Through the Eyes of a Delivery Goddess |
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I'm sure you can guess what this story is about by its title. Breaking the piggy bank to order food. I worked in a small privately owned pizza shop for a short while. Because the shop had been in town for many years, the owner, we'll call her J, knew many of her customers on a first name basis. Receipts were all hand written, so there were many times I'd get just a name on the receipt, rather than an actual address, and I'd have to ask her where these people lived. If she wasn't working that day, there was a rolodex with phone numbers so we could call people and get directions. It didn't take long to learn a lot of the regulars. Unfortunate for me, many of the regulars were folks who ordered from the bar where they hung out every night, or folks who drank a lot at home and ordered on a regular basis. Bars are not an atmosphere I've frequented in my lifetime, so I was always a bit apprehensive about going in, but actually, never found any problems or trouble at any place she sent me. There was one fellow who started calling every Thursday night from his home, right at closing time, which was 11pm. Because she considered this guy a friend, she'd make his food, I'd pay for it ahead of time so I didn't have to go back to the shop afterward, and I could just drop it off on my way home. The first few Thursdays went fine - he was pretty drunk, but pleasant and courteous. The fourth or fifth time I dropped his Thursday snack off to him, he paid me with a handful of change. I dropped it all in my pocket with the rest of my change, never gave it a thought, and went home for the night. I counted it the next day, and without knowing exactly how much change I already had in my pocket, I'd say he was a bit short, but I didn't know how much. The following Thursday was the same scenerio, and again, I dumped it in my pocket, but this time, I was definatetly short; didn't know much I had to begin with again, but I did not have enough change to cover the cost of his food. The next Thursday, I kept his change separate - he had shorted me a little over two dollars. I didn't say anything; I let it ride one more week to see if he shorted me even more, and he did. Close to $3. I finally told J that he was paying me in handfuls of change that never quite covered the cost of his food, and it was getting shorter and shorter. I guess she called him - the next time, he appologized over and over and gave me a two dollar tip. It didn't really make up for the money he had already shorted me in the weeks prior, but at least he knew he'd been busted. It wasn't long after that, there was another incident that was a contributing straw in the proverbial camel's back, so I didn't have to deal with him too many additional weeks. Some friend! And of course, no pizza delivery person's biography is complete without the young kids, watching themselves for a half hour while mommy runs to the store, or to pick up daddy from work - they're usually around 8 - 13 years old, and one of them gets the bright idea, "Let's clean out our piggy bank and order pizza." It's never enough, and you know there's no way they'd think to count the money before they order. I can remember letting probably five or six different households of kids slide for three or four bucks when you knew they did not plan ahead, or ask mom if t hey could order pizza while the baby sitter was there, or whatever. Eh - at times like that, it's worth watching the smiles when you say, "Don't worry about it, I'll cover it this time," and they think they're BIG PEOPLE now because they ordered food with no help from an adult. And there have been times, when you arrive at a house and get rolled coins from adults who had to break the bank to have a little bit of junkfood. My rolled coins always go to the gasoline stations. I'm sure they love me just as much as I loved broke people who ordered food.... |