Pizza Delivery

 Several years ago, my eldest and I were picking up the house and having a conversation about video games. He wanted us to buy him a new Nintendo Switch game and I told him that he would need to save up some of his money.

With genuine confusion he retorted, “You don’t need money, you just hand that plastic card to the checkout person and they give you what you want.” This led to an impromptu discussion of capitalism and our nation's banking infrastructure.

I explained that the card was tied to an account with a finite amount of money in it. When the balance of that account drops below the cost of what you are buying, the clerk will no longer hand you what you want and the entire transaction becomes a misdemeanor at best.

As comprehension dawned on his face, he exclaimed “Once you are out of money, you can’t buy anymore stuff!” I briefly contemplated entering into a more in depth discussion concerning revolving lines of credit and title loans but realized that, despite my best intentions, the conversation would somehow devolve into me explaining why people walk funny if they are unable to make good on their financial obligations to the mob .

He inquired as to how one goes about refilling the account tied to the card and I told him that he would need to get a job and earn a paycheck. That paycheck could then be electronically deposited in his bank account (or cashed at any reputable liquor store). He was immediately onboard with the concept and asked if we could find him a job that very afternoon.

While his passion for immediate gainful employment was commendable, I told him that there were Federal child labor laws that precluded individuals in his demographic from officially entering the workforce. Dejected, he conceded that he would just have to save his allowance / birthday money to get the game. 

While this conversation was taking place, my wife was upstairs arranging for a couple of pizzas to be delivered for dinner. So, with this exchange fresh in his mind, my son responded to our doorbell by looking through the sidelites to identify our visitor.

On this particular occasion, our delivery driver was a woman in a baseball cap who also happened to be a “little person.” It is important to note that while we had already completed many of the talks about unique physical traits (most notably when my son was 5 and loudly inquired about whether or not the man with a prosthetic leg had “not been paying attention” when his factory equipment fell off) we had not yet covered dwarfism.

Devoid of this information, the logical conclusion my son came to was as follows:

1. Pizza delivery was a job and jobs generated revenue and revenue assisted in the procurement of video games.

2. The individual standing at our door with our pizza was shorter than he was which must mean that they were younger than he was.

3. My father is filthy liar because clearly there is a veritable army of 3rd graders with W2s and folding money. This lucky kid probably had an investment portfolio. 

With the level of volume one can only reach while in the throes of righteous indignation, he turned from the door and pointed accusingly at me before announcing, “You told me that kids can’t work but there is a little boy at our front door right now working for the pizza place! I bet he has all the video games he wants because his dad didn’t lie to him to keep him from being happy!!”

Looking up from my wallet where I was searching for cash to tip the driver, I realized that the individual my son had repeatedly referred to as a “little boy” was, in fact, a grown woman with a rare genetic condition. Furthermore, due to both his volume and proximity to the door, I knew she had heard every word.

My priority at that moment was to stop the bleeding. I furiously pantomimed for my son to lower his volume and move away from the door which only caused him to loudly exclaim, “Why do you keep telling me to be quiet!? I am pretty sure he knows he is a little boy! It’s not a secret!”

I could only assume that by now the pizza lady had opened the lid of our entree and was just seconds away from forcefully depositing the entirety of her post nasal drip onto it.

The more furiously I gesticulated for his silence the louder and more frequently the term “little boy” escaped his lips. Finally, I managed to divert him into the den by making some vague promise of asking the “young man” about a lateral-transfer initiative or apprenticeship.

Finally alone, I realized that all of my options were bad. I could breezily open the door and feign ignorance that my son’s rant had taken place. While initially tempting, I ultimately decided that this course of action would only serve to insult this woman’s intelligence after my son had already insulted her appearance.

I also weighed the idea of apologizing profusely and attempting to salvage the situation by reassuring her that she did not look like a little boy at all and that it was very clear she was a grown woman with a strong work ethic. I ultimately decided that this would either be construed as disingenuous flirtation or I would awkwardly utter a mildly-prosecutable phrase like, "I’ve always liked young boys holding food”

I reopened my wallet and added several large bills to the $5 I had originally selected before answering the door. The look on her face was indicative of a woman whose vision-board never consisted of weekend pizza delivery, much less being repeatedly identified as a pre-pubescent boy whilst doing so.

