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I can’t stop thinking about Domino’s Pizza. Not the pizza itself, but the 30-second commercial about “Domino’s Dinner Bell,” a new feature of the Domino’s app that informs your family or friends when their pseudo-Italian food has been ordered and delivered.

“We’re busier than ever doing the things we love, which makes it hard to get everybody around the table all at once,” says the Domino’s site. “But now, Domino’s new Dinner Bell makes it easier than ever to call everyone to gather ’round their Domino’s favorites.”

Now more than ever, the blurb seems to say, we need new and unnecessary ways to inform our family that we have ordered pizza.

Is this feature more convenient than messaging a groupchat? No. You have to download the Domino’s app, create a “Pizza Profile,” select “allow notifications,” and create a “Domino’s group” by adding your family and friends who all need to create their own Pizza Profile for this to even work. If I told my dad he needed to create a Pizza Profile, he would disown me.

If you have not seen the commercial and can’t click on this link because you are on a 2006 flip phone, I will summarize it. A man orders Domino’s and uses the new Dinner Bell feature to inform his family that food is on its way. Everyone, upon receiving the message, drops what they’re doing to come home and enjoy a wholesome family meal. It’s cute, funny, and relatable for any busy family who likes pizza.

But is it really? It becomes clear that these people are willing to sacrifice their relationships, careers, and way of life just so they can get home in time to eat pizza made by a company that once ran an advertising campaign about how their food was trash.

I’ll start with the one who sacrifices the least, the brother. When he gets the notification, he’s playing video games with a friend who is mashing buttons on his controller like an absolute maniac. The brother doesn’t seem like he wants to be there in the first place, judging by the fact that he keeps his backpack right next to him, in prime position for a quick exit maneuver. When he gets the notification, he is so eager to leave that he doesn’t even drop the controller.

Then there’s the younger sister. She’s shown in an old car, leaning in to kiss a sweet-looking high school boy in a red flannel. When she gets the news that her dad ordered some chain pizza, it’s all over. She not only ducks out of the kiss, but also leaves the kid stranded on the side of the street. Did she have to use force to get him out? Or did she simply explain that she values the warmth of her $5.99 Mix & Match pasta more than their relationship? He clutches his emotional-support backpack and waves timidly at the departing car, which peels out and surrounds him in exhaust fumes. He is left inhaling carbon monoxide and wondering if anyone will ever love him, which is a valid question considering the circumstances.

The older sister hears the Domino’s notification during cheerleading practice, realizes the tremendous stakes, and back handsprings away from her teammates. The coach, just a blur in the background, does not notice because he is focused on members of the team who are not pizza sociopaths.

Most shocking of all: the mom. She’s shown delivering a lecture to a college class. Presumably she has worked all her life to become a professor—getting a PhD and publishing like crazy to demonstrate her expertise to conservative male gatekeepers. And finally, she’s earned it. She is a verifiable #WomanInSTEM. When she gets the Domino’s notification, though, it’s all over. She decides in the moment to throw it all away. It’s not worth it to finish this class; her husband ordered Domino’s, and she is hungry. This might seem like a low-stakes, spur-of-the-moment decision, but it’s not. As she leaves, she tells the class, “You’re never gonna use this anyway,” making it clear this is not a one-time departure. She’s never coming back. Goodbye academia, hello Domino’s.

And is it even dinner time when the dad rings the bell? If school ends at say, 2:30 or 3, are we to expect that the older daughter spent at least three hours cheerleading? Doesn’t she have homework? Was the younger daughter sitting in the driver’s seat, letting sexual tension build for hours before leaving a boy on the side of the street? And what registrar would schedule a chemistry lecture at night?

The only explanation is this isn’t the evening at all; it’s the early afternoon. The father has failed as a parent and misused a feature called the “Dinner Bell.” He has raised children who will drop any commitment without consideration of consequences just to devour an ExtravaganZZa™ pizza. Apples don’t fall far from the tree, and he is a monster.

Luckily for me, the 15-second version of this advertisement cuts to the end and avoids the ethical quandaries.

How much effort you should give during cheerleading practice: 10.0/10

Dude’s self esteem after a girl decided he was worth less than $30 of pizza and cheesy bread: 0.0/10

Level of sociopathic tendencies displayed by this family: 9.2/10