Pizza Fighter
Harold paused at the dough rolling counter. “Is it crazy to want a fight?”
His boss, a burly man named Mike, leaned against the other side, his gaze fixed on Harold’s incomplete pizza. “Get back to work,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“No, seriously, I think peace is overrated,” Harold continued, oblivious to Mike’s growing impatience. “I heard mankind makes its best advancements under duress.”
“You’re going to put us behind schedule, Harold.”
“Just admit it, you know I’m right,” Harold insisted, a defiant gleam in his eye.
“As far as I can tell, the only thing that’s right about you is avoiding making pizzas,” Mike retorted, his voice laced with sarcasm. “And maybe playing poker. But I wouldn’t be surprised if you cheat at the latter.”
“Hey, I’m a man of principle!”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Yeah, the principle of avoiding work.”
“You may scoff, but I believe in the power of adversity. It’s the ultimate test of character, the crucible that separates the wheat from the chaff.”
Mike snorted. “Or maybe it just separates the sane from the insane.”
Harold ignored him. “Just imagine, a world without challenges, without obstacles. What would become of us? We’d wither and die, like a plant deprived of sunlight.”
Mike shook his head. “You’re talking about violence, Harold, it’s not a good thing. Although you’re inspiring me to consider it.”
“See? It’s a part of human nature, isn’t it?” Harold argued. “Mankind has been fighting each other for as long as we’ve been around. It’s in our blood.”
Mike leaned forward, his voice low and menacing. “Coincidentally, it’s been around as long as insanity. Why don’t you start punching that dough again?”
Harold’s eyes narrowed. “Or maybe I just need to punch someone.”
Mike stood taller, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Or maybe you need to receive one.”
Harold paused. “Right now, I need to make some pizza. What’s taking so long?”
by George Alger
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