I apologized profusely before handing her all of the cash in our house and taking the boxes from her. I glanced down to reassure myself that the Covid-era tamper-seal was intact before wishing her a wonderful evening.

My wife descended the stairs bragging that she had cashed in all of her reward points on the app the get the pizzas for “practically nothing.” I had to tell her that not only had I handed the delivery driver the last of our liquid assets, but that we would probably need to make a sizable donation to skeletal dysplasia research if we ever wished to utilize their delivery service again. To this day, I will not have pizza delivered to our house from that establishment.

Roblox

 If you have children, the internet and the need for ten consecutive uninterrupted minutes to yourself; there is a good chance that you are familiar with Roblox. For the uninitiated, Roblox is an online gaming platform launched in 2004 with the sole purpose of separating parents from their money. The graphics are robust enough to support discernable customization while remaining blocky enough to allow most games to run on anything above a TI-36 graphing calculator.

The first step is to create a platform-wide avatar which follows you throughout the various gaming experiences. The default version of this avatar is referred to as a “bacon hair” and is a dead giveaway for being a “noob.” From there you can customize your character to your heart (and wallet’s) content.

Since the game concepts and design are essentially crowd-sourced, they vary wildly in content, function and quality. Roblox also bills itself as a “free” gaming experience but this is misleading at best. 

Most experiences require you to spend in-game currency called “Robux” to produce an outcome other than instantaneous failure and community ridicule.

The purchase of “Robux” is a process whereby you hand a corporation the legal tender of a sovereign nation and they, in turn, issue you a platform-wide digital currency you can use for “game enhancements.” The current exchange rate is $1 US Dollar = 100 Robux and- I cannot stress this enough- you will never see that money again. It cannot be refunded, exchanged, refurbished, transferred to another account or used to fund international terrorism. It is the equivalent of an online money-laundering machine where nothing comes out the other side.

Speaking of laundry, there is literally a game called “Laundry Simulator” whereby you walk around with a basket and gather dirty clothes to be laundered. As you progress, you are able to purchase larger and more efficient washing machines and, if you are fortunate, you might come across some “golden underwear” for bonus points. I was made aware of this game’s existence one Saturday when telling my kids to put up their actual laundry. 

They asked for five more minutes so that they could get the “upgraded laundry basket” in the game and I could not help but feel like the moment was some sort of cosmic joke. As if that title was not insulting enough, there are multiple “Room Cleaning Simulators” your child can play in lieu of cleaning their actual room. 

The themes are not limited to household chores. My daughter was visibly distraught one evening and, upon cross-examination, we discovered the source of her distress was the unrelenting pressure of managing a fictitious Roblox pizza restaurant during lunch rush. With an incredulous look on her face, she declared, “You know this is my busy time!!” I feared that after a few more days she would need to utilize the pretend employee assistance program.

For the more discerning gamer, there is an impressive selection of “pooping simulators” Some bill themselves as community pursuits (Pooping with Friends and its unironically-named sequel Pooping with Friends 2) while other offerings simply position the player’s avatar over the toilet and one is expected to tap the screen in order to produce larger excrement. As with all titles, spending Robux “enhances” your gaming experience which, in this case, would be something akin to IBS.

Disturbingly, all of my children really enjoyed the game where they ran a private prison complex. The goal was to generate revenue while keeping “inmate satisfaction” at a high level to prevent riots and a subsequent PR disaster. I was discouraged to discover that the inmate satisfaction rating was tied to the number of snack machines per capita rather than a reduction in the recidivism rate.

While I do not wish to disparage anyone who has dedicated their career to “excellence in the incarceration arts”, but who gets home after a long day and unwinds by tossing the mattresses in Cell Block C?

I cannot wait for:

• Black Market Human Organ Tycoon 

• Ultimate IRS Audit

• Chronic Childhood Anemia Simulator

• Verizon Signal Hide and Seek

• Weaponized Anthrax Role-Play

• Health Insurance Billing Obby

• Witness for the Prosecution Avatar 

• Survive the PTO Creeper

• 5 Nights at Fairfield Inn (Mattress-Stain Expansion Pass)

• Legislative Deadlock Mini-Games

• Septic Tank Water Polo

• College Benefactor Tower Defense

We're All Going to Die!

