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May 12, 2008 | by  | in Opinion |
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Big City Life

Here’s a riddle: I’m sitting on a faux leather couch in front of a gas burner fire with an endless stream of pizza being served to me on a platter. Where am I?

Heaven?

No. I’m at Hell’s pizza on Bond St luxuriating in the Monday night $12 all you can eat.

Having never been to Syn before I was surprised at how sports bar it seemed and so consequently not surprised to see pictures of girls in bikinis on the wall. What a perfect idea. $12 normally gets you a standard double pizza, but normally you wouldn’t eat a whole pizza by yourself. Well maybe you would. I would. But if you were being thrifty you wouldn’t (because a whole pizza to oneself is excessive) and thriftiness is at face value what is so appealing about a $12 all you can eat at Hell’s.

But Hell’s wouldn’t be doing this if it were going to put them out of pocket. In fact, it does the complete opposite. As stated above, each punter pays for a standard pizza whether they eat one or not. Everyone’s dining in and presumably ordering drinks at the bar (separate business or not, it’s win-win), it’s a perfect way to shift a lot of stock, and they save on petrol because if you’re going to have Hell’s on a Monday night why would you pass up the deal and get it delivered?

Knowing this when I went in, I was determined to really get my money’s worth. “I’m going to eat TWO pizzas!” I exclaimed on more than one occasion. I didn’t. I did manage to eat nearly a whole pizza in half an hour. If I hadn’t got stuck on the thought of how much grease and unnecessary calories I was consuming, plus my completely unfounded fear of vomiting (and by unfounded I mean it’s never as bad as I think it will be when I do it) I would have gone in for the kill. And I totally intend to next time. Maybe that’s how they really get you. Perhaps Hell’s has this thing down on a much deeper level than we think and all that tripe I just spouted about guaranteed profits is a mere perk when compared to the real marketing they have employed on us.

I’m just being silly. Conspiracy theorists are idiots. I was going to write about how impossible it is to find a comfortable place to sit in Wellington but we got to Syn and there were at least six couches. Good. I’m gonna need a soft seat for when I go back and eat those two pizzas for half the price.

Sucker.

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