Sunday, December 05, 2004

Christmas Parties, Finals, Elevator Crime Scenes

M and I went to a Christmas party last night being held by an old family friend, who lives with her parents on a farm near Laramie. There was booze, beer, and some concoction called “glogg,” a Nordic version of hot booze with almonds. This being the country we also went on a hayride. The booze came with us. We split around 10:30 and when I got back to my room I managed to get out of my clothes and crash face down. I woke up in the same position.

Class, meanwhile, is almost over. This is our last week of classroom stuff and next week is Finals Week. I’m down to 19 pages of paper-writing left, six of which will be written today for my Intro to Lit. class. Wheeeee!

I work on Sunday mornings from 7 to 11, and this morning I stepped onto an elevator straight out of a low end Vegas hotel: a slice of pizza lay slumped in a corner like a corpse, at the end of a dried tomato streak about two feet high. Pepperonis were stuck to the walls. There were cellophane wrappers, candy bar wrappers, and plastic twist-off lids all over the floor. Perhaps most disturbing, though, was the dried white substance: a few ounces had once been squirted onto the elevator door from the inside, forming three little rivulets which had dripped a few inches and then dried.

Now, I know these kids are horny and away from home for the first time, but if this substance is what I think it is, my question is: What kind of deviant invites a pepperoni pizza to a sex party in an elevator?

Or maybe it was two different parties. Maybe we’re dealing with not one but several degenerates: one who JUST COULDN’T WAIT, and another who took out their frustrations on an innocent pepperoni pizza. Goddam shame, an innocent pizza getting knocked off like that. Its worst crime was showing up for work that night, and now its guts are splattered all over an Orr Hall elevator. This is one twisted perp we’re dealing with, maybe the worst I’ve seen. Someone should dust for fingerprints and collect DNA samples. That someone should NOT be me.

Or maybe the pizza was the instigator. Maybe it was the worst pizza in the history of bad Laramie pizza (which is really saying something, trust me). Maybe the client took one bite and flew into a rage of passion, a pepperoni pizza being the one thing they looked forward to after a long week of class: I’ve frozen my ass off all week long going to agonizingly boring classes, my parents turned my bedroom into a storage closet the second I moved out, my girlfriend has decided she’s a lesbian, and my roommate plays his XBox in his underwear until 6 in the morning. Man, all I want is to eat this pepperoni pizza . . . gag . . . DAMN YOU PIZZA! DAMN YOU STRAIGHT TO HELL!

Back to writing final papers. Stay tuned.


Blogger Anna said...

It could have been tube icing! Really!

4:21 PM  

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