 While I am generally in favor of legislative alliteration, President Trump’s “Big, Beautiful Bill” has some worrying provisions. In addition to adding trillions to the national debt, it would make drastic cuts to programs like SNAP and Medicare which millions of vulnerable Americans depend on.

This led to an interesting exchange between Republican US Senator Joni Ernst and her constituency at an Iowa town hall meeting she held at 7:30 AM on a Friday. A retired healthcare provider named Karen Franczyk voiced her concern that the bill would cut the main source of revenue for hospitals in rural areas. During the larger discussion on the cuts, another attendee shouted “People are going to die!” to which the senator dismissively retorted, “We are all going to die”.

This led to enough backlash that Senator Ernst quickly posted a sarcastic apology video of her walking through a cemetery while invoking the Easter bunny before ending with an alter call to accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior. This undoubtedly wrapped up any lingering concerns her constituents had about their ability to access meals and medicine.

While many have angrily categorized her comments and apology as calloused – especially coming from someone who enjoys some of the best tax-payer funded healthcare in the world – I am of the opinion that she has stumbled upon the ultimate response to literally any question.

Will you go to prom with me? I can’t because we are all going to die.

Has the jury reached a verdict? – We have your honor. We’re all going to die.

Mommy can I have a cell phone? Well, I would go ahead and add another line to our family plan, but the activation fee is steep and, oh yes, we are all going to die!!

No matter the subject or context, you can always extricate yourself from an uncomfortable line of inquiry by reminding everyone around you of humanity’s shared, inevitable march toward grim death. It is as if we all chipped in to give existential dread an expense account and .gov email presence.

Senator Ernst is exhibiting what is sometimes known as “lifeboat evangelism” which operates under the assumption that the primary objective of Christian discipleship is to secure the eternity of as many people as possible. Sure, she may have actively played a role in dismantling the only thing standing between impoverished children and life-saving medical treatment, but don’t worry little Timmy, your premature demise will be inconsequential once you hear your name when the roll is called up yonder. I am just glad that Senator Sunshine’s career path did not veer into commercial aviation or pediatric oncology.

The idea that our highest calling as followers of Jesus is to secure the afterlife of those whom we encounter is not a new one (or a difficult one to sell). My issue is that it is impossible to reconcile with the words and actions of Jesus during his earthly ministry. That is not to say that he did not address death or what follows it. He simply didn’t prioritize it over alleviating the suffering that preceded it.

Time and time again- sometimes to the chagrin of his own disciples – he interrupted his perceived priorities to address the anguish and misery of those he encountered. The blind, paralytics, lepers, the disabled and even the servant of a centurion were all recipients of his healing. If his only objective was to secure their future glory, why did he spend so much time alleviating their present misery?

One answer would be that he healed them so that people would believe in him which would lead to his ultimate objective. There are a few problems with that idea, not the least of which is that while faith may produce miracles, miracles do not necessarily produce faith. After all, many of those who actively worked against the earthly ministry of Jesus were present for some his most spectacular interventions.

This would also undermine the profound empathy displayed by Jesus toward the wounded. I do not believe that he viewed them as marketing tools, but as human beings. When asked how to pray, Jesus responded with "Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

This would be a curious prayer for someone who believed that his father’s creation and image-bearers were beyond redemption. If there is no disease, poverty, inequality and suffering to be found in Heaven, why do we tolerate (and sometimes legislate) its proliferation on earth?

Senator Ernst's official Facebook account recently posted a photo of her visit to the Washington Nationals baseball stadium. She made the grievous error of posting a photo of herself wearing a batting helmet. The current most popular comment? "Why bother with the helmet? We are all going to die, Joni!"

The Willfully Childless

On June 10th the Southern Baptist Convention, representing the largest group of Protestant Christians in the United States, ratified a statement named, “On Restoring Moral Clarity through God’s Design for Gender, Marriage, and the Family.”

