Not exactly nervous, but definitely out of place, I walk in wearing my one good shirt and a semi-recently washed pair of jeans. I don't really own nice shoes, so I figured my Chucks would be more appropriate than old running shoes. I was with other people, and believe it or not, these were people I was kind of tryning to impress. Too keep from acting like too much a hog when the food was set before me I had loaded up on a little HT generic canned ravioli before departing for Durham. It's an old trick I learned from Gone With The Wind.
During the meal the conversation vacillated from sommelier humor to what exotic land we have recently visited to totally kissing Ben Barker's ass. "Oh, do you think we could get Ben to autograph our menu?" I kind of steer clear and try not to open my fool mouth lest some golden gem of Cletus-esque wisdom come flying out.
After a while the wine glasses which would magically refill themselves began to take their toll on my perception of the world. The faces of the Triangle's upper-crust transmogrified to slightly off-kilter and undefinable sinister masks. "Every one here, in some way, is evil," I say. I'm pretty sure the septuagenarian behind me was talking about having sex with little boys. Towards the end of the meal I told a member of my party to shut-the-fuck-up and quickly brought my hands down to the table inadvertently launching a fork full New Southern collards into my lap. After that events became increasingly blurry.
So yes, it was definitely some of the best food I have ever tasted, but now that I have had a slice of the good life will I ever be able to go back? Am I ruined forever? Nah, I don't think Pepper's Pizza has anything to worry about.