When first my eyes settled upon the faint visage of the ?Austin Pizza Garden?, glimmering like a dream-sung Olympus on the horizon, I could have wept with joy. I saw salvation for my wearied body that, at the time, was wracked with famine nigh unto breaking. I had struggled through a night of assisted insomnia and Bacchanalian over-indulgence that had left me exhausted, head sore, and desperately in need of nourishment. However, the first ominous chords of discontent echoed through the Austin air when I found the doors locked, despite the establishment ostensibly having opened five minutes previous, at least according to their printed declaration. I soon found that the written word means nothing to the Philistines at the Austin Pizza Garden. Their menu proudly declared an offering of ?Stromboli? which I was nonetheless denied. They claimed they had ?run out?, and yet they had just opened. Was this an odious untruth, or simply carelessness on the part of the staff tasked with stocking the day?s fare? In any case, my troubles were only beginning. I finally settled upon a small pizza, hoping my initial enthusiasm could be reinvigorated by the speedy delivery of the mortal equivalent of heavenly ambrosia. Sadly, that dream would, in time, die too. I waited for several minutes before being asked what I had ordered a second time. I waited while they ?warmed the oven?. I waited for as long as a man can wait. The seconds dripped away like ichor and with each passing moment my pangs of hunger grew and worse still, my soul withered with dashed anticipation, caught in a limbo from which there would be no harrowing.
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