Saturday night was supposed to be my last night delivering pizza. It will not be. The Boss at Pizzeria hasn't decided what he wants me to work this week, which means it's been impossible to make any plans for the week, and Little Yellow accidentally put me on next week's schedule, so I decided to agree to work any shifts at Big Chain that didn't directly conflict with my shifts at Pizzeria. I could use the money for my upcoming trip to Vegas. Honestly, as much as I like working at Pizzeria, I sortof hope that, at least for this week, I get to work the Friday/Saturday night shifts at Big Chain.
The most memorable thing that happened was that my first delivery was to a fake address. The order was to house number 8315. The street went straight from 8313 to 8401. They ordered online, so it wasn't our fault for mistyping. I'm pretty sure it wasn't a complaint because they specified side B of a duplex and the street is nothing but duplexes. It would be oddly specific to order to a fake duplex address. I called the guy and he didn't pick up, so I called the store and had them call and leave a voicemail. About 10 minutes after I got back to the store, the guy calls back my cell. I didn't pick it up because I knew the Bopper had left instructions for the guy to call back the store when he got the message to resolve the issue. Twenty minutes later he called back again. I still didn't pick up. Honestly, I could imagine the conversation going a few directions; he could argue with me that the address exists, ask me to redeliver, or want to speak to my manager. I couldn't really do anything about the delivery at that point anyway. I was already back at the store, clocked back in. The best possible resolution would have come had he called back to the store (something he never did), gave the correct address, we remade the pizzas, and redelivered them. To top it off, after about an hour of it sitting there on the heat-rack without the guy calling back to the store, the pizza became community pizza and I ate a slice.
The second most memorable thing that happened was when a guy slipped me two dollars "smooth style". "Smooth style" is what you see in movies when a guy goes up to a host at a restaurant and says something like, "Are you sure there aren't any available tables?" and shakes the guys hand, covertly slipping him a $20 bill. First, there is absolutely no reason to try to be smooth about tipping me. It's not a secret and I'm not going to do you any special favors. Second, if I was going to do any special favors, it wouldn't be for $2. $2 won't even buy you a smile from me. Ok, it might buy you a smile from me, in fact, as readers of my blog, you get smiles for the low low price of a hug (or nothing, but a hug would be a nice bonus), but not if I was delivering you pizza as well.
Oh! And I jumped over a waist high chain-link fence to avoid crickets.
I made $76 off 16 deliveries.
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