The Morning After: Pizza Brawl

By CC Staff

It was a typical Saturday night: I got my drink on with my girlfriends at the bar followed immediately by late night pizza at Hungry Howies. Everything was going smoothly – I ordered my cheese sticks, grabbed a bottle of water and sat down to dig in – when a group of very drunk townies walked in. They were loud, obnoxious, and had some of the fakest blonde hair I’d ever seen.

I was sitting at my table minding my own business (read: smothering my breadsticks with ranch dressing) when one of the townies fell out of her chair and onto the floor, taking an entire pizza down with her.

Naturally, I laughed. I mean, it was funny. There was a trashy girl on the floor covered in pizza. Anyone in my situation would have done the same. But apparently Pizza Townie’s friend did not agree. She jumped out of her seat, ran over to my table and got in my face.

“What? You think that’s funny?” She barked.
“Yeah,” I giggled. Her nostrils were flaring and she had really big biceps – she could most definitely kill me without breaking a sweat – but I couldn’t stop laughing.
“You think that’s funny?!” She barked again. Even though I’d clearly already answered.
I attempted to stand up and make myself more clear before my friend chimed in.
“I’m sorry. It’s fine. It’s not funny. Sorry.”
Seemingly satisfied, the girl walked away and sat back with her friends. I continued on with my breadsticks. Then I looked over, saw the girl wiping tomato sauce off of her white pants (yes, white pants in December) and broke out in fits of laughter once again.

And Pizza Townie’s friend was back in my face.
“You know, bitch, some girls do go out. And some girls do get drunk. And they may even fall off their chairs, BITCH.”
“Yeah, and some girls do have really bad highlights,” I muttered under my breath. Only it turned out it wasn’t under my breath, because the next thing I know I felt a hand (and five fake nails) make contact with the back of my head.

A chunk of breadstick flew out of my mouth and landed in my ranch dressing. I stared in front of me; my friends’ faces were frozen in horror.

“What? You gonna get up and fight me, or are you just gonna sit there and eat your garlic, cheesy breadsticks?!” She screamed.
“There’s no garlic on this bread,” I answered. (Yes, I realize now that this probably wasn’t the correct response, but I wasn’t in the right state of mind. And I take my breadsticks really seriously.)
“What you say?” She screamed.
“I said, ‘THERE IS NO GARLIC ON THIS BREAD.’” I stood up. My friends stared at me, unsure to laugh or call the police. But there was no need; sensing danger, the 16-year-old pimple-faced pizza boy hopped over the counter and pulled us apart.

“Maybe you should leave,” he squeaked.
Blondie wasn’t moving so he grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the door.  When he finally got her outside, she pulled the door open and screamed, “Watch your back, bitch! I’m gonna f**k you up.”

I sat down with my friends and we laughed till we cried. Mostly because I was so scared I peed my pants a little. Then we discussed the odds that the girl was packing heat and waiting for me outside to indeed “f**k me up.” We drunkenly decided it would be safest to call a cab for the 3-block walk back home and have it pick us up out back. I ducked low in the back until we pulled up to our house.

Fortunately, I survived the night. Unfortunately, I can now only indulge in my late night breadsticks via delivery. I’m not risking running into that motley crew again; I spent way too much on this nose to have it broken by a pair of Revlon Press-On nails.