Perspective

This morning while I was on my way to work I saw one of those big trucks that has photos of big huge slices of cheesy (literally) pizza all over the back and side panels of the trailer.  There were also labels about the pizza.  I was looking at photos of DiGiorno Pizza.   Under the brand name was their well-known slogan: "It's not delivery, it's DiGiorno!"

They've gotten a ton of mileage out of this one.  They'll never touch the GEICO Caveman or Gecko and nobody will ever catch the Eveready bunny, but they haven't done too crappily.

The premise has been played out enough that it now needs no explanation.  Therefore, I will present one here:

On the TV or radio commercials, there's always some sort of heated argument about how one person, let's call her "Jane" explicitly demanded that under no circumstances should the other person, we'll say his name is "John" order pizza to be delivered.  John, aware of how psychotic Jane is about shit like this, obediently complies.  Unfortunately for him, he buys a DiGiorno pizza. 

The idea behind the ad campaign is that store bought frozen pizza sucks ass.  In fact it is so bad, that even nasty old  Dominoes Pizza is a step up.  They've made their millions on the following idea: "Hey, we know our product sucks, but not any worse than Dominoes.  But oh - you have to go to the store and get it yourself.  And cook it.  Probably want to start preheating the oven before you go to the store.  Just Sayin'"

So back at the commercial, while John was wiping the bits of frozen shredded cheese from the kitchen counter, Jane went upstairs to take her crazy pills but once she had gotten there, forgot the reason, so just stared at the wall until the smell of the DiGiorno pizza registered in her twisted brain that that sonofabitch John ignored her admonition and ordered take-out anyway.  
 

Now she's seeing red, she'll tell you.  No frozen pizza smells that mediocre.  And you know what?  It's not just about the pizza, John.  It's everything.  The way you won't put the driver's seat back to her spot when you're done with the car.  The way you throw apple cores in the trash without wrapping them in tin foil.  Why the fuck can't you just do one simple thing the way she asks.  She doesn't really care if it's delivery or not, she just wants a little control in her life.  Looking down at her hand, she wonders how it came to be that she is holding a hairbrush.  She shrugs and drops the brush as her vision blurs to the point that she has to press her palms into her temples until the rage subsides enough for her to go give John a piece of her broken mind.

Jane stands at the bottom of the stairs facing the kitchen.  Now the scent of John's disregard for her feelings is so strong, she has to place a hand against the banister for support.  Her dingy grey sweat-stained housecoat is soaked around her neckline.  Her eyes are red with tears and fury.  "John," she calls out, barely more than a squeaky whisper.

"Almost done hon ...," John walks out of the kitchen wiping his hands on one of the good towels, causing Jane to sigh loudly and close her eyes. 

"Oh no.  Jane, you're,"  John is shocked at Jane's sorry state.  He is confused for a moment.  Think John.  What could have brought about this current episode?  What did Jane say to him?  Nothing.  Just "Don't order delivery!"  Wait a minute.  John recalls the warning in the small print on the DiGiorno  box.  He had gotten a chuckle out of it, thinking it was a rather tasteless, but very funny joke.

Warning:  DiGiorno's Pizza is better than average.  It is in fact so much better, that it could easily be mistaken for delivery.  If you are anywhere near crazy people, forewarn them or we at DiGiorno cannot be held responsible for your murder.  Seriously.

"Wait, is this about the ..." John begins.

"Did you somehow think I wouldn't know?  Just tell me why John,"  Jane walks toward him, clenched fists.

John holds up his hands to block her, "Wait baby,  It's not delivery, it's DiG ... Ach,  Ach, achrno-o-o"

While John was trying to explain, Jane pulled a small paring knife from her housecoat and plunged it deep into the center of John's Larynx.  "How's that for delivery, asshole!"  Jane screams again and again as she hacks into John's throat for a full minute, jets of his warm sticky blood covering her face and housecoat.

Moments later, breathless and confused, Jane notes a different smell from the kitchen.  From her vantage point atop the lifeless body of her beloved is the unmistakable odor of burning pizza.

Jane is simultaneously relieved and a little distressed to learn that John really had obeyed her.  "Wake up, Johnny.  It's ok.  I know you truly do love me!"  She shakes at his shoulders, but only succeeds in prising out a little more blood from the torn flesh that was her only true love.

Then big bold friendly letters appear on the screen and a nice man's voice says, "It's not Delivery.  It's DiGiorno."

And what kind of a name is DiGiorno, anyway?  I mean, yeah, I get it. It sounds kind of Italian.  But I don't think gorditos or chalupas are real things even though they do sound kind of Mexican.


I don't know anybody named "DiGiorno."  That's not to say that I know all Italian names or anything.  In fact, If I met a Digiorno, I imagine it would go like this:

Anthony DiGiorno:  Anthony DiGiorno.  Nice to meet you.

Me: Fred Cube. Nice to meet you, Tony.

Anthony DiGiorno:  Anthony.

Me: Sorry. Anthony.  And did you say your last name is "DiGiorno?"  Like the ...

Anthony shoots me a look so horrifying, I change the subject.

Me:  So that is an actual I-talian name then.  I've always wondered.

Anthony DiGiorno: It's pronounced "Italian", not "I-talian." And it's Sicilian.

Me:  Check please.

Then in my head, I play the entire scene from 'True Romance' where Dennis Hopper explains  Sicilian Ancestry to Christopher Walken.  Then for some reason the phrases, "Sleeps with the fishes" and  "Colombian Necktie" pop into my brain.  And by the way - The Colombian Necktie always seemed like a lot of trouble to go through just to "send a message."

Boss:  We need to send them a message ...

Henchman: You want I should give him a Colombian necktie, boss?

Boss:  How about you just IM them.

Henchman:  Good idea, boss.

And Jane?  Well she's much better now.  In fact she's gotten a job.  Having the distraction of employment has helped keep the demons at bay.  She now drives a truck for DiGiorno.  In fact, it was her driving the one I saw this morning.  She was on her way to Hy-Vee.  When she got to the dock,  her new boyfriend and dock supervisor, Jason excitedly bounded over to greet her.  "Jane!  You're here already!?! Sweet.  You have got to be the best DiGiorno pizza delivery driver we've ever had!"

Jane could smell a burning she didn't understand as she reached into the side pocket of her denim jacket.  She gripped the handle of her old friend and thrust it at Jason's neck.  But Jason was quick.  He jumped back and her swipe went through the air harmlessly.  Jason and all the dock workers started laughing as Jane stood, disoriented.  Looking down, she understood.  She had just attempted to kill Jason with a hairbrush.

Then Shim, one of the dock workers said, "Man Jason.  Your girlfriend is literally one crazy bitch!"

Which made everybody, including Jane lose control laughing hysterically.  Jane reliving the absurdity of what she had just tried to do, waving the hairbrush around in mock threat to all the laughing dock workers.  "It works a helluva lot better with a paring knife.  I can tell you!"

More laughter.

Then a few feet away, leaning against a stack of palettes, a sad looking little ghost John slumped and turned away from the revelry to walk the earth alone forever.