The American Spectator

ATHENS, OH — I know it can come across as obnoxious for New Yorkers to visit the heartland of America and offer complaints, but there are occasions on which I just cannot resist. One of those occasions came on Monday.

After finishing up a Bill Clinton event in the late afternoon, I was hungry. Unfortunately, it was one of those odd eating times when it’s too early for dinner, but too late for lunch. In New York, the normal solution is just to grab a slice of pizza as a holdover.

With little time to spare, I punched away at my GPS to locate pizzerias, and I drove over to the closest one, about a mile away. I felt quite at home when I walked in. I approached the counter, and confidently ordered a slice. Then I was stunned.

“Sorry, we only have slices on weekends, after 12 o’clock at night,” the young man told me.

I was speechless. Who ever heard of such a rigid slice rationing program? I just mumbled something underneath my breath, and stumbled out the door like an alcoholic who had been cut off by a bartender.

Luckily, or so I thought, there was a place called Goodfellas Pizza a few blocks away. It seemed like a sure bet. Perhaps Henry Hill himself was tossing the dough.

I began to jog over there, and as I approached, I saw a hanging sign that boasted “Goodfellas: Pizza By The Slice.” See, I knew Tuddy wouldn’t dissapoint me. And I’m sure it would have been great—had it been open. Unfortunately, though it was a Monday afternoon, the place was all gated up as if it were Christmas Eve.

To make a long story short, I never got my slice. A few hours later, I settled for an Arby’s bacon cheddar roast beef combo with curly fries and a Dr. Pepper.