SATIRE — I PROMISE

Canadian Bacon — Now Made With Real Americans

Pig approved

“I feel betrayed,” I told Luke, the thirty-something assistant manager taking my order. “You go to a place for years, and you expect honesty. “When I ask for Canadian bacon on my pizza. I expect REAL Canadian bacon,” I said.

Even though Luke was listening, I threw a piece of ‘Canadian’ bacon at his face to make sure he got my point. To his credit, he didn’t touch it and let it slide down his face.

Pizza Place Pizza has been a staple of midtown for twenty years. You would think that an establishment this close to the Canadian border would get at least THAT right.

They have used the same recipes. They have had the same loyal customers — I have the right to expect greatness. The old guy sitting in the corner at the other end of the store — he’s been eating the same meal since 2002. He loves it so much, he has had the same smile every time I see him.

I am not out of line when I expect the best from the best pizza place — ALL NATURAL INGREDIENTS!

“I agree,” Luke said. “There is a distinct difference between ham and Canadian Bacon. Ham is ass — literally. But do you understand that Candian Bacon comes from pigs?”

Luke removed the piece of ‘Canadian’ bacon from his face. It had made it all the way down to his check and was stuck on his stubble. He held the pink, tomato-sauced-covered piece of circular meat in front of me and wiggled it in front of MY face.

“Ham,” he continued, “and Canadian Bacon come from different parts of the pig. Yeah, Canadian Bacon — Back bacon, rashers — comes in round slices; from the pig’s pork loin. Back bacon is brined. American bacon — streaky bacon — is fattier — not unlike Americans.”

I swear, he said this a bit snidely and looked down at my gut. I was also detecting a faint Canadian accent as Luke’s speech increased in speed.

I was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable. This was not going according to the 2021 American Disgruntled Injured Customer Key: The Quintessential Guide for the Entitled Customer. The 2021 ADICK Guide didn’t cover how to handle rude employees.

“What do you intend to do about it?” I said, thrusting my chin into the air. I put my fists on my hips and widened my stance. The 2021 ADICK said to reattain the upper hand in any argument, I had to convey an air of confidence if I was to get what I wanted: a free item identical to what I ordered before.

“I ASKED you a question,” I said for added emphasis. I even threw in a head tilt as per the guide.

Luke snapped his fingers and yelled, “Jeffery!”

A portly teen with a greasy face blasted through the swinging doors with a gurney, which had dark stains mottling the sheet.

Luke motioned to the old man in the front corner of the store, his posture had straightened considerably. All of a sudden, I felt smaller.

“Help Mr. Smith.” Luke was making no attempt to hide his Canadian accent.

“Yes sir,” Jeffery said, already on his way to Mr. Smith. He immediately locked the door, put up the closed sign, and drew the shades.

“No, how a-boat I go ahead and — ”

There was a knock at the door. Jeffery suddenly stopped. His gut fell onto Mr. Smith’s face. Mr. Smith most certainly did not mind. I could see a policeman peeking in the gap in the shades.

Luke snapped his fingers and sharply pointed to the back room of the restaurant. He collected himself but he seemed agitated.

“I’ll take care of the bill and you and your Molson Muscle” — he poked my gut with each word — “can be on your way? Or I’ll show ya what we REALLY make the ‘Canadian’ bacon with.”

“Yeah,” I said, entranced by his wholesome and caring face. “Yeah, I think I’ll go now.” I held my stomach.

“Thank you,” I added.

Lule’s grin widened. “Hey, but this ain’t no Timmy’s — soory — Tim Horton’s — soory again — that’s a coffee shop that breeds like Starbucks in Canada.”

“Now, if you’ll pardon me,” he motioned toward the front entrance as he escorted me out. Walking past the swinging door, I heard what sounded like knives sharpening. I looked through the small window on the swinging door and saw Jeffery sharpening a butcher knife as he stood over Mr. Smith.

At the front door, Luke raised the shades, flipped the ‘Closed’ sign to ‘Open,’ and unlocked the door. He gave me a light pat on the back and shoved me all the way out the door. I raise a tentative hand and waved, unsure if I was just escorted out of a Pizza Place or an episode of Letterkenny.

“Come back when you’ve gained more weight, eh!” Luke called after me.

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