One night last spring, my ex-roommate called Greek Lady at 2 a.m. to order delivery. Probably a buffalo chicken cheese steak (because it's ridiculous). For the first time all school year, they knew him without even asking. Whoever answered the phone said that our house had ordered Greek Lady delivery more than 100 times during the school year. We lived one block away.

"We'll do anything for you guys," the employee said.

Don't laugh. You know as well as I that Greek Lady has its base, and you're a part of it. All of you. If you eat food, you eat at Greek Lady. Our cover story this week just shows you who's making it.

But moving on. So, the internet. Man, the internet's a great thing - especially when it makes Greek Lady easier to order. You wish to know more, and I will tell you in my best Bob Ryan from Entourage impression:

What if I told you that with a few clicks of the mouse, a cucumber-yogurty, french-fried gyro could be at your door in 20 minutes, without talking to a single human being? Is that something you'd be interested in?, one day you just might save us all from starvation.

Once you've got a account, a list of delivery options unfolds before your eyes. You click on Greek Lady, Ed's, New Number One - anything from Drexel to Clark Park. You add tip automatically to your credit card account, so don't worry about skimping the delivery guy over.

Without, that 100 deliveries figure would've probably been like, I don't know, 70. A whole month without Greek Lady. For one month, no bacon, egg and cheese on a large roll, no grilled chicken pita - I can't think about this anymore.

But as much as solves my life's biggest problem - putting raw materials together into something vaguely edible - I still feel abusive with the site. Two nights ago, my roommate and I ordered, at 1 a.m., a buffalo cheese steak, garlic fries, a ham and cheese club and a 10" pizza from College Pizza. Don't ask about the circumstances; that's an entirely separate article. I clicked my mouse maybe 10 times for this to happen. A driver had to lose his good parking spot to drive three blocks and meet me at my doorstep.

Don't get your hopes up, delivery places; this in no way implies I will stop being royal shit anytime soon. Be on your mark at 11 o'clock tonight, and about 95 times until April. I'm overweight, if it's any consolation.


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