The pizza box conundrum

With this being my last issue as both an editor and a senior undergraduate, I have decided to present to you what I like to call the pizza box conundrum.
About a month ago I was soliciting the people around me for possible topics for opinions pieces. If you saw the last issue, you might have noticed that I wrote EVERY piece for the opinions section.
I wouldn’t say anyone is at fault, but I do find it a little absurd that my name appears so much in the paper. However, I digress. During my solicitation, I was presented with the Pizza box conundrum. I was at a loss. However, after careful deliberation as to how to approach it, here we go.
So have you ever taken a look around and noticed that the entire world can be broken down into basic geometric shapes? It’s true. That’s why little kids are able to draw pretty much any recognizable object like trees, houses, people, once they master the basic shapes. Some shapes seem to go together more cohesively while others are just…well, they present a conundrum of sorts.
Take pizza. Everyone loves pizza, or did during at least some point in their life. But you’re familiar with the concept, correct? It usually comes in a square box. Unless you order a specialty pizza, the pizza is normally round, and is then cut into triangle ‘pie’ slices.
Of course, I’m referring to delivery pizza. This could apply to Digiorno, but we all know that’s not delivery.
I’ll set the stage. You hear the doorbell. Your stomach responds first, “answer the door,” it grumbles. You pay the nice delivery person and transform into a trapeze artist as you make your way from the door to the kitchen table, balancing a stack of unbalanced, shifting warm boxes.You set the boxes down on the counter. You, hardly containing your excitement, carefully open the box where your pizza lies in waiting.The feeling of shock and awe at the beauty of the pizza overwhelms you. It’s kind of like Christmas.
Once the fog accumulating on your metaphorical glasses dissipates, so does your shock and awe moment. You stare at the pizza in disbelief. “This is not what I ordered! There must be a simpler way, a way that makes more sense!” you exclaim, your hands thrown into the air. Everyone around you is giving you funny looks. You don’t care, this conundrum is more important than their unappreciative and misunderstanding glares.
Who puts a circular object in a square container? Didn’t they learn as a toddler that the circle block goes in the circle hole and the square block goes in the square hole. Sure the circle block may fit inside the square hole, but that doesn’t mean it belongs there. It’s just not natural!
I realize that I’m being completely overdramatic, but if I won’t, who will? These are the kinds of questions that we should be concerned with.
During my four years here at Mercer, I’ve learned a lot of things, but I feel entirely unprepared to adequately deal with the pizza box conundrum.
Logically, I understand the circle cut into triangles. That part of pizza makes sense. Everyone gets an equal slice of pizza and everyone is happy. Right? But, that still leaves the square box.
We aren’t being very environmentally friendly if we use the square box. You might have noticed how much wasted space is in that box, space that could have been left on the tree. Have you ever thought of that Corporate America?
Sure Papa John’s has learned to utilize this space, but that’s an isolated case. Plus, they could easily just stack their garlic sauce and pepper on top of the box to become part of the circus act that is bringing the food to the kitchen.
As a lactose intolerant patron of society, I’m going to do my part and continue not eating pizza. For those of you who will continue to eat and enjoy pizza, please recycle the box. It’s the least you can do.