Pizza... with style.

Sometimes weird stuff of note happens way, WAY off the rails. Like last night for instance.

I was innocently taking out the recycling, when I overheard the nice lesbian couple in our place having problems with the Pizza Hut guy. It seems this guy didn't realize that they had wanted to pay with plastic. Addie and I can relate. We don't order from our local Pizza hut, because they are certifiably deficient in a several areas of requisite human interaction. We order from Papa John's. They can read as well as walk five steps to their left and walk up the stairs rather than stare blankly at a locked gate until the pizza is cold. Long, irritating story.

So it turned out that the nice lesbians ordered from Papa John's in addition to Pizza Hut. While I was wondering to myself what circumstances of pizza desire would require this, I noticed something incongruous: the Papa John's guy had pulled up in a Mercedes M-class (SUV). Now I don't know a lot about money, but I do know that if you can even afford to borrow a Mercedes, you probably don't need that job delivering pizza. Perhaps his really rich father had given him the car for his birthday before cutting him off and telling him to get a job. Perhaps he stole the car and was hiding it in plain sight. Or maybe he was a government agent sent to infiltrate our building. (That can't be right, though. The car was white not black.) Or perhaps he was delivering more than just pizza. Was he selling drugs? Himself? Who knows...

What I do know is this: if I had a car that nice, I too might find a job that let me tootle around in it for profit. But I'd find one that didn't require a tacky, lighty-up pizza place marquee to be suction-cupped to the top.