Thursday, June 27, 2013

Work-up: Life of a Pizza Delivery Driver

It's kind of exciting, really. You're called away from the piles of dishes. There is a sense of urgency as they yell, "you're up!" Quickly you wash the tomato sauce off of your hands--arms, sometimes. They hand you a receipt with a name. Sometimes it's John, or Lisa, or Geneva Rock. Under the name is an address somewhere in the 10 mile radius. Who knows where? It's an adventure. Will the cinnistix touch the breadsticks in the box? How shaken up will the soda be by the time you get there?

There's the little girl who hands you the money. There's the old tattooed man who gives you a big tip with a concealed $2 bill. There's the richies who don't tip at all. There's the stained-apron Molly Weasely mom who hands you a $10 tip as she juggles bouncing children. There's the single man who orders the same $18 pizza every Wednesday. there's the construction workers who assume you have 10-wheel drive. There are the conference meetings with important people who love pizza just as much as the custodians do. There are teenagers who pull money out of their clothes and keep the tip their mother meant for you. There are those who laugh with you as you trip onto their porch and then tip you after you drop their soda at the door.

Kronk and I are happy to be graduated from delivering pizzas; but we sure had a good time.

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