Hookers, Pizza, and Idiots Like Me

No new hint today.  You’ll have to wait until tomorrow for that.  Instead, today I’ll give you another in a long series of essays I like to call, “That Is Fucking Stupid.”

Today’s Subject: Take and Bake Pizza.

For months now, friends have been telling me I have to try this place called Papa Murphy’s.  I’ve heard everything from “Best Pizza Chain Six Years Running!” to “So tasty you’ll think God tongue kissed you!”  Now, I remained skeptical.  After all, this is a pizza chain that sells you raw pizzas and makes you go cook them your own damn self.  No matter how you slice it (heh), that sounds like a dumb idea to me.

However, don’t let it be said I won’t try something once (unless that something is stabbing myself in the eye).  So I decided to give Papa Murphy’s a shot.

I walk in the empty (remember that part, because it’s important) take out place around five-thirty Saturday.  I spend a few minutes acquaiting myself with the menu, and then I place an order for a large five meat pizza.

The helpful and chipper girl at the register rings me up. “That’ll be $12.99.”

Blink.  Blink, blink.

Look, I know I’m taking this pizza home and cooking it myself.  At this point, I’m fine with the fact.  I still have to pay $13 for it, though?  Isn’t that like paying a hooker a few hundred bucks so you can take matters into your own hands?  A large meat pizza at just about anyplace else is only a few bucks more.  And they’ll cook the damn thing for ya.  And a meat pizza from your grocer’s freezer is a whole lot less.

But I promised I would try this stuff, so I smile and pay.

And wait.

After a moment, chipper register girl tells me I can have a seat while my pizza is assembled.  What?  Seriously?  You’re supposed to be getting ready for a dinner rush, I can see four other employees milling around in the back, and you don’t have one of your specialty pizzas ready to go?  I mean, I can see a cooler behind you, and I can see pizzas in it.

So I sit. And I wait. For ten minutes. I mentioned I was their only customer, right?

This is where I start having problems.  See, I worked in a pizza place for several years, so I know it takes a large pizza eight minutes to travel through a pizza oven.  Add on the two minutes it should take to assemble a pizza for the only customer you have, and you’ve reached your ten minutes.  Ten minutes for slapping sauce, cheese, and meat onto dough is not acceptable.  A stoned chimp could build a pizza faster.

So after ten minutes I’ll never get back, chipper register girl wraps my pizza and goes over the baking instructions with me.  I smile and nod until she gets to the bake time.  She says, “Seventeen to twenty minutes,” and I bite back the urge to scream in her smiling face.  By now I’m positive I’ve let myself be hoodwinked.  Somewhere, my friends are laughing their asses off at how they tricked me into overpaying for a pizza I could have made myself.

So I went home and cooked the pizza, and it tasted okay.  Not amazing, not horrible.  Okay.  For context, imagine I payed a so-so looking hooker $400 and then she watched TV while I was forced to pleasure myself.  I’m sure there are better ways to spend the money.

So, no.  I won’t be returning to Papa Murphy’s anytime soon.  I think next time I’ll just grab some ingredients and make my own pizza.

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