Freshman year we ordered a lot of pizza. Almost every weekend we would end a night by crowding into my McBride double as we inhaled a pizza within minutes. For a while, we were so in sync with the punctuation of pizza to end the night that we became confident. Until one night, my hubris backfired and made me regret my entire existence.
That night I was in charge of ordering the pizza. After a long, raucous night at the Ganter ™, we all trudged home in pursuit of that sweet 11 inch ‘za. As we decided on our toppings, I furiously clicked the necessary buttons on the Papa Johns website. I dragged and dropped, I double clicked—I did it all. Seconds before final check out, I I saw in the corner of the screen an intriguing offer. The small button preceding the final confirmation button said something to the extent of “pay 2 more dollars, get an XL.” Immediately, I was sold—truly an incredible deal. I clicked and just like that the pizza was on its way. I was so proud of my incredible ordering capacities.
We sat in a circle on the floor of my first floor McBride room, anxiously waiting the arrival of Pizza. After seven minutes of dozing off and scattered conversations, the fateful phone call came—and I rushed outside to receive the treasure.
What I had failed to read in the fine print of the “$2 more get an XL” is that they would be adjusting the order as well. This pizza, was the not one of our dreams. It was not one we even recognized. It was comprised of the following: