Flattering Abuse
September 4, 2001
‘Sushi or pizza?’ I demanded of Adam, as we retraced our steps back home after a visit to the liquor store.
‘Yes,’ hiccuped Adam.
‘No,’ I patiently explained. ‘Which one?’
‘Sushipizza,’ he slurred.
‘Look, we’re closer to the Pizza Hut store.. Let’s just go there,’ I directed, as we ambled towards the small takeaway outlet.
Crashing through the doorway and rousing a beleaguered sales member from the rear pizza-assembling room, we politely requested a Supreme Slab Pizza.
‘No,’ the man firmly denied, as he and an outgoing delivery woman smirked at each other.
‘Not even if I buy one of those stupid foil bags?’ I slurred.
‘No Supreme Slab pizzas,’ he mumbled, shaking his head. Adam cracked his knuckles as I sighed and tried to negotiate the situation before Mr Ex-Bouncer remembered his past profession and began to assert his authority outside of a nightclub environment.
Leaning on the counter for balance, I nearly clear knocked our paper-bag wrapped bottle of bourbon onto the floor. Considering my behaviour, I began worrying he wasn’t going to serve us anything at all.
‘You can’t not serve us because we’re too drunk,’ I warned.
‘FUCK!’ the delivery woman cursed outside, nearly tripping over two sluttishly dressed female midgets studying the menu through the window.
‘Oooh!’ Adam excitedly cooed, and rushed over to the window as if they were an exotic breed of animal.
‘You can only choose from these four Slab pizza flavours,’ the man behind the counter explained with a wry grin.
‘Oh,’ I replied, jabbing my finger at a random flavour. ‘Ten minutes,’ he advised and walked away. I sat at a nearby table to wait, after navigating my way against a floor furnished with more congealed gunk than a homeless man’s foreskin.
Adam plonked himself down beside me. ‘Midgets!’ he pointed excitedly out the window. They sneered back in return.
Craning my neck to view the pizza constructing room, I realised I didn’t want to witness the pizza building process after noticing a young staff member absently picking his bum crack. An extremely intoxicated couple flung themselves headlong through the entrance and, for a moment, appeared as if they were going to navigate the counter hurdle-style. Instead, they crashed into each other with an ‘oof’.
Loudly barking out a pizza order, they split their money half ‘n’ half, before collapsing into the table next to us. ‘I fooken hate pupperoni anyway you bustard,’ the female half of the couple complained. ‘I hup you’re sitisfied.’
‘Ngh,’ the man explained.
Carefully counting out her remaining coins on the table, the woman suddenly exploded into argument.
‘How much did you fooking pay for thet pizza!’ she demanded.
‘$3.50, just like you,’ he pleaded.
‘I fooking paid $4.00, you ESSHOLE!’ she screamed, filling the small store with her emotion. Adam cowered, muttering something about how he was glad he was gay. Obviously they were in the acutely early stages of a relationship which involves both members still splitting bills down the middle.
Barging up to the desk, she screamed for service. Our now rather nervous sales attendant crept up behind the cash register.
‘Did he jist guv you $3.50?’ she demanded.
‘I…’ the attendant began, weaving around in the air to deflect himself away from her toxic breath. ‘I can’t remember,’ he admitted.
‘You FOOKING ESSHOLE!’ the lady screamed, barraging her partner with a maelstrom of informational leaflets on Pizza Hut’s contribution to preserving the environment. ‘FOOK FOOK FOOK!’
One of the midgets outside looked on in interest as I waited patiently and silently for our food. Adam was staring at the ceiling muttering under his breath as the other slutty midget appeared to proposition one of the delivery boys who was just returning from a delivery.
‘Pizza,’ the sales attendant whispered to me, not wanting to attract the attention of the now rabid girlfriend. By this stage her face was so red she’d inadvertedly begun stopping traffic outside.
‘Ta,’ I thanked the attendant, and slipped outside. As Adam and I slunk up the road towards our apartment, one of the midgets turned around and spat at us.
‘Fucking faggots,’ she dismissed.
And I would have thought someone had just surgically removed Adam’s testicles against his will, judging by his reaction. Threats to kick both midgets like footballs aside, I managed to sedate him with mouthfuls of chunky pizza.
Because really , it’s hard to be offended by slutty, cussing midgets. Even homophobic ones. I’ll never have such an opportunity again.
