Earlier this evening, I was contemplating food. I do that sometimes, especially when I am too lazy to actually make myself anything that requires more than 2 minutes of prep time.
"Wouldn't that be fun to order something and have it delivered?" I thought. "Like maybe pizza?"
But pizza is not all that healthy, and not all that cheap, and I'm not always in the mood for it, so I gave up thinking about food and got back to my homework.
A couple hours later, I heard a knock at my door.
"Did someone just knock on my door?" I wondered. This is not as stupid a thing to wonder as you might think, because my door is kind of out of the way, and people don't generally knock on it.
Then my doorbell rang.
"Oh, I guess they did."
I was wearing my pink pajama pants with little dogs on them, a Rutgers t-shirt (to help me get excited about my schoolwork, get it?), my green-and-blue flannel nightgown, and my giant fuzzy tiger slippers that Queen Tuffett gave me for Christmas. Yes, I answered the door dressed like that.
"Hi, did you order a pizza?"
A man stood on my doorstep, holding a big red pizza bag, and wearing a shirt that said Big Daddy's Pizza.
"No," I said, "I didn't order a pizza."
"This is (address)?" he asked.
"Yes, but this is (apartment). The other apartment is around the corner."
"They told me to come to this door."
"Oh. No, I didn't order a pizza."
He pulled out a phone and said thanks as I closed the door.
I should've asked him what kind of pizza it was. No, I should've just
said, "How much do I owe you?" and bought the pizza and eaten it. Too
bad I'm not that kind of adventurous person.
What a bizarre thing. It wouldn't be half so bizarre if I hadn't thought about it earlier, and even thought about how if someone did try to deliver a pizza here, they'd probably go to the wrong door first.