A Conversation I Had With A Pizza Guy While I Was Very Stoned

I like to think I made his night a little less boring.

Here’s a conversation I had with a nice gentleman at Victoria’s Pizzeria (name changed, o’course) after getting ‘the munchies’ from smoking waaaaay too much “Mary Jane”, i.e. cannabis sativa, one memorable night.

That particular strain of the herb I had at the time was unexpectedly super-potent. Like, Willy Nelson grade herb. A rarity to find back in the day of cannabis being illegal in Ontario, but sometimes my dealer lucked out and had some great smoke. Still, I should have tested it out first before trying to interact with any other living being.

After smoking a couple of bombers, I suddenly lost all mental ability to think ahead into the future. To be more accurate, my brain was “Stoned On The NOW” to the point where generating any particular thought on my own was essentially impossible. Neurons through the molasses, if you get my drift.

You see the classic stoner conflict I was in, I hope. I had the munchies and I needed a pizza, NOW. Marijuana always stimulates my appetite and the ol’ stomach was howling for food like a starving howler monkey howling for pizza. That’s a lot of howling.

A fairly good representation of my stoner munchies at this particular moment.

BUT! Putting together the actual formalizing of the pizza order was a truly Herculean task, as the following conversation will show.

(By The Way: Smoking cannabis is a matter of personal choice and should be legal everywhere, in my opinion, as I feel the positives outweigh the negatives. However, if this article serves as a cold reminder of What Not To Do While Stoned, then maybe my idiocy will serve as a warning to be more responsible in your cannabis use… or at least be more prepared before ordering a stoner pizza.)

The Conversation:

Me: (I stumble around the living room furniture that seems to leap out at me to find my phone. I complete a credible “Dick Van Dyke Over The Ottoman” full-out body fall on the footstool during my search. I take nineteen minutes to recover and let the pain fade away from my shins. Then I miraculously find my phone. I ask Google to find me a pizzeria in my area; the first search result is “Victoria’s Pizza” so I tell Google to call the restaurant for me as there’s no way I can dial.)

(Phone rings. Pizza Guy answers.)

Pizza Guy: Hello, Victoria’s Pizza.
Me: Hello.
PG: Yes, hello?
Me: Hello.
PG: (Pause) Yes, hello, Sir?
Me: Hello.
PG: (Longer pause) Hello, sir, would you like to order a pizza?
Me: Yes.
PG: Okay. (Waits for order.)
Me: (Silence.)
PG: Hello, sir?
Me: Hello.
PG: … Sir, do you want to order a pizza or not?
Me: Yes.
PG. Okay. What kind of pizza would you like to order?
Me: A large pizza.
PG: Okaaaay. What would you like on it?
Me: On what?
PG: Yes, what would you like on it?
Me: What is this “It” of which you speak?
PG: THE PIZZA!
Me: Oh. OHH. Uhm..
(An uncomfortably long seven seconds of silence passes while confusion grips my altered brain as I had not even considered what pizza toppings I desired before phoning.)
PG: … Hello, sir?
Me: Hello.
PG: Sir, I… Okaaaaaaay. You want a large pizza or not?!?
Me: Yes.
PG: What… would… you… like… on… the… large… PIZZA? (He speaks each word with loud annoyed emphasis).
Me: Cheese.
PG: Okaaay. And?
Me: And.
PG: And?
Me: And…
PG: SIR! Do you just… wait a sec…
(He yells off-phone: “Hold on Tony! I’m dealing with a genuine IDIOT here!” I'm too stoned to notice or care.)
PG: (He resumes speaking to me) Do you just want a large cheese-only pizza? No other ingredients? C’mon guy, I’m busy here -
Me: No.
PG: You don’t want a large cheese pizza?
Me: I do want a large cheese pizza, and…
PG: (Muttering) Jesus the Mother Christ. AND?!?
Me: (I’m still trying to choose ingredients)… More.
PG: More?
Me: Yes. I want more on the pizza. More.
PG: What do you WANT on the PIZZA?
Me: I want a large pizza with cheese and…
PG: And?
Me: And… more? Sorry, I… Uhm…
PG: (In a despairing voice) Jesus, guy… how about pepperoni?
Me: Yes. And….
PG: Large cheese and pepperoni pizza?
Me: Yes! Pepperoni good! And… Uhm… sorry…
PG: AND?
Me: … And?
PG: Just no more “AND”, OKAY GUY? You GOT the cheese, you GOT the pepperoni, what else do you WANT?
Me: Oh, wait, I know! I think.
PG: Thank you, Jesus.
Me: I want… More? Wait, did I already order that?
PG: (He takes a deep breath to yell at me) WHAT…IS…THIS…“MOOOOORE” (Angrily yodels the word) YOU… WANT… ON… THE… PIZZA?!?
Me: Bacon! Bacon. Sorry.
(My stoned mind becomes fascinated with the word ‘bacon’ for a moment)
Me: Baaaaacccooonnnn.

