"Every thing goes wrong
Everything goes wrong
Everything goes on and on... and on"

-Paul Westerberg
"Everything Goes Wrong"

from 10/20/06:

Last night was one of the worst nights I've ever experienced on the Streets of Pizza.
It wasn't one particular thing that made the night so terrible, but rather a series of crappy ordeals that just wouldn't quit:

-Bad Traffic
There's something about the change of seasons that turns people into utter retards behind the wheel. I encountered no less than six instances where I came upon some dipshit stopped right in the middle of the intersection. Just sitting there, not moving, not planning on moving. After few quick honks on the horn these people usually started, slowly, on their way. However, after one such honk, the dude flipped me off.
Also, turn-signal usage was almost non- existent.

-Panhandlers
I had no less than 4 dudes approach me asking me for money.
This isn't all that uncommon, since I live in a major metropolitan area and that type of shit comes with the territory, but MPLS has become Bum City in the last few years and panhandling is rampant. Almost anytime I go near a business district, these guys are on me like white on rice. However, the last few months these guys have been appearing not only near in business districts, but in residential areas as well. Last night, I was approached in neighborhoods that weren't anywhere near any kind of business. Each time they seemed to appear out of nowhere, each time a variant of the same story:
"Yo man, hey, I just broke down on the freeway and my baby's in the car. Think you could give me some money for gas?"
"Yo Pizzaman, Hey. Hey man. I just lost my wallet and I'm parked at the SA. I gotta get some gas so I can get down to Richfield to get my baby girl. You got any money you can spare?"
"Hey, you got some money you can spare? I was doing construction at my Brother-in-law's and my truck broke down"
Every time my answer was no, followed by a quick jump into my Pizzacar, which I prayed would start.
My favorite interaction was with this one dude while I was making a delivery directly across the street from a Walgreen's:
"Hey man, how ya doin'? All right. See, my baby's got asthma right? And I'm trying to get across town to Walgreen's so I can get her a one of those breathalyzers. You think you can help out with some change? I just gotta get to Walgreen's, right?"
I pointed at the Walgreen's across the street, it's big, neon sign lighting up the night.
"How about that Walgreen's?" I asked.
The look on the guy's face was priceless. His eyes widened and he grabbed his forehead with his right hand. I thought he was about to let out a Homeresque "Doh!".
"Oh... um... oh, that one. Ahhh... shit man..."
I jumped in my Pizzacar and split.

-Ailing Pizzacar
I went to the mechanic the other day after I discovered that my car was leaking oil at a frightening rate. He told me there could be several reasons for the leak. Each scenario he painted was more expensive than the last. So, for now, I'll be driving a four-wheeled Exxon Valdez.
Also, my blower fan went out, so I was without heat.

-Bad Pizzalover's
You'd think my customer's would have a little sympathy for a dude delivery them hot and fresh pizza on a cold and dreary night.
This was not the case.
I spent most of the evening on doorsteps, freezing my ass off and waiting for people to get their act together. And once they did, they tipped poorly. My tip average was for shit.
Plus, after 1am, it was a parade of drunken assholes.
Did these guys think that we gave a discount to frat boys with popped collars, backwards baseball caps and an alcohol level over .25?
Seriously people, these douchebags were total dicks.

-The Pizzakitchen
Last night the dudes in the kitchen couldn't make a pie in a timely manner last night to save their souls. You'd think they would be kicking ass, since they were pretty meth'd-out, but after the one decent cook left at 10, I was left to deal with one dude who totally tweaking and the other who didn't know his elbow from his asshole.

-My Ass
Last night I had explosive diarrhea.
You know, the runs, the trots, the scoots, the shits, the Blatz Splatz, the Hershey squirts, the Johnny Rivers, the liquid bummer, the chocolate syrup explosion, Reagans revenge, the chunky sputters.
It was terrible. (Do I really need to say that it was terrible? Nobody has "wonderful" diarrhea, do they?) I'd been experiencing gastrointestinal distress all week due to car/money worries and last night it came on full force. The first half of the night was a game of "beat the clock". I'd be returning from a delivery and my ass would announce that I had several minutes (or sometimes seconds) before liquid shit would just shoot out of my ass like a bomb going off.
"Hey, Pizzaman" my ass would say "Guess what? I'll give you a hint: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1..."
Then I would make hay to get to the nearest bathroom.
Luckily, I batted a thousand in the "get your ass on the bowl" category.
I must have washed my hands a thousand times last night.
I kept thinking, when encountering a bad Pizzalover, that I should just walk into their foyer (after waiting forever on their porch) and crap my pants.

"What's that? A dollar tip?"
Thhpppplat!

I'd leave them there with a story they could tell their Grandchildren, a shit stain on their entryway rug and no appetite.
Fortunately, my sphincter held tight and I saved myself from getting fired.
And how would that look on my resume?
"Fired for shitting self".

"Sorry for you mister
Sorry for you sister
Sorry for your trouble
Sorry for your blister"
-Rank Strangers
"All Apologies"

It was nearing the end of my shift and I was looking forward to leaving since the night had been lackluster to say the least. But as luck would have it, a flurry of orders came in and I had to postpone my departure. There were two orders that I was slated to deliver, the first to an old regular and the second to a condo, whose inhabitant I was unfamiliar with. The pies came out of the oven and I hit the streets. The first order went to Mr W, one of my favorite regulars. Mr W always comes to the door promptly, he's pretty friendly and tips well. In short, Mr W rules. I stopped at his apartment, dropped off the order and headed for the condo delivery.

I arrived at the condo, climbed the steps to the door and punched in the code on the intercom. It rang several times and a the Pizzalover's voice mail picked up (it was one of those intercoms that goes right to the residents phone). I noticed that the phone number on the order was a mobile number, so I dialed said number hoping that they'd picked up their cel. Again, I got their voice mail. I stood around for a few seconds debating whether I should leave or stick it out a bit in hopes that they would answer if I called in a minute or so, since often people believe they have time to throw some laundry in the wash or take a dump before their pizza arrives. I knew if I left, I'd most likely get back to the shop and have to turn around immediately and return to the Pizzalover's home (This is known as a "Boomerang" in the pizza delivery biz). So I stood around for a couple of minutes and tried calling again. Again the voice mail picked up and I left the standard "you're not home message": "Hi this is BS pizza, I tried to make a delivery to XXX No Show Boulevard, but nobody seems to be home, so give us a call at 555-1212. Thanks. Bye."

I walked back to my car, only somewhat defeated, since this type of shit happens all the time.
As I opened my car door, I heard a voice. I couldn't make out what it said. I turned around to see a twenty-something girl in a sweatshirt standing at the door.
"Pardon me?" I said to her.
In a tiny voice she said something that I couldn't hear.
"What?" I asked.
She let out an exagerated sigh and said, slightly louder "I think that's my pizza".
I walked back up the steps and said "Oh, this is yours?"
"Uh, yeah" she said, like she was saying "No duh".
I was relived that I wouldn't have to make the round trip again.
"Oh, OK", I said and started to pull her pizza out of the bag.
She had used her credit card to pay, so I asked her for her card and I.D..
She sighed heavily again.
"I don't understand why I have to show you that stuff" she said.
"Just company policy" I responded.
She thrust her card and I.D. toward me and started in, "This is stupid. I shouldn't have to do this every time. I order from you all the time, I tip you guys... and I'm A LAWYER!" she said in a not-very-nice tone, emphasizing the lawyer part.
I took a look at the card and I.D.. Everything was kosher, so I handed the cards back to her, fished a pen out of my pocket and gave her the pen and the credit card slip.
"I don't understand why you were leaving" she said.
"Well, no one answered the intercom or the phone, so I figured you weren't ho-"
She cut me off.
"My intercom doesn't go through when I'm on the phone!" she said, as if I was privy to this bit of information.
"I didn't know that. But I did call you from my phone as well"
"Then you leave me this pissy message-"
This time, I cut her off.
"Ma'am, that message wasn't pissy. I just told you I'd been here and to call the store."
At this point I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere with this conversation, so I shut up.
She signed the slip and handed it back to me.
"I don't understand this," she repeated, her head cocked to the side.
"Obviously," I said.
She then put the pen in her mouth, replaced the cap and offered it back to me.
"No thanks," I said "That's your now," which is my standard reply whenever a customer puts a pen in their mouth. I mean, c'mon, I don't lick the pizza box and try to pawn it off on you do I? That's just gross and rude to stick something in your mouth then try to give to someone.
I said "Thank you" and started to leave.
I was on the sidewalk when I heard her start to sputter,
"Uh...uh... fu... f-f- FUCK YOU!!"
I didn't even bother to turn around.

I got back into my battered Pizzacar and drove back to the restaurant.
Now, Pizzalovers are often rude and/or mean to me, but the F-Bomb is hardly ever dropped. After all, we are in Minnesota and "nice" Minnesotans don't say things like that. Too immediate, too direct.
Most Minnesotans will smile and say thank you, then immediately call BS Pizza to complain.

Shit, I've had people who have been completely "nice" to my face, then call my manager to complain that I looked shabby or I didn't make eye contact or complain that I "insulted" their neighborhood (wha?) or they felt embarrassed because they had to show I.D.. Minnesotans are weird that way. (And when I say "weird" I mean totally fake and passive aggressive).

Plus, she was a lawyer. The fact that she mentioned this was especially biting since it made me think of the old asshole stereotypes that dogs lawyers. I mean, I know several lawyers and most are good peeps. However, this girl seemed to say it like it entitled her to some kind of special privilege. This kind of occupational rank-pulling makes me feel very small. Here I am, just doing my job, (a dangerous, poorly paid job at that) and she feels the need to make light that she's a lawyer and somehow that makes her better or more important? Fuck that. If I ever tried to pull that kind of shit in a situation like this, I'd be laughed out of town.
"What's that? Pay a cover to see a band? Uh, no, I'm a Pizzaman..."
Yeah right.

I got back to the shop, walked into the kitchen and was met by the manager on duty.
"What happened on that last delivery?' he asked.
I told him the story.
"Well, she just called" my manager said.
"And..."
"And she apologized"
"No shit?"
"No Shit."
"Well, that was very kind of her," I said, "But I guess I would rather have had her be nice to me in the first place, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess" he said with a laugh.
I counted my money out and went home.

Of all the problems I've had with shitty customers, which happens a couple times a week (and if you multiply that figure times 312 weeks on the job, that's over 600 instances) I have never, ever had anyone to call to apologize.
Awesome.

I guess lawyers aren't that bad after all.