Well, the goal (although I use that lightly, I had written on a whim) was to show how boring, and the monotony of being by yourself in a hotel room, when the absolutely only thing to look forward is the chance at a free pizza.
Thanks for the review.
Short Story / Free Pizza in an hour
7:29: My mother hangs the hotel phone up, and calls to me while I’m sitting on the sofa, “Okay, the Pizza will be here by the latest at 8:29, because they guarantee it in an hour or it’s free.”
She leans in and gives me a kiss on the forehead, I absentmindedly wipe it off, a remnant of my younger days, and she walks out the door. My father appears out of the closet sized bathroom of the hotel room, and claps me on the shoulder, he smells heavily of cologne. The kind that’s ‘inspired’ by better named brands.
Out the door he follows my mother, they are on their way to gamble. At a nearby Indian Casino. If I had been a scant eight months older, I would be walking down the redundant hotel hallways,passing nondescript oil paintings, with them to the car that is filthy with four days of candy wrappers and pop bottles that have accumulated from trips to hole in the wall gas stations that require a key to use the restroom that is in the back of the building.
But I am not. I am 17, and any money I have cannot be used for gaming purposes.
7:38: One foot rests on the coffee table in front of me, the other lies on the green sofa. I idly play with two magnets that I bought the previous day for two dollars. I separate them with my fingers, and let them clack back to their natural positions, which is connected. Just to deny them of each other again.
I stand up and walk to the restroom, urinate, and while washing my hands look in the mirror. I twist my neck and turn my face side to side, checking for any blemishes. Nothing too bad. I dry my hands off on the towel that hangs on the hook on the wall. I run my hands through my air, which absorbs the remaining drops. I go and sit back down.
7:53: I’m bored. And hungry. I pull back the curtain to expose the night outside. The drizzle on the ground from a few hours ago magnifies the lampposts’ light, and brightens up a moonless sky. From my vantage point of the parking lot, I can see all the cars that pull in. A large SUV idly coasts into the parking lot. The car is much too nice for that of a pizza delivery.
A few minutes later, a small two door car turns in. It moves much too slow and lethargic to be that of a pizza boy’s. The driver of this vehicle is road weary, and ready to flop down on the hotel mattress that a countless number of people have done before. It will be obvious which car holds my medium pepperoni pizza. It will zip into the lot, with no time to waste with hot pizzas cooling in the back seat.
8:13: I’m beginning to feel my stomach grumble and contort as it searches for food making it’s way through my guts. I’m now but just 20 minutes from a free pizza. I idly watch the half-hour sitcom that’s on the TV. The only importance of it being that when it commences, my pizza will be handed over to me, with me giving nothing in return besides a disinterested good-bye.
8:24: My heart begins to pump, as the resolution to the sitcom begins.
8:26: The credits roll.
8:27: The producers screen flashes upon the television with a cute sound effect. The commercial break between shows begins. My eyes fly frantically between the clock and the door.
8:27:31: A knock at the door. I curse madly inside my head.
I get up and clutch at the money left on the kitchenette, crumpling it in my shaking hands. I look through the peephole on the door. It’s a man, but the fish eye view compounded with the poor light of the hallways makes it hard to see if he’s holding anything. I glance at the clock, it’s just hit 8:28, can I stall him and open it a minute later and get a free pizza on a technicality?
I don’t know, I doubt it.
I open the door.
It’s a large middle-aged man, with a too small tucked in shirt. His rolls of fat struggle against the polyester. He’s holding a bag that keeps the pizza hot. I ask, “What do I owe ya?” with a bit too much of a drawl that doesn’t suit me at all. I know what I owe him, but didn’t want to seem to eager.
He mumbles something that I can’t comprehend. He seems to be foreign. Probably of a European country, the scraggly hair on his knuckles tell me that much. I extend my hand, still holding the money. He takes it, and I say, “Just keep the change.”
I take the pizza, and he thumbs through the money a tad too suspiciously for my liking, There’s a dollar and a half more than the price. He sees this and nods at me and walks off. “Have a good one.” I say as he walks off down the hall his back towards me.
8:29: I eat.
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retardedpigeon reviewed Version 1 -
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Kinda pointless but in a good way, i enjoyed your prose and the small details you added made me smile. I still though, towards the end of the piece, that you could have made it an hour. something like “you’ve been an hour man, it was 7:26 when i called you” or something of that manner, but you covered it well with the main character’s desire to just eat the damn thing, i dont blame him.
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patrick25402 reviewed Version 1 -
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This was quite an enjoyable read for me. It is very hard to take something as ordinary as waiting for a pizza to be delivered and make it enjoyable. Adding the time into it was a very nice way to build a little suspense in the story, as well as keep it moving forward. Good job here, and keep on writing.
beecherj reviewed Version 1 -
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I don’t know if it’s just the mood I’m in, but I really enjoyed that story. I like the way it was put together, with the time line scenario. The events of the story weren’t anything too special, nor were the observations, but that’s what made it a fun little treat. I (and probably any one else reading this story) can relate to the mind-numbingly boring waiting game you play when ordering in. While it doesn’t have the drama or action of some sort of epic, it was definitely entertaining.
Thanks much.
scottsta reviewed Version 1 -
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Loved this. except the ending comes to fast. i don’t have any suggestions toward fixing it but your writing is AWESOME. i’m so weary of reading all the TELL don’t SHOW stories. You have a real talent. Everything you wrote I could relate to. you get high marks. Fo your age please don’t let anyone discourage you from writing. That’s about it. I’d be curious if others have the same problm with the end. Your descriptions ROCK! you let me get the picture without any preaching. Can’t say enough about this.
stuff like this is gold (to me)
, he smells heavily of cologne. The kind that’s ‘inspired’ by better named brands.
and this
edundant hotel hallways,passing nondescript oil paintings, with them to the car that is filthy with four days of candy wrappers and pop bottles that have accumulated from trips to hole in the wall gas stations that require a key to use the restroom that is in the back of the building.
AWESOME! thanks for that
jhmckeogh reviewed Version 1 -
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You are a good writer. Some of your phrases, redundant hallways in particular, are pretty fresh… good descriptions. After writing though, you have to tell a story. Okay, the kids stuck in the hotel room, the parents are off to gamble. Okay, he watches some tv (good line about the climax of the sitcom). Okay the pizza comes. What did you just make me sit through? WHy would your reader read this, over an actual pizza place take home menu? As far as a brief scene, this would be okay in a paragraph. It might even be good in a paragraph. But you didn’t tell a story here.
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