Mystic Pizza mishap

"So what are you doing now," Brad asked. The last time he'd asked me that question, I was discreetly marveling at the wonders of simple machines while watching the bridge in Mystic rise to accommodate the passage of a 3-masted sailboat in the most nonchalant manner possible. I was, after all, a child born and raised on the banks of the Erie Canal. I cut my teeth on locks and barges. My lullaby included a mule names Sal. "You live an hour away from the Erie Canal," Savannah said, rudely interrupting my blog, "and the technical complexities of a canal lock still confounds you." So while others endlessly snapped pictures of the bridge, I quelled my impulse to clap my hands in delight and snap some selfie shots myself; electing instead to lean against a streetlamp post and look mildly interested by this disruption to my busy and eventful day. "You do realize there is a stereotype associated with people who lean against streetlamp posts, right," Savannah interjected again. I considered this for a moment. "Are you referring to Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain," I asked, brightening as I realized that the bridge in Mystic would be a wonderful backdrop to a spontaneous dance number. "Yeah, that's right. Gene Kelly," Savannah sighed.

"I'm sitting by a whale," I told Brad. "It's made of cement," I added so as not to confuse him. "And guess what," I whispered, "I'm looking at Mystic Pizza!" There was a long pause on the phone. "Uh, are you hungry for lunch? Why are you looking and not eating?" I rolled my eyes. "Brad...it's Mystic Pizza. You know...the movie where Julia Roberts rockets to stardom in her portrayal of a struggling waitress exploring the invisible but ever-present boundaries determining social and economic classes." "Well...are you going to go in," he asked, obviously not understanding me at all. "I can't go in by myself," I whispered, all shy and inhibited "I don't understand you at all," Brad said before bringing this riveting conversation to a close.

"Guess where we're going to go tonight," I greeted Savannah the minute she got home, herding her back down the stairs and into her car. Bolstered by a buddy, I could now enter Mystic Pizza with confidence. I excitedly ordered a cheese and pepperoni pizza. "Do you have banana peppers," I asked brightly. The waitress frowned, "No, I'm afraid not. But we do have pepperoncini." It was my turn to frown. "What is that?" She convinced me that it was Connecticut's answer to banana peppers. She left to place our order and I turned to Savannah, smiling. Savannah frowned at me. "What?" "Why didn't you order wings," she asked bitterly. "Because we're not in Buffalo," I answered. "You know what I would do," I told her, admiring the movie memorabilia on the walls. "I would put a little TV at each table and be playing Mystic Pizza endlessly." Smirking, Savannah wordlessly pointed to something behind me. I turned to see a big-screen TV playing Mystic Pizza. "Switch places with me," I hissed at my daughter. "Order me wings," she hissed back.

The only thing left to be done was the discreet photograph by the sign. I mapped it out for Savannah. I used a stick to draw a series of figures. "I'm the X," I said, drawing one in front of a square which signified our target. "You're the O." Savannah nodded, hiding a yawn. "I'm going to walk casually down this hill," I continued, drawing a dotted line to represent my journey. "When I get to my destination, I'll turn quickly, flash a smile and you are to simultaneously take the shot so no one is the wiser." I made her repeat the plan back to me before implementation. I descended the hill, reached my target, spun around, smiled and then frowned as I saw that Savannah had gone rogue. She was mid-way down the hill, taking an embarrassing selfie, outing us as the lame tourists that we were. I angrily stoomped back at her...thus capturing this magical moment for all time.