Living in a small community has it's ups, and has it's downs. Our choices of Pizza Places for instance is limited. When one is closed so do the other's tend to close. Getting a slice or a pie can be a mythical hunt the likes of the Roast Beast that decorates a Who table at Christmas time. Where do they come from?
In our modern age in order to find out if a business is open and selling it's wares all one need do is question that all seeing eye, that orb of everything, Google. Google can be a lying bitch however. You ask her the question and get an answer that should be acceptable, for example: Is the pizza place open? Google spits out it's information and tells you that indeed the business is open and doing the pizza thing. So what does the self respecting hunter of the Roast Beast do, he calls to order that round delight of tastiness. And what do you suppose happens? The phone rings, and rings, and rings some more, yet no one answers. Being the stubborn type that I am, I wait an amount of time and call again, thinking that they must be extremely busy with other like minded hunters of the cheesy gold. A second, a third, and even a forth call is made to no avail. What do we do, the hunters of saucy orb? We go take a drive to look at the building the pizza is created in. It says Closed. Google is a lying bitch.
Being a New Englander by contact attrition, I always have a 2nd and 3rd plan. The plan was to drive by the gas station, fill up the mechanical pony, and get my darling spouse a Red Slushy. Bringing home some sort of fare keeps my Great Hunter status going. She was happy, and I began working on plan 3. A fancy home cooked grilled sandwich meal. I have a couple go to recipes that are passable.
A small community is the best place in the world to live. Small communities, and rural tracks create strong and wholesome people. On a weekend when the sun shines the greatest worry was to pizza or not. Time to correct that Google machine for she knows not...
Peace and Balance,
John
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