Quentin: 6

 Inferno

Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here

The rays of blue light cut through the darkness. Before me, a triad of fast food apps strewn onto my iPhone’s home screen. Little Caesars stood above the others; remnants of the ad I had seen earlier flooded the recesses of my mind. 

The Pretzel Crust Pizza is Back.

Shaking off the cold fervor, I escaped into my dreams.

I arose with the same idea trapped within my brain. A scalding shower wasn’t able to wash the words out; I knew what had to be done. Adorned in my extra-large red North Face Budapest shirt, Aaron’s beige sweat shorts, and my white Crocs, I departed. A mix of eagerness and worry presented itself while I sped to my destination. 

First stop, Publix. I knew where I had to go: Aisle 10: Charcoal. I grabbed a Bic lighter for $4.99, exchanged pleasantries with the employee, and was on my way. I took note of how I felt in the moment, for after this, the day would be shrouded in darkness. I marched from the bright green grocery storefront to the orange neon sign a mere two doors down. Above me, a sign; in lieu of the words “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” it read “Little Caesars,” completed with the logo of Caesar himself indulging in a slice of pizza. The messages were the same. 

The door opened, and with it the aroma of pizza filled my nostrils; out from the back a hulking man sulked forward. He gestured at the old, hunched-over figure before me to the third level of the Pizza Portal (a fancy pizza oven). The senior grabbed his pizzas and crazy bread and exited promptly. I walked up with the poise of a preschool student. “Order for Quentin,” I mumbled (I had placed the mobile order for my beloved before my departure). 

“The Pretzel Pizza?” He questioned, and I nodded my head yes, “Just a second, it’s in the oven.” 

After what felt like just a second, my pizza was on the counter. I ferried the box into infinity (my car is an Infiniti Q50). The first trial began to rear its ugly head. Sat in my car, the fumes of the Pretzel Crust Pizza arrived– the Pretzel Crust Pizza is not ordinary by any means. A pretzel crust base, covered not in marinara but a special cheese sauce, then covered in mozzarella, before being topped with pepperoni and finished with a sprinkle of parmesan and Asiago cheese. It’s also only $6.99– A rotten stench diffused through the vehicle; the windows retreated quickly, to no avail. Fleetwood Mac bolstered me with the courage I needed to continue to drive. The sounds of tires screeching within the cul-de-sac echoed. I made it to sanctuary.

After passing through the doorway, I freed the lighter from its packaging and lit two candles in haste. I peeled open the box, unable to look away from the contents. This was my sustenance for the day. Affairs settled, I sat before the pizza. It was time. The clock read 1:45pm; the first bite had been taken. Jesus Wept. A cacophony of flavors tormented my taste buds. This was only the first slice. Each gulp tore through my soul, but then, like an oasis in a desert, the crust extended a hand. The salty, mostly plain, pretzel flavor carried my wounded being to safety. The first slice had been conquered. 

Isolated in an empty living room, staring down 7 more slices of this affront to God, I chose to fight fire with fire. Sliding the sauce drawer open, I rummaged for the elixir: McDonald’s Minecraft Nether Sauce. I meditated on how I had gotten where I was, each decision that led me to this moment. The silence only being pierced by the churning of my stomach. I was aching already. Bathing the second slice in the Nether sauce was the only solution, and it worked. The second slice had fallen. 

The fifteen minutes I had been perched at this table felt closer to fifteen hours. The third slice was where the aforementioned Asiago truly made its mark. It was reminiscent of something foul. Like two rocks falling towards each other at full speed, each shred of Asiago cheese destroyed everything in its path. Each bite grew more and more labored. This flavor was consuming in its evil. The Nether Sauce was gone, and with it, the third slice. 

2:07 pm. My fingernails clawed at the top layer of the 4th slice. Attempting to pry the Asiago off of the pepperoni it was sewn to was arduous. Small crumbs would fall by the wayside, while the bulk remained secure. Grease began to cover my hands. I kept clawing. Minutes passed, the cheese still barely giving way. My fingertips became blanketed in oil. I was sullen. I fell into a black sulkiness which can find no joy in God or man of the universe. The pizza had bested me. 

At that moment my phone chimed. Will wanted to play Valorant. I hurried upstairs and escaped for a moment the perils of below. In the middle of my journey, I found myself within a dark woods where the straight way was lost. I was grateful for the wood's presence.

An hour and a half elapsed. I descended, ready to conquer what lay before me. Armed with a Diablo Sauce from Taco Bell I swarmed the fourth slice. I finished it within the minute. On to the fifth. 

The boulder had started rolling; it wouldn’t be stopped soon. I was stiff as a board and focused on one objective: finishing what I had started. I washed down each bite with a gulp of water like it was a pill. I was once a man; I had lost all sense of that by this point. By now I was a tree. Unwavering in my conviction and my goal to finish what I had started. I gorged myself with such ferocity that before I had been able to check the time, three slices were gone. I was already on the final slice of pizza.

At about this moment, I realized what I had just done with my day. 

In a moment of creative vigor, I drove to a Little Caesar’s and acquired and ate almost an entire pizza (that I actually detest at this point) just to parody Dante’s Inferno for a blog post that only my brothers read. Each slice resembles a layer of hell in a thinly written, vapid connection to the source material. It’s in this momentary epiphany that I found the true metaphor. It was beyond the eight slices, in the ninth circle of hell.

In Dante’s Inferno, after leaving the eighth circle of hell, Virgil and Dante descend into the ninth circle, where they come upon an ice river. Trapped in ice up to his waist, at the very bottom of Hell, sits Satan. Dante depicts Satan as a demon with three heads eating three souls: Judas, Cassius, and Brutus. My friends, I am not adjacent to Dante in this story; I am Brutus and Cassius, traitors of Caesar. As I locked eyes with the last slice of pizza, stomach in turmoil, I knew the way forward. I did what those before me did, and I turned on Caesar. I stood, grabbed the last slice, and made my move. The final piece of pizza hurtled towards the bottom of the trash can like a meteor plummeting through Earth’s atmosphere. I took the box of pizza outside and gently stowed it in the recycling bin, ready for its pickup tomorrow morning. With a sigh of relief, I walked back inside and sought refuge on the couch.

I’m not sure if there is a lesson in all of this, but I can safely say that I, Quentin Mir, do not recommend Little Caesars Pretzel Crust Pizza.