Baaaaacccooonnnn...

PG: OKAY! GOD DAMN. DO YOU — You want a large cheese, pepperoni, and bacon pizza! That’s everything, YES?
Me: Yes, I want a large cheese, pepperoni, and bacon pizza. Yes.
PG: Okaaaaaay. Okaaaay. (He seems to calm down a little bit) Is that it?
Me: No.
PG: Oh God… (At this point Pizza Guy seems to almost break down weeping, then collects himself with a deep breath)… What else you want?
Me: I want… I want… Mo -
PG: DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE. YOU WANT PEPSI?
Me: No.
PG: OKAAAAY, YOU SAY ‘MORE’ I HANG UP THE PHONE, OKAY WISE-ASS? YOU WANT THE FUCKING ROOT BEER?
Me: Yes. Yes. I want the fucking root beer.
PG: OKAY! (Five uncomfortable long seconds pass as he strains to calm himself down) One large pepperoni and bacon pizza, and the root beers.
Me: (Interrupting) cheese.
PG: What?
Me: One large pepperoni and bacon and cheese pizza. You forgot the cheese and -
PG: I didn’t forget the fucking CHEESE, okay, GUY? I put the CHEEEEEESE on EVERY! FUCKING! PIZZA!
(Pizza Guy yells off-phone: I SAID WAIT YOUR FUCKING ASS ONE FUCKING MOMENT, TONY! I’LL GET THOSE CHEESE STICKS TOGETHER FOR YOU JUST CHILL THE FUCK OUT! JESUS! THIS GUY ON THE PHONE IS MURDERING ME, OKAAAAY?)
PG: WHERE DO I SEND YOUR ORDER?
Me: Two.
PG: WHAT?
Me: Two root beers. Please.
PG: OKAY! One large pepperoni, bacon, AND THE FU… and the cheese pizza AND two root beers! (His voice takes on a pleading tone) Is that everything?!?
Me: Yes.
PG: Thank The Fucking GOD. Thank You, God and the Trinity. Okaaaay. Okaaay. Where do I send it?
Me: Send?
PG: WHERE DO I SEND IT?
Me: What is this “It” of which you speak?
PG: (Actually shrieks) THELARGECHEESEPEPPERONIBACONTWOROOTBEERS?!? WHERE ARE YOU?
Me: I’m at home now.
PG: YES, GOOD! THANK GOD FOR THAT. Where is your HOUSE?!?
Me: (Reading my home address from an old unpaid phone bill) 132 Blackstone Ave, Toronto Ontario, M1V 2N8, Canada.
PG: OKAY. 132 Blackstone? Where’s that about?
Me: Toronto, Canada.
PG: Okay, never the fuck mind. 132 Blackstone, is there an apartment?
Me: Avenue.
PG: Yes, Yes, YES. Avenue, Street, I got it, YES.
Me: Yes.
PG: AND what is that apartment?
Me: I am on the second floor; therefore, I live in Apartment 2.
PG: Okay, 132 Blackstone Ave, Apartment 2.
Me: The rest of my address is…
PG: Okay GUY, that’s FINE, I don’t nee -
Me: Toronto…
PG: BUDDY, I got it, OKAY?
Me: Ontario.
PG: OKAY, YES.
Me: M1V 2N8
PG: GUY. I’m not gonna MAIL the fucking pizza to you, OKAY? (Sighs) It’s gonna be about half hour or…
Me: Canada.
PG: (Speaking with almost terminal anger) FORTY-FIVE GODDAMN MINUTES OKAAAYY?
Me: Yes.
PG: What’s your phone num… Oh, never the fuck mind.
Me: OKAY.
PG: (With dripping angry sarcasm) You have a NICE evening, OKAY GUY?
Me: Yes. You too. Thank you. Sorry.
PG: GOOD BYE!
Me: Good bye?
PG: HOLY GOD IN HEAVEN. TONY, YOU WOULDN’T BEL -
CLICK. Phone call ends.
Me: Good bye? Can I order a pizza, please? Hello?

Aftermath: The pizza arrives forty-two minutes later, astoundingly enough. The knock on the door is hesitant. The delivery guy, apparently afraid of me for some strange reason, gives me the panicked horse-eye while seeming to be attempting to memorize all my facial and bodily features, I guess to report back to Pizza Guy and/or (possibly) the proper authorities.

I give him the cash money I had prepared by keeping it in constant visual contact while holding it out in front of me for forty-two minutes as I waited for his arrival, so as not to lose the payment. I ask the delivery guy, “Is the change left over enough for a suitable tip? Because I really cannot handle a complicated financial transaction at this moment” to which he nods fearfully and retreats, never turning his back to me even as he gets back into his car.

The pizza is really good.

This BING text-to-image AI picture is a little off, but it sure got the delivery guy’s facial expression down pat.