Among the many topics it covered, the most surprising to me was the amount of time they spent addressing procreation. The proclamation sets the stage for what is to come early on:

WHEREAS, God has ordained the family as the foundational institution of human society, prior to the state, with a divine mandate to “be fruitful and multiply” (Genesis 1:28)

This, and what follows, echoes the mission statement of the “Quiverfull Movement” a subset of conservative Christians who interpret the Bible to advocate for having as many children as possible, rejecting contraception and other forms of birth control. The name is derived from Psalm 127, which describes children as "arrows in the hands of a warrior". 

The implication, of course, is that the primary purpose of any family is to produce as many offspring as possible. According to the proclamation, this is to be done without the aid of IVF or other infertility treatments:

WHEREAS, Commercial surrogacy often treats children as products and women as a means to an end, and may entail the destruction of embryonic life, violating the dignity of human life and distorting God’s design for procreation within marriage

The resolution is addressing what the convention referred to as “willful childlessness” on the part of married, heterosexual Christian couples. According to the document, these couples are violating God’s mandate and design by utilizing birth control and choosing to delay parenthood or forgo it altogether. What was once known as pragmatic responsibility has somehow transformed into religious apostacy.

As a heterosexual married father of 3 amazing children, I firmly believe that nothing is more likely to proliferate societal misery and increase divorce rates than utilizing religion to guilt unprepared couples into becoming parents.

Becoming a parent is the hardest job you will ever love, and even when my wife and I agreed we were ready, we still were not entirely ready. If you and your spouse do not want to be parents, you should absolutely not become parents. If you are not mentally, spiritually, financially, emotionally and digestively prepared to place your children’s needs above you own, then the most moral, responsible and “Christian” thing you can do is wait.

I know several couples who agreed that they did not wish to become parents. Such a decision is not “sinful” or in violation of God’s will. They are no less “Christian” than those whose tax deduction forms require multiple addendums. There are blended families faithfully raising multiple children from prior relationships who have chosen not procreate within their current one. There are single and/or teenage parents working hard to provide for their unplanned child. There are non-heterosexual couples who have stepped up to foster and/or adopt one or more of the 400,000 children currently residing in the foster care system in our country. There are couples whose children only exist because of IVF and other fertility treatments. Does that make them any less a parent or their children any less a blessing? I don’t believe so.

This document creates a theological domestic maze that few could emerge from unscathed. Within this framework, God’s will concerning familial bonds is limited to the following:

Christian heterosexual married couples who reject any and every form of birth control and see procreation as one of the primary reasons their relationship exists. 

As the enthusiastic recipient of a vasectomy, my relationship lies decidedly outside of that paradigm and I do not believe that God sits upon his throne lamenting that fact that I did not unleash any more of my DNA upon His glorious creation.

Little Caesars

 Several years ago, I walked into a Little Caesars to pick up a couple of “Hot N Ready” pizzas which, in my case, was more of a “Warm N Wait” situation as there were no pepperoni pizzas on deck. 

Taking a seat, I began to observe the well-oiled machine that was Little Caesars. I quickly surmised that the heavyset mustachioed gentlemen with the buzz cut (whose name had to be Mike) was the manager and he was running the drive-thru window.  

On the other side of the kitchen resided two teenage pizza artisans mechanically churning out pies while wearing headphones. Mike was a beast. He inspected, sliced and boxed the product in what appeared to be one effortless motion before handing it to the customer. So, when Mike stopped and stared intently at a large pizza for several seconds, I knew somebody had just lost their chance at employee of the month.

I could almost hear Mike’s internal dialogue as he gesticulated his exasperation by raising his hands and exhaling loudly. It was clear he found himself in a conundrum. Does he let this culinary infraction stand and get the merchandise out the door or does he confront the issue head-on? 

Eventually he turns toward the prep-station, abomination in hand, and taps the closest of his sous chefs on the shoulder. Both of them remove their headphones just in time for Mike to present the pizza and ask whatever everyone else in the room knew to be a rhetorical question: “What is this!!?”

Glancing at each other, one of them timidly offered, “A large supreme?” 

Mike’s glare could have withered an artificial fern. “And what is all over it!!?” 

Still not sensing an ambush, the same young man earnestly responded, “Toppings!!?”

