Bombing pizzas, a starting and ending story.

This story is my dedication to a friend of mine, C., and his story became a bit of inspiration.

I happened to know a pizza place called Monzu, located at Cabrera and Gascón street. It was a recommendation by an American guy, arguing of Monzu being the best pizza place in Buenos Aires city, so I really wanted to participate in such verification. Surely, my conclusion incorporates with that of the lad from the States. The cheese-filled or black-bean-paste-filled crust of each pizza definitely is a kicker. 

This is where I was told to find out that I am a pizza folder myself.

And, this is also where C met his date: the waiter of the restaurant. The first time we went as a group, we had a good time with the pizza and especially for me with the artisanal craft beers. As we recall the place with joyful memory, I often went back with C during weekdays when the pizza was calling us from far away. So loyal we were, making all the walking toward, and time after time, the waiter and C had exchanged the gaze each other until one day C decided to leave a note to the waiter. It was a mixture of courage with little bit of intoxication that came from the beer glass. But anyway it worked quite well. C got really nervous about leaving a note behind the bill. What message should he leaves was the everlasting debate. I thought it would be well just to leave his name and phone number. Maybe with short words saying ‘if you are interested’. But C is a creative person whose mayor was literature and linguistic. He came up with Haiku, which i never had heard before. As what i recall him explaining it, it was a sort of poem which plays strict rhythm or rhyme. He wrote at last:

Beautiful R.
I love your smile,
I fucked this Haiku up.
C.
+54911

Well, in spanish language the rhyme was not bad but either was perfect, that was why C wrote that he fucked it up. The waiter came to collect the bill and money, when C hadn’t finish writing all number. The number was left incomplete. C became embarrassed so we left the place in hurry. I thought the waiter didn’t see what was written the back page of bill. Who would check the back page of the bill when they collect money?

A week later we went back to Monzu pizza place. A guy from Australia (with two from I don’t care where) was sitting behind us and at that table group they were chatting, saying they were agansit indigenous peoples’ right. I would judge them just listening a fracture of the whole conversation, but it was quite sad to see how people are against those who can’t practice their basic social and economic right. Weird environment of overhearing conversation over shoulders but at least the pizza was good anyway, just that I only have two options to choose and I eat everytime the same pizzas so the taste would go nowhere. When we finished dinning, we asked the bill. 

The artisanal beer of Monzu should be praised for it always raised my excitement before paying the bill. Something was going to happen, as my gut said, and when I finished it to the bottom, the waiter came back to collect money. The waiter went downstairs to get us the change. Later we got the change with a note of the phone number. C became so happy and excited, and I was amazed since I didn’t think that the waiter would have read the nothe that C had left before. 

They dated 3-5 times more after that day (maybe more, how would I know?) then stopped seeing each other.

Such a beautiful story starter, but in this stroy there were no development of crisis and solution at peak. Or maybe, the development of story accelerated so rapidly that didn’t last long enough to enjoy the story. But there was certainly disappointment from which the story hasn’t development more vividly. I know if I ask C to pizza-bomb the Monzu restaurant, it would be a good and fun, especially good ending story for all.

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