In my favorite scene from my favorite movie, a surfer/stoner dude defies authority by having a pizza delivered to his high school history classroom. Now, I know how Jeff Spicoli from “Fast Times at Ridgemont High” must’ve felt.My family recently spent several days on vacation at a somewhat upscale resort in Fort Lauderdale. The rooms were affordable enough, but everything else cost a tanned arm and leg. Having tired of $10 cheeseburgers, I concocted a solution. Channeling my inner Spicoli, I logged onto the Internet and ordered a couple $9 pizzas from Papa John’s.
I waited with trepidation, just like Spicoli must have. In my mind, chances were better of getting a pizza delivered to history class than to this resort. But to my surprise, the front desk called after the obligatory 20 minutes passed. I had a visitor in the lobby, they said.
As I strode across mosaic tile and past a couple of very proper concierges, a pizza guy waved for my attention. “Doug?” he inquired.
“Right here, dude,” I replied.
It was my Spicoli moment, only better. In the movie, Mr. Hand takes Spicoli’s pizza away and gives it to his classmates, whereas I got to literally taste victory.
Now if only I could save a girl from drowning and blow the reward money getting Van Halen to play my birthday party.
