CURBSIDE ETIQUETTE

Through the Eyes of a Delivery Goddess



Below you will find links to dates when new entries are added. The stories will not necessarily be in chronological order, but rather as I remember them. I am dating them so that you can skip to new ones you haven't read since the last time you visited, and so that you are more easily able to find something you found humorous to share with others.
Poke, Poke


On Saturday mornings, after we deliver our Saturday papers for the day, we head back to the depot to assemble whatever parts of the Sunday paper are available ahead of time. Usually a section of comics, (usually two sections around Christmas time), and a section we call "the Living section" which is something like D through F or whatever. SEctions A through B or C come out Sunday morning, because those are the front pages with the current news - the Living section contains the articles about the events happening around town, and opinion stuff, political columns and the like. Things that can be printed ahead of time. After we are done "stuffing" papers, I usually stop at Sheetz to get Bob and I sandwiches for brunch. They make some pretty good sandwiches for a very reasonable price. Don't get any drinks though - THAT's where they getch-ya.

This past Saturday, I had placed my order, paid for it, and was standing near the counter waiting for them to call my number. A clean cut gentleman in a tee shirt and jeans approached me. He was perhaps around 50 - 55 years old, and since I'm only five feet tall, I nearly looked him eye-to-eye. His full head of hair was short but slicked back and to the side, he was age-stalky, just like the rest of us who get a bit "thicker" after we pass our 40th birthdays. I was bummie in my newspaper clothes; the way the ink rubs off on your clothes and hands, you don't dare wear anything of value to deliver newspapers. He reached out and poked me near my shoulder, but actually more in my upper chest area, even with my arm pit, using the first two fingers on his left hand and said, "We won by one point." I wasn't even exactly certain what he'd said, I was still rather distracted by the poking, so I said, "I'm sorry,... excuse me?" He poked me again and glanced down at the front of my dirty, holey sweatshirt and said, "Penn State ... We beat the Tigers by one point in over time last night." I laughed (relieved) and said, "Ooooohh ... I'm sorry, after football season, I don't follow anything too closely. It must have been a good game!" I assumed he meant basketball, I couldn't think of anything else that might apply. It was when he nudged my bicept that I realized each poke and the nudge was very close to the words "Nittany Lions" on the front of my shirt - that's why he was poking me - he was silently explaining the sentence he'd blurted out at me. Using his gravely, Pittsburghese, union member/iron worker style dialect, he uttered a few more sentences about the game and some kind of Swoosh shot at buzzer while I politely tried to be interested. He walked away mumbling, "Ya, it was a good game..."

Only at Sheetz, and only in Pittsburgh! You know they say that asking directions in Pittsburgh is the only place where people will TAKE you there, rather than just explain it. We're just friendly that way.