This is a feat I’m sure many of you frequently encounter: It’s 2 a.m., you’ve already drunkenly snagged several bites of Boot pizza and if you’re anything like me, you are now ravenous for more. You get back to the dorm and have this groundbreaking idea—“guys, let’s get food.”

You look around for approval, only to remember you’re sitting alone and barefoot in the common room. You glance at your dying phone in search of companionship and manage to place your thumb on the home button. Unlock.

“Siri—get me a f*cking pizza,” you yell belligerently.

You won’t know until the next morning that the girl who lives three doors down from you was completely responsible, but somehow you end up in the Domino’s app, ready to order.

Even in your state, you know what glory feels like.

You begin to browse through the menu, but everything seems so appealing. You don’t know what to choose and before you know it, your cart total is just $12.83 short of draining your bank account and much closer to $100 than you would ever like to admit.

The next thing you know, one of the several brown-haired, 5-foot-5-inch guys who lives on your floor is viciously shaking you, holding your phone up to your ear.

As you come to, you hear what you presume to be the voice of God telling you that your pizza is here.

“Glorious” you coo. The boy helps you over to the elevator, and you thank him while regretting to inform him that there will not be enough for two.

You retrieve your food from a man who looks as though he’s seen too much and return back to your spot on the stained, reddish couch along with your eight boxes and three drinks. You’re overwhelmed with the legitimacy of this feasts’ presence, but you open the first box and the fear immediately relinquishes. You reevaluate everything you have ever known to be true at the realization of its magnificence. You have everything you have ever dreamed of right in front of you.

You begin to chow, and before you know it, you’re in tears and have eaten halfway through a week’s worth of calories: “why can’t my life be like Domino’s” you cry out to anyone willing to listen.

The same girl that opened the app for you has returned by this point. She removes the pizza crust resting underneath your forearm and tosses it in the half empty box of marbled cookie brownies.

“You’re going to be OK,” she promises you.

You jump atop the couch and kick three Domino’s boxes to the floor.

“I know I’m going to be OK,” you shouted, overwhelmed by your recent epiphany, “so long as Domino’s exists, I will be OK!”

Never in your life have you been one for motivational speeches, but you decide your journey begins here.

“You start out on a screen, with so many options: pizza, chicken, sandwiches, pastas, breads, desserts” you project to passersby.

“And then you click on one, effortlessly, and it takes you to even more variations of what you just clicked on. But, if you want pizza, you can build it exactly the way you’d like. You choose exactly what you want, and how much,” you continue.

You look down at the ground for inspiration, “If you’re feeling spicy, you can add jalapeños. But you don’t need to fully commit. In fact, you could have a ‘light’ amount of jalapeños on the right hand side of the pizza. And if you want you can have no jalapeños and add feta, heavy on the left side. Or maybe, if you want, a pizza with jalapeños and feta, normal amounts, covering the whole pie. It’s amazing what you can do; the possibilities are limitless.”

You straighten yourself up again, feeling the inspiration and early waves of cholesterol running through your veins “But the most phenomenal part about Domino’s is that you can have that pizza, but you can also have stuffed cheesy bread. And Philly cheese steak. And chicken carbonara, whatever that may be. And cinnamon sticks. And lava cakes. You don’t have to choose one.”

Your hall-mate, who by this point, let’s be honest, is your new best friend, pats you gently on the back, “That was…”

“And what if you could be a doctor?” you interrupt, determined to get your point across, “And a lawyer. And a mathematician. And a teacher. And a physicist. And a veterinarian. And an Executive. If life were Domino’s, all you’d have to do is click a button.”

You plop back down on the couch and proceed to pass out in a pile of crust, dozing off to dreams of pizza and success—because even at your very worst, Domino’s delivers.