Mike looked like he was going to burn that mother down. Through gritted teeth, he managed to get out, “And why are there so many of them!!?”

This was not what I, or his colleagues, expected to come out of his mouth. I was mentally prepared for any number of scenarios ranging from wrong toppings to contraband body hair, but I was not expecting a volume discrepancy.

Clearly as flummoxed as me, the duo’s spokesman elaborated by admitting that he had been generous with the toppings because he felt that the customer would appreciate a hearty pizza. 

Mike, now looking to the heavens for strength and hitting every syllable as if it owed him money, said, “You don’t work at Papa Johns! Is there a Domino’s logo on your shirt!!? THIS. IS. LITTLE. CAESARS!!! We could have made 3 supreme pizzas with that many toppings! Don’t let it happen again!”

Without waiting for a response, Mike turned on his heel and returned to his staging area to contemplate the repercussions of not hitting his daily numbers.

The two employees shrugged at each other, repositioned their headphones and went back to prepping pizzas. I tried to imagining the conversation when they got home and their parents inquired about their day. Parents who had painstakingly taught their children about self-sufficiency, work ethic and taking pride in your craft. Then, in an instant, Mike the human demotivational poster brought the walls of excellence crashing down.

My pizza, which had not yet been prepped, became collateral damage from the ToppingsGate scandal. When we opened the boxes at the house, each slice contained a single, orphaned peperoni. My wife frowned and asked why there weren’t more toppings. She suggested that I should have said something at the store. I informed her that had I complained to management about the scarcity of my toppings, either Mike or myself was going to catch a charge.

The Epstein Files

The Epstein criminal enterprise embodies a sobering truth. Specifically, that the justice system navigated by the rest of us bears little resemblance to the one encountered by the wealthy and powerful. Had Epstein been a mid-level trafficker catering to working-class Americans we would never be in this situation. Everyone involved would have been un-masked Scooby Doo style and subjected to criminal charges and the public scrutiny that accompanies them.

The irony is that the Trump administration has turned into its own wake. When they were on the other side of the presidential seal, the current FBI director, vice-president and even Trump himself alluded to a dark conspiracy perpetrated by the deep state protecting wealthy and influential clients of Epstein. The client list continues to be the political equivalent of Schrödinger's cat, somehow tangible enough to sit upon the Attorney General’s desk for review and yet never existing at all.

I am willing to bet that the list (if it does exist) is not populated by roofers, second generation farmers or shift-leaders at Dairy Queen. It contains CEOs, hedge-fund managers and political donors whose influence and reach would likely reverberate throughout the Federal government and both political parties. The only undisputed commonality of Epstein’s “clients” is that they continue to evade any repercussions for their crimes.

For every wealthy client who perpetrated a crime, there were countless others turning a blind eye to the most despicable form of commerce imaginable. They placed their own ambitions and influence over the safety and well-being of children. Whatever their political ideology, socio-economic status, or elected position; if they participated or enabled child trafficking they should be brought to justice. We can no longer claim to be a city on a hill while we continue to protect a shanty in the swamp.

Conspiracy Theories

 “You know dad, the moon landing was fake.” My eldest was around 8 years old when he came home from school and announced this to the family. To be clear, this information originated from playground banter rather than school curriculum. A classmate had informed some friends that his dad told him the truth about the moon landing after watching a video on YouTube. A few years later, my daughter would ask me why they had faked the sinking of the Titanic citing similar sources.

More recently, I had an experience with a gentleman who has been attending our church for several years and is of limited means. Occasionally I will take him to get some lunch after church and it was on one such Sunday that we found ourselves walking into a Subway whilst chatting about what he would want to drink.

He had been going on in some detail about how there was nothing better than an ice-cold Dr. Pepper so I suggested that he should have one with his sandwich. With only mild alarm, he looked at me and announced he had stopped drinking Dr. Pepper now that they “were putting AIDS in it.” It was at this point the Subway employee removed his AirPod and cast a reflexive glance at the drink fountain.

Certain that I had misheard him, I clarified and he was adamant that he had seen a video on the Internet that proved they had changed the formula a few years ago so that it included AIDS (in this scenario the release of Dr. Pepper Zero seems more ominous). Setting aside my burning desire to ask if the video in question had been uploaded by Mr. Pibb, I began what I believed to be comprehensive logical rebuttal to the Big K fear-mongering.

Most importantly, you cannot just add AIDS to something like it was aspartame. AIDS is the result of a virus not its cause, so the author of the video lacked a basic understanding of science (or beverages). This would be akin to infusing a Monster Energy drink with osteoporosis or selling apple juice with 20% less gonorrhea. Secondly, who would stand to gain? Perceiving that he remained unconvinced, we descended further down the rabbit hole. Turning my full attention to him, I began what I believed to be an unassailable case for AIDS-free Dr. Pepper:

Let’s pretend, for the sake of argument, that AIDS was something they could add into a drink. Why would a multinational beverage conglomerate, whose profits are contingent upon getting as many people as possible to consume Dr. Pepper as often as possible for as long as possible, follow a course of action diametrically opposed to their continued financial success and / or existence.

Feeling the intellectual wind at my back, I continued to assure him that there is no reason he cannot enjoy an ice-cold Dr. Pepper on a hot summer day. Guiding him toward the counter, I announced to the room at large that he should go get his Dr. Pepper while I speak to the resident sandwich artist who, although listening to our discussion, had so far refrained from comment. 

When my lunch companion rejoined me, cup in hand sipping on a cold beverage, I smiled and asked how that Dr. Pepper was treating him. He informed me that he felt more comfortable getting a Pepsi whilst mumbling something about not taking any chances.

I was telling this story to a group of acquaintances who joined me in laughing at the absurdity. One individual, still chuckling along with the rest of us, said, “That is crazy….But those government clouds are no joke.” Despite my instincts to the contrary, I decided this was a thread worth unraveling.

They explained that all cloud formations we see today were manufactured by the Federal government in order to best control the populace. When I expressed skepticism that Washington, DC was in possession of a meteorological vending machine, they admitted that they too had harbored the same reservations before a YouTube video had opened their eyes.

The cornerstone of this argument was a simple statement, “Thunder just doesn’t sound the same as it did 20 or 30 years ago.”  Encouraging me to think back, they asked if I could honestly say that the thunder I heard last week was the same as the thunder I heard in the 90’s.

I haven’t even memorized the names of all of my children’s teachers I met at open house that week, so I knew there was no way for me to objectively compare the volume, frequency, duration and tonal characteristics of a thunderstorm that occurred before 2Pac was shot.

I thought about reminding them that the composition of a thunderstorm varies wildly based on the atmospheric conditions that spawn it, but I was already on a losing streak and I did not want to tempt fate. Instead, I listened politely and wondered why no politician had ever run on an anti-tornado platform.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of the government clouds / chem trail / cloud seeding scenario is that it often finds its audience with people who remain unconvinced that the actions of humanity have any effect on the climate or weather. Those Venn diagrams shouldn’t overlap. How does one believe that we have the capability to bend the forces of mother nature to our will and yet somehow humanity remains statistically insignificant regarding our environment?

What do I know? Maybe it is all connected. Maybe YouTube is right. Perhaps, during a routine recalibration in 1912, the GovWeather-O-Matic 4000 starting dropping icebergs in the North Atlantic. In order to distract the populace from the fact that President Taft was tinkering with the jet stream, the US government conspired with a British company to fabricate one of the greatest maritime disasters of the century. The secret was then handed down until it appeared that the Soviets were on the cusp of a sustained orbital presence above the earth which could provide irrefutable proof that America was exporting cumulus clouds and low-pressure systems.

The government then hired Stanley Kubrick to film a moon-landing on a studio backlot in the hopes of turning people’s attentions from the heavens to the Kremlin. Their plan worked until the widespread adaptation of cell phones allowed for the recording and scrutiny of GMO thunder against free-range organic thunder through social media platforms. Then, just as YouTube sleuths got wind of their plans, they started putting AIDS (also known as the 24th flavor) into a popular soft-drink.

Sometimes I want to fight the good fight and sometimes I realize that the best course of action is to stay quiet and let people enjoy their Pepsi.