I don't particularly mind ordering pizzas. In fact, sometimes I enjoy it. It's not the actual call that fascinates me, of course, but more so it's the knowledge that the call will soon turn itself into actual food. It is this transformation (phone call into food) that makes our country what it is today, and could also be responsible for the popularity in replacing the letter 'f' in words with 'ph,' such as in the sentence, "This is so phat, man." And, of course, in that particular example, the fatness -- or phatness -- may be a result of the pizza...

Nevertheless, my reason for this topic has nothing to do with any of this. Rather, I wanted to discuss the conversation I had the other day with the person on the other end of the pizza delivery process. Upon asking if they offered chicken as a topping, she replied, "I don't know, I think so." I have a problem with that, because what would happen if they didn't have chicken? Would she just wing it and choose something that I might like equally as much? I don't think she'd be able to figure that out considering one minute on the phone isn't really enough time to get to know me. It also bothers me that the person at the pizza place wouldn't know the available toppings, because when it comes down to it: it's a pizza place. What more do you need to know besides the toppings? It's like calling an ice cream parlor and asking if they have cones...

But it gets better from here. After I asked for wings, she asked me if I wanted the fresh kind or the frozen ones. I can understand why she would ask me for my preference, but perhaps she could have reworded it into what she actually meant: "Are you a normal person or a total idiot?"

Seriously, I would like to be asked the question above, only because most food service employees often don't have the opportunity to express themselves openly. After this ice breaker, we could talk about life, philosophy and maybe even chicken. For example, I would mention that if peppers could order pizza, they would order pepperoni, but if meat could order pizzas, they probably would not order themselves in the ball form. We could talk about anchovies and whether they are salty because of their assault. And we would then cross the road and ponder what it meant to do so. This would be particularly fascinating if she was still supposed to be at work, because then who'd be answering the phones? (Answer: a machine.) And through it all, I would still wonder what topping I was going to get on my pizza...

Probably not what I ordered…

But I digress.

Greg Gagliardi is a teacher and writer. His stream-of-consciousness weekly humor column, "Progressive Revelations," has been ongoing since 1998. (http://www.ProgressiveRevelations.com)

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