Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Pizza Dude: Memories

I’ve been delivering pizza for over a year now. I probably haven’t seen it all, but I have seen a lot.

For instance, my first day, I’m out with another driver. My first delivery experience went as follows:

Go to the local fleabag motel. He knocks on the door . . . repeatedly. Finally the door opens and we are met by a buxom girl in only a Tim Brown jersey. The room is completely black except for the sunlight leaking from the front doo. There is a form moving on one of the beds. Might be human, might not. The driver gives her the total and she grabs money off the table. And before he can say, “Thank you, blah, blah, blah”, she says, “Do you want to stay?” We look at each other and say, “Sure.” Are you kidding? There is not way I’m going in there. Now while she is showing great taste in wearing the professional jersey of the 1987 Heisman Trophy winner and one of the most underrated receivers in the NFL, there is not way I’m going into a dark hotel with no idea what to expect. And besides, she wasn’t that hot.

After delivering for a while, you develop regulars. My regular is a naked man. No naked boy here. A big, buff black man, probably 6’4” or so. He orders about once a week, almost always with a credit card, usually tips about a dollar. No porch light either, which is a little hard for me to correct, considering I’m 5’11” and 135 pounds.

Anyway, every time he opens the door, he’s naked. How do I know? I can’t be 100% positive, because I’ve only seen his head and one shoulder. The rest is behind the door. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say he’s naked. He takes the credit card slip, closes the door, opens it up and says, later.

My theory is that it’s a post-coital ritual. He’s a big guy and my guess is that he’s been having crazy sex with some broad in his apartment, gets done, has worked up and appetite and gives Pizza Hut a call. Puts the order on the credit card so all he has to deal with is a little piece of paper, since there is no place to put a wallet or checkbook on his naked person. Doesn’t even worry about putting clothes on and it’s all good. No muss, no fuss.

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