Meerkat Manor

I happened upon Turk and Usher waxing philosophic during a smoke break. The topic of conversation was Meerkat Manor. Usher explained emphatically, "I'm gonna get season 1 when I get off work." Turk quickly added, obviously surprised by this news, "That's out already, dang." They continued to debate which "character" on the show was their favorite.
Usher- "Man, Sunshine is the original gansta, the way she watched over her young, she'd wax anyone who came near, she can't be out-thugged."
Turk- "Yeah, it's sad that Rocket Dog and Maybelline gotta do it alone, now that Sunshine got her face bit by that 'effn' snake"
(They both shared a grim laugh at the expense of Sunshine's swollen face at the account of the snake bite, and her subsequent death--though both seemed to lament her death simultaneously.
They shared several inevitable Mafioso comparisons to the Whiskers family before disseminating back to deliveries--not before Turk displayed several well timed if not obviously well practiced impressions of the late Sunshine the Meerkat.

Glow in the dark Dolphins, and other musings

My official manager, Thomas, a thirty something goat-tee wearer, decided to ride with me on delivery two nights back.  I thought this might be a good time to get to know each other better.  He thought it a better time to talk on his motorola blue tooth.  Before he seamlessly, and with no warning, began speaking in his headset, he was telling me of a 1991 motor-less Nissan Maxima that he purchased from a man he found on Craig's List.  The confusion, for me, began when he started speaking to someone on his blue tooth about said Maxima.  Since I was driving, thus looking forward at oncoming traffic, I couldn't look at the vacant stare that accompanies people who are talking on such devices; nor could I see the blue light blinking above his ear indicating a phone conversation in progress.  That being said, it took me several minutes to realize that he was no longer speaking to me about the Maxima, but to an anonymous person via the headset.  I only realized my faux pas after answering him, several times, in a conversation I was not a part of. 

After the call, and the delivered pizza, he asked me to stop by his house.  This I was unsure about.  Thomas is eccentric, to say the least.  Eccentric in a Dwight Shrute matter of speaking.  I entered his home under caution.  He boasted of the new pleather furniture he recently purchased as he ushered me through the living area back to his kid's room where he showed me the reason for this detour back to pizza base.  There in front of me were three puzzles featuring an assorted arrangement of dolphins that Thomas had glued together and pasted to the wall.  He was most proud of the puzzles glow-in-the-dark capabilities of which he spent several minutes appropriately darkening the room to prove.  I feigned amazement as I