Hey! Where the #$%@'s my Root Beer?!!!!

I would like to open this weeks entry with a preemptive apology, last week I hinted at a trip my amigos and I were taking south of the border. The Foretold Fiesta did happen, however I have something I need to get off my back; so the chronicling of our quest for queso will have to wait for next week.

For the past year or so, I have had an insatiable hunger for Domino's Oven Bakes Sandwiches. Some may ponder my loyalty to the brand after the disgusting debacle involving their sandwiches and employee body parts. The two reasons I continue to order from this establishment is as follows;
1. They deliver to my house, where Jimmy Johns won't; apparently I am like 2 blocks off the delivery route, and countless drunken bribes at 2am haven't changed their distribution area.
2. 2009 I spent countless hours tethered to my computer battling the forces of evil in and around Azeroth, preventing me from getting up and making dinner (luckily I stopped hitting that pipe (for the time being)).

Please don't begrudge me this beef, I know we talked about a pizza joint last week; but this post has less to do with the quality of the product and more a story of love, betrayal and revenge. Lets start from the beginning, I have an original print Episode IV poster framed and hanging in the foyer of my house. For the better half of '09 Lloyd would always deliver my order, prompt, accurate and boy was it tasty. Every time I opened the door he got this goofy glazed look grew on his face and out popped the question "is that real?" The first time I was honored by his inquest and answered honestly and we chatted about it for a few minutes. My flattery turned to frustration and I started taking it out on this poor SOB with sarcasm, "no it's a holigram", "these are not the droids you are looking for (slam the door)", etc. Lloyd never delivered another pizza to my house, but seems I hadn't yet won, the war between Lloyd and Matt had just begun.
Let me set the stage quick, domino's has a pizza tracker; after you order, it is a web app that tracks the creation, packaging and delivery of your purchase. Carl was my new "delivery expert", but to my dismay Lloyd was the man behind the sandwich, my concern grew. Carl struck first by omitting my root beer from the delivery, I questioned his decision and he said he would bring me one on his next delivery. HE LIED! no root beer was ever delivered, I was out 1.49. I translated my thirst into a few choice words to the establishment via email, and was rewarded with a coupon for a free Bread Bowl Pasta. I had never ordered a Bread Bowl, why would I want a free one; anger fermented inside of me.
Weeks later I decided to order again, Carl, my new nemesis was again chosen by Lloyd to deliver my sandwich, chips and root beer. Alas he again he failed to bring my beverage, this time he offered to bribe me with a pathetic two dollars. I accepted his offering only to realize later that I had tipped him three dollars putting me in the hole, still with no root beer. Again I complained and again was appeased with an unwanted coupon for a bread bowl. I vowed to never order again, Domino's, but more importantly Lloyd and Carl would no longer be a part of my life.
I have never believed in Karma, but even pizza delivery boys shouldn't mess with forces stronger than themselves. Late November I was sitting at my friend Jamies when an insatiable hunger crept over me. I broke my vow and ordered; I decided to give the noid another shot. I ordered a Dr. Pepper to disguise my order, and much to my surprise Lloyd and Carl came through! I opened the door and to my surprise Lloyd was back, thrown off by the change of address a look of shock washed over his face like high tide during a full moon. I chuckled in side, I had won! These two dictators of delivery had been overthrown by a simple change of address. I was my joy was immediately interrupted when there arose such a clatter from out side the door. I ran and peered out to see old "Double L" laying at the bottom of the stairs, he quickly arose and said he was fine. I was glad he was ok, but part of me wished I would have seen his tumble; it would have made up for the 2 root beers he still owed me.
Long story short, I decided to order again figuring we were all square. The war was over and the three of us could start fresh our relationship of supply and demand. Low and behold Lloyd shows up with my sandwich, chips, root beer and a full arm cast. Karma's a bitch Lloyd. I realized that I had won, historians shall remember this as The Laramie Root Beer War!

Tune in next week for the as promised, "QDoba Quagmire."

The smart never eat too when at a dinner party, the wise never say too much when at a dinner party; I've accomplished neither.