizza Hut later, I'll order online at the hotel. She says, "Okay. Sorry about that." She's sorry about that? What is she sorry about? Her own lethargy? It seems customer service people are starting to use, "I'll have to back out of my current screen," as an excuse for not completing a task lately. Look, I use the Internet. Regularly. I know what it takes to back into another screen. It's either one of two things: 1) The escape key or 2) a button on your browser with a leftward pointing arrow next to the word, 'back.' This may be the single easiest function to perform on a computer. Yet, the phone lady at Pizza Hut didn't want to take thirty seconds out of her busy schedule typing in orders on the computer to type in an order on the computer.

At this point I'm beginning to think Steven's Point and all its employees in the pizza industry hate me. I get desperate enough that I call a local bar called, "Toppers," and place an order. Luckily, they make sense and are open until 3:00am. Even though that is six hours away from the time I called, their ovens are still open and they are willing to make me a pizza.

Ironically, while writing that paragraph the Toppers delivery person arrived at my door and handed me a box of delicious pizza and (free!) breadsticks. The pizza looks promising, but I refuse to start eating it until this blog is done. Doing so would cheer me up. Realistically though, I have nothing more to say other than this: Don't ever go to Steven's Point, WI, ever.