Friday, January 29

1/28 1/29 RIP Bacon Bit

There was a dog, let's call her Bacon Bit, she was so fat that her eyes-sockets were rejecting her eyes and she wheezed. Her owners are an old couple. They used to order a double-bacon pizza, chocolate desert, and a Diet Pepsi. If the woman orders, she pays by check and will give a dollar or two. If the man orders, he pays by credit card and give 3 to 5 dollars. It was the guy this time and when I got to the door I did the small-talk chatty thing and asked where Bacon Bit was. He turned and let me down easy with a "Oh... we had to put her down, she was 18." I was sad. I let him know that I'm sorry for his loss. He tipped me $5. We were all happy... I mean... er ... sad.

Speaking of sad, I saw a rival chain's driver stopping at a gas station (while I was stopped at a stop light) to use a payphone. I felt bad for him, so I stopped and let him use my cellphone to call his customer. Poor dude. Didn't find out why he didn't have a cellphone, but at least he got where he was going.

I made $32 off of 7 deliveries, an average tip of $3.28

Guess I should mention my Thursday night over at Alternate Pizza Place. It was pretty meh. I dropped a breadstick under the cut-station and pretended like it didn't happen even though Little Yellow saw the tail-end of the fumble; Delivered to an apartment complex at which I've had an awkward experience; and delivered to a Mary Kay lady right before their cult meeting. I made $30 off of 7 deliveries (an average tip of $3 even). I guess those first two nights where I was making spectacular tips were just beginner's luck.


Unknown said...

Well after following your blog for a bit I am wracked with guilt: back in the day when I was having pizzas delivered I thought a two-dollar tip to the deliverer put me in the bigshot category. Even travelling, when the job was paying for food, I don't think I ever gave more than a coupla bucks, maybe five if I'd been booozing that evening....

I gotta lot of bad karma to make up for.

Too bad about the pup. Ah well, 18 is a ripe old age for a pooch.

Lauren Vincelli said...

poor bacon bit!