The Pizza Hut Story

Okay, I promised, in my 12/2/06 post, that I would share this story and here it is. I have to admit, it's one my favorite Pruetz family tales...

In November of 2002, we found out we were expecting our first little one, Devin. It didn't take long for the morning sickness to set in and by the time Christmas rolled around, vomitting and dry-heaving were in full swing.

Along with morning sickness, though, also came cravings. If you've ever been pregnant, you may know what I'm talking about -- the ridiculous desire for some very specific delicacy, coupled with an overwhelming need to puke...all at the same time. It's a trip.

The worst of my cravings happened on the day we choose to go pick out our Christmas tree. It was a Saturday, around 10:30 in the morning when we left the house. The drive to Pipe Creek, Texas takes about an hour and we wanted to make sure we got a good tree. It would be just like us to end up with a Christmas branch or something.

As we pulled out of our community and onto the freeway, something in my stomach started to ache.

"Uh oh..." I thought, "Here comes the puking."

Only this time, puking didn't happen. The feeling wasn't nausea. The feeling was a need. A strong need. A need for pizza. And not just any pizza -- it had to be Pizza Hut pizza.

As we turned off the freeway to take the two-lane highway north to Pipe Creek (we'd been in the car for about 20 minutes), my craving was in full swing. I mean I have never been gripped by anything so strong in my entire life. I had to have Pizza Hut pizza and it had to be NOW.

I was terrified that we would never find a Pizza Hut on the way to the booming metropolis of Pipe Creek. I mean, I doubted that investors were banging down the door to put major chains in the middle of nowhere.

But the pregnancy Gods were smiling on us that day, as we had to pass through a small suburb of San Antonio called Helotes (that's pronounced Hell-OH-tess for all you Yankees) as we headed to the tree farm.

Helotes may not have a lot, but I am here to confirm that they do have a Pizza Hut.

I yelled -- loudly -- at Todd to pull in. Our Explorer was barely in "Park" before I was out of the car. I ran to the door of the restaurant and grabbed the handle.

LOCKED!?

I looked at Todd (who was still getting out of the car) with a look of hysteria in my eyes. Calmly he said, "It's only 10:49. They won't open for another ten minutes."

WHAT???

This couldn't be happening. I needed pizza. I needed it now. I couldn't wait ten minutes!

I paced the parking lot (people, I am not kidding here) until an employee unlocked the front door. The poor teenager barely got her keys out of the lock before I barged in.

I ran (seriously) up to the counter and said, "I need a pepperoni pizza as fast as you can make it. How long will it take?"

This poor little girl looked at me like I was holding the place up. In retrospect, I think I was pretty scary. Crazed look in my eye, drool spilling from my lower lip.

I was told it would be seven or eight minutes until my pie was done, but that I could have a trip to the salad bar if I needed something to tide me over. Salad would have to do for now, I guess, so I bolted to the bar as I left Todd to pay.

We settled down at a cozy booth at the back of the store, where I situated myself with the ability to see the kitchen. We were the only ones in the restaurant, so I knew any work going on back there had to be on our behalf.

"Where is it?" I asked Todd.

"It's coming."

"It needs to be faster."

"They're going as fast as they can."

"Find out what's taking so long."

Yes...at this point I actually made Todd go up to the counter to ask where our pizza was. I know now, four years later, that he told the girl behind the counter, "My wife is pregnant and having a major craving. She wants me to ask where our pizza is. I know you all are going as fast as you can, but I have to keep her happy and make it look like I'm being proactive."

He returned the table and minutes later our pizza arrived. The pie barely hit the table before I dug in.

And dug in.

And dug in some more.

Pizza pies traditionally have eight slices to them. I believe I ate six. I'm not sure what Todd ate. I think he may have just sat back, for fear of losing a finger.

By the time we left the Helotes Pizza Hut (only like 22 minutes since we pulled in), I could barely walk. I had eaten so much that I truly thought we might need to turn around and try this whole Christmas tree thing again. I felt sick and weak and disgusting. But I had my pizza, so I was happy.

As Todd helped me into the Explorer, I complained that I needed to lie down. He helped me recline the front seat as I moaned and groaned as a result of my gluttony. I settled down and we pulled out of the parking lot.

Over and over again, I told Todd that I thought I was going to die from being so full and that I couldn't possibly ever eat again. I was sick, I was going to puke, I was...

"Oooooh! Dairy Queen!"

That's right folks...after all of that, I saw a sign for an ice cream shop and wanted more.

"No!" Todd barked at me and headed the car toward Pipe Creek.

So there you have it. Not my shiniest moment, I admit, but good for a laugh, I hope.