Hotties’ idea was too hot for under-21 crowd

Sometimes you’re hot. Sometimes you’re not. The pizza people

thought it was hot. The City Council did not. C’est la vie. C’est la

guerre. C’est something.

The council in this case happens to be the Newport Beach City

Council, and the pizza people are the proud parents of a new pizza

palace on Old Newport Boulevard called “Hotties.”

Clever name, no? “Hotty” meaning someone who looks darn good, and

“hotty” meaning a hot pizza. It’s a double-meaning, or what the

French call a “double meaning.”

So why is everyone’s dough in a wad? Here’s how it all began. At

Hotties, you can consume your pizza on the premises, or they will

graciously deliver to your door, as is the long-established custom

among pizza people. But while other pizza purveyors ask “Why?” --

Hotties asks “Why not? What do people drink with their pizza?” they

mused. That’s simple. As everyone knows, both federal and state law

allow only three beverages to be consumed with pizza: soda, beer,

wine. I suppose one could drink water with their pizza, but that

would be silly. So why not deliver the beer and the wine right along

with the pizza, thought Hotties.

The city’s planning department and the NBPD reviewed Hotties

request, made a few suggestions here, tacked on a few conditions

there. Condition 1: all Hotties personnel delivering beer and wine

must be at least 21 years old. No problem there. Condition 2: no pie,

no hooch, so don’t bother calling in an order for “one pizza, three

six-packs, two bottles of merlot -- but hold the pizza.” That makes

sense, of course.

The Planning Commission took a whack at it and said OK. But as

often happens, the City Council had a slightly different view of

Hotties’ request, which was, “whaddayounuts?” It was Councilman Gary

Proctor, who represents the district wherein Hotties would

manufacture the aforementioned pizzas, who appealed the Planning

Commission’s decision to the council. Gary has been long concerned

with inconsiderate visiting summertime revelers in his district,

especially around the Fourth of July, when waves of partygoers

celebrate the birth of our nation by each consuming a case or two of

their beer of choice.

I’ll have to side with the City Council on Hotties’

pizza-and-pinot proposal, but for a different reason. If alcohol is

what you crave, there are all sorts of safeguards in restaurants,

bars and stores to make sure that you have at least 21 years of

craving under your belt. Doesn’t always work, and yes kids work

overtime trying to beat the system, but that’s getting tougher and

tougher, which is a good thing. But Hotties’ plan is just fraught

with temptations for the under-21 crowd, which is a big crowd.

I’m sure Hotties had a policy in the works whereby its delivery

people would make sure the pizza-recipient at the door was 21-plus

before they turned over the hooch, but any self-respecting

middle-schooler out there could figure out how to crack that code in

11 seconds or less.

Here’s how it works, and I’m not giving away any secrets here

because this dodge has been around since Alexander Graham Bell said

“Mr. Watson, come here.” The most valuable asset in any group of

teenagers is a girl who has a deep voice and can sound fully-grown up

over the phone. She is worth her weight in gold. I can guarantee you

that there were at least 35 local kids who were not where their

parents thought they were last night, because when their mom was

talking to Suzy’s mom on the phone, she was in fact talking to the

girl with the deep voice. Don’t feel bad. Every parent falls for it

sooner or later.

One fateful night, the girl with the deep voice calls Hotties.

“I’d like a medium pizza with everything on it. Oh, except

anchovies. My daughter just hates those,” she says with a slight

laugh. “Honey?” she calls out to her imaginary husband, “I’m ordering

pizza for the girls. Are you going to have any?” A male voice in the

background mumbles something. “Ok, that’s fine,” says the girl with

the deep voice. “Better make that a large and, um, give me one

salad,” (a total diversion that will be thrown out immediately) “and

let’s see, a diet Coke, and oh, what kind of chardonnay do you have?

Great, that’s perfect.”

At that point the Hotties sales counselor reminds her that there

has to be an adult in the house, with proper I.D. “Absolutely,” says

the girl with the deep voice. “I’m afraid I qualified a long time

ago,” she says with a slight laugh.

Fast forward. The Hotties pizza transport specialist rings the

doorbell, unaware that he is being watched closely from an upstairs

window. The cutest girl available is immediately dispatched to the

door. (If the transport specialist is a female, it’s the cutest guy

available) After an appropriate pause, the cutest available, way

under-21 girl opens the door and says “Oh hi, just a sec. “Mom?

Pizza’s here,” she calls out to the darkness upstairs. “Be right

there,” the girl with the deep voice answers from somewhere upstairs.

“Money’s on the table, sweetie.” The girl at the door “notices” the

three twenties on the entryway table and hands them to the transport

specialist who starts to make change for the $42 tab. “Mom? Do you

need change?” the girl calls out. “What? No, that’s fine, dear,” says

the girl with the deep voice. “Be right down. Sorry.” At which point,

the girl at the door rolls her eyes as if to say, “Parents!”

So there you have it: a long silence, the transport specialist

fidgeting, the cute girl smiling at him, time slipping into the

future and most important, an $18 dollar tip hanging in the balance.

I can’t speak for the transport specialist, but I can tell you

that I personally would be back in the Hottie-mobile and roaring off

into the night faster than the Raelians that decided not to turn over

a DNA sample from the little clone after all. The old adage is true:

“Lovers of pizza and the law should never drink Coors Light while

either is being made.” Or something. I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA’S column runs Sundays. Reach him at [email protected]