As you already may know, an Antoon’s cheese pizza now costs $6. While this may not be breaking news, it is definitely affecting many of us on campus, especially writers for The Black Sheep. Yes, the shop is still open, but the pizza will never be the same. A few of us called for the flag to be flown at half-staff in memoriam of this tragedy, but the federal government does not allow pizza to be honored (thanks a lot, Obama). Instead, a few of us got together to write our farewell to our former lover (trigger warning for pizzaphiles):
When we think of Antoon’s, we all think of one thing: a five dollar bill. No more. No less. What better way to end a sloppy night in South Oakland than stuffing your face with some warm cheese, sauce, and bread, hastily tossed together? Many of us budgeted our night around this bastion of grease and heartburn. $5 to get into a party. $5 for Antoon’s. Now we as a people are lost. $6 for pizza? Any way you slice it, it just sounds wrong. But we are not here to condemn, we are here to remember.
We’ll always the first time you touched our lips. Sauce dripping, crust crunching, tears flowing. We were young and you were there for us. Sure, maybe we had a little bit too much to drink that night, but you didn’t care. As long as we had $5, we had the chance to spend a beautiful night with a beautiful pizza. Others would come, looking to grab a piece of you, but you always stayed loyal to the last slice.
How could we forget the night we spent alone? It was finals week and everyone had left campus. It was just us. Alone in a dorm room with a warm case of Natty. We became one that night, as we watched Netflix and worried about our final grades, but you made us feel like that C+ in biology would definitely get curved up to a B. Things were so simple then.
As we grew, so did our relationship with you. We figured out how to make you taste even better, covering you in oregano, pepper flakes, and hot sauce. Maybe that’s what started it all. We wanted to change that which was already perfect.
Then the trouble came. Friends told us that you weren’t good enough. That Sorrento’s and Pizza Romano were better. We admit, we may have slipped. Accidentally tasted the forbidden fruit, but we always came back to you. You never got mad. You welcomed us with open arms and shorter lines. You were the last bastion of the $5 pizza.
But now the fun is over. We’re not pointing fingers. People change. A few months apart can rock any relationship, but we never thought it would end up like this. $6? It’s like we don’t even know you anymore. Most would suggest seeing other people, but we have not the time nor money to move on to Sorrento’s and Pizza Romano.
So we will wait, Antoon’s. We will wait with $5 in our pocket. No more. No less. Longing for you to embrace us once more. Until then no pizza shall cross our lips. It is our solemn vigil to our former relationship. We only have one question: Is one more dollar worth the price of our love?