It is with a great sense of disillusionment that I write this week’s column. For years, I have recommended Flying Pizza, located at 1812 N. High St., to friends and colleagues as the pinnacle of campus pizza and a symbol of how New York-style pizza can taste. The hand-tossed crusts, the fresh ingredients and sauce set Flying Pizza apart from its many competitors – at least until lately.

Upon my most recent visit to this famed locale, I was saddened that upon critical examination the crusts were burnt, the ingredients were oftentimes merely afterthoughts and the atmosphere was decidedly cramped – if not unhygienic.

As anyone who has ever visited Flying Pizza understands, the ordering system is antiquated and unreliable. One after another, customers repeat their orders time and time again to the beleaguered employees behind the counter. The employees, struggling to keep several orders straight at one time repeat their mantra, “Who had the pepperoni? Who had the cheese?”

Clearly, this is a situation that frustrates all involved. While certainly no expert in operations management, this lowly critic would like to point out to the staff at Flying Pizza that paper and pencil would go a long way towards keeping order during the apparent madness of the lunch rush.

The seating situation is not any better. Their tiny dining area does not hold any more than about 16 people, less if one cares for any degree of comfort.

“While leaving the front door open does keep the atmosphere cozy, if not homey, the flies this policy lets in doesn’t help the ambiance,” co-masticator Frank said.

Nor does the fact that one hearty bout of gas from anyone in the room would almost immediately render the entire dining area inhabitable. One could imagine otherwise kind and gentle people trampling one another in a Hobbsian struggle to exit the building. Therefore it is with a certain degree of trust in man’s humanity to man that one dines at Flying Pizza.

“These mushrooms simply don’t make the grade. I’d like to see a ‘shroom pizza with mushrooms under the cheese. All in all, this is a good quick lunch if you’re around campus, but don’t expect to score points with the ladies for your knowledge of fine cuisine at hole-in-the-wall locales,” wrote Frank. I’d take him at his word, readers. Besides Frank’s renowned engineering brilliance, if there’s one things he knows it’s how not to score points with the ladies.

Co-Masticator John sampled the meatball sub and comments, “The meatball sub, otherwise known as the Italian meatball sandwich, was well-worth the $3.50. Cheese was a nice addition, though steep at 75 cents. This place is no place for large groups.”

My slice of pepperoni and mushroom suffered some of the same problems as my companions. My mushrooms seemed to be tossed loosely on top of the slice and then doused with a fresh coat of pizza sauce to help them stick to the surface. The mushrooms were luke-warm compared to the rest of the pizza and the extra sauce made the entire affair unnecessarily messy. I can dribble pizza sauce down my shirt without the help, thanks. The crust was a bit burnt too, but not burnt as badly as the slice of Sicilian cheese pizza I tried. Unfit for human consumption, at least to humans that don’t enjoy unmercifully burnt pizza. To put things plainly: No refills, no smoking, no seats, no service. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve ordered some great pizza from this place before – but they sure dropped the ball today and hopefully, this article helps turn things back around.

When it comes to lunch, you can do a lot worse for yourself than stopping by Flying Pizza. After all, pizza is like sex. When it’s good, it’s great. When it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.

Hank Mylander is a senior from Westerville majoring in Management Information Systems. Other potential draftees also interested in cheap Canadian property may contact The Masticator at [email protected].