I’ve got a huge gripe against ordering take-out. There is some sort of untapped phobia I have wherein I promise someone to come to their store in a half-hour, pick up goods unpaid for, pay for them and then leave to enjoy them back in my home.

The entire process disturbs me. But in the sense of being more neighborhood-y (and ruining my entire gramatical basis), I have tried calling in take-out orders to the pizza place and dinner I live next to.

pizza place?

Me: Hi, I’d like to get a large pizza.

Guy: …hello?

Me: Uh, hi, I’d like to get a large pizza?

Guy: Hello? Man, who the fuck is this? Say something! Ah, nevermind.

click.

diner?

…10 rings…

Woman: Sunset.

Me: Oh, hi! I’d like to put in an order for take-out.

Woman: Pick-up or delivery.

Me: Pick-up!

Woman: And?

Me: Corned beef hash and two eggs scrambled, please.

Woman: …and?

Me: That’s it.

Woman: 10 minutes. *click*

and so, i crawl out of my shell inch by inch.

now if i could only stop collecting urine in mason jars and creating my dream airplane out of toothpicks.