Hello, Paranoia Pizza. May I help you?


My oldest daughter visiting from New York City ordered pizza for us last night.  She told us not to have the delivery person bring the pizza up to our apartment.  She would go down and meet him in the lobby of our condo.  She explained you don’t want delivery people to know what floor you’re on or what apartment you’re in as it’s not safe.  It made me think it would make a good scene in a Stephen King novel that might go something like this . . .

 Hello.  Paranoia Pizza.  May I help you?

 Yes, I’d like to order a large pizza, extra cheese, pepperoni, onions.  I’m only visiting here, so no mushrooms, mayhem,  rape, murder or sexual assault.  And I’ll pay cash.

Anything else?

No.  And under no circumstances is the delivery person to come up to my floor and deliver to the apartment where I’m staying.   Just have him call when he arrives and I’ll come down to the lobby.

I understand.  You’re from New York City, aren’t you?

Yes, we have to watch out for our lives when ordering deliveries.

But you’re in Boca Raton now, one of the safest cities on the East Coast.

 I don’t care.  I’ll come down to the lobby to pick up the pizza. If that’s not acceptable, I’ll call another pizza place.

No, you definitely have the right pizza place—Paranoia.  Very well, your pizza will arrive in 20 minutes and Johnny will wait down in the lobby for you . . . licking his lips. 

 Thank you.

And thank you for ordering from Paranoia. 




                                                                                  Read what Madden has to say about what he calls “Political Paranoia” in his latest book “Is there enough Brady in Trump to win the inSUPERable BOWL?” now available on Amazon.




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