May 2007

It's Springtime... and the crazies start calling

Yes, Spring is finally here.
After a relatively short but brutal Winter that I didn't think would end, the season of renewal has arrived.
Hallefuckinlujah!
Of course, Spring isn't all short skirts and blooming flowers, it's also the season where the money starts to dry up on the Streets of Pizza. Tips are way down and the Pizzalovers can't seem to get their shit together. It seems every other delivery I'm left waiting on someone's doorstep while they slowly make their way to the door or they search for their payment or they try to figure out what planet they're on.
Seriously, I've had more whack-ass customers in the last month than I did the whole winter.

For example:

-The woman who insisted I deliver to her back door, yet greeted me with the batshit-crazy cries of "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!?" and "GET THE FUCK OFF OF MY LAWN!" when I entered her back yard. It was only after I identified myself as The Pizzaman that she calmed down. She was standing on her back porch, a dead ringer for Ruth Gordon and I totally expected her to whip out a double-barrel shotgun and waste my ass. Finally, she calmed down a bit and I asked for her card and I.D., since she had charged the pizza on her Visa. She responded by saying she didn't have a driver's license. I told her I really needed to see her I.D. if she wanted to charge the order. Again, she said she didn't have a driver's license. This went a few rounds, then somehow she slipped into the story about how she found her dog. "I found her standing in the street, all alone. Isn't she cute?". The crazed woman opened her door so I could see her scruffy little mutt standing on her bed. As she opened the door, I was overwhelmed by the stench of urine. I started to turn away, but not before I saw a pool of liquid start to form underneath the pooch.
"Isn't she cute?" the woman said again.
"Yup. Sure is." I replied, before asking for her I.D. yet again.
"I told you, I don't have a driver's license. How about a passport?"
I told her that a passport would be OK and she disappeared inside the house, leaving me staring at the dog through the screen door and trying not to breathe.
As I waited, the little dog approached the door, reared up on it's back legs and put it's front paws on the screen door.
Although it was a small dog, it was sporting a huge erection.
That poor dog, it possessed a massive dog-dong, yet was repeatedly referred to as a "she" by it's owner.
I felt sorry for the little mutt.
Finally, the woman came back to the door with, get this, a drivers's license.
She filled out the credit card slip, called me a "fucking bum" and said that BS Pizza was run by a bunch of "fucking bastards" (I agreed with that last one).
After I got the signed credit slip in my hand I thanked her and made a hasty retreat.

- The old man who answered the door wearing nothing but a t-shirt that was two sizes too small.
This morbidly obese dude opened the door to reveal his Jabba-like bod clad in a tiny t-shirt that only covered his man-boobs. He smiled at me with his yellow, severely fucked-up teeth and started breathing heavily. Although I was totally grossed out, I smiled back and asked for the payment. He turned around to grab the cash off his kitchen counter, revealing his massive cottage-cheese ass in the process. Seriously people, this guy's ass was gigantic.
I took the money, thanked him (he tipped rather well) and split.
I thanked God above that this guy was fat, for his gut was so big and hung down so low that it covered his junk.
Praise Jesus.

-Lately, I've been delivering to this older woman, probably mid-fifties, that I can only describe as creepy.
Like, seriously creepy, dude.
Unfortunately I cannot put into words exactly how creepy.
Actually, she's rather nice and if I wrote down the words exchanged during the delivery, it would seem fairly normal, but it's just that she has this weird je ne sais quo that makes my skin crawl.
On the Creep-o-meter, I'd put her somewhere between Dennis Hopper in "Blue Velvet" and your Uncle sticking his dick in your ear while you're sleeping.

- The confused/stoned/mentally ill dipshit.
I arrived at this dude's apartment and called, per instructions. He answered and said he'd be down in "a second".
Well, five minutes passed and he still hadn't come down to the door. As I reached into my pocket for my phone to call again, he finally arrived.
He was a 20-something guy wearing a black t-shirt. He looked pretty normal.
"Hi!" I said, "It'll be $19.53"
He shook his head.
"You got the wrong guy. I'm waiting for [BS Pizza]"
I thought to myself "What the fuck? I'm standing here with a [BS Pizza] shirt, a pizzabag and a little paper bag containing his soda. What's wrong with this dude?"
I stood there for a second appraising the situation, then told him I WAS from [BS Pizza].
"No, no, dude. I ordered a PIZZA" he said, shaking his head again.
I looked at the order slip, then at him.
"You mean a medium with sausage and pepperoni and two soda's?"
"Yeah"
"Well, I'm your guy"
"No, no..." he started.
I read off his name, address, phone number, then pointed at the pizzabag.
"How did you know that?" he asked, looking confused.
"Because you told me over the phone" I countered.
"Oh..."
He handed me a five dollar bill.
"Thanks a lot, dude" he said, putting his hands out for the pizza.
I looked down at the fiver, then back at him.
"This is five bucks, man"
"Oh... uh... isn't that enough?" he asked.
"Nope"
He reached into his pocket and handed me a twenty.
"Is that enough?" he asked.
"Sure" I said, handing over the pizza and the sodas.
He looked at the pizza, then back at me.
"Wow! That was easy!" he said, grinning.

Yeah dude, maybe for you...

Posted by The Pizza Man at May 18, 2007 11:52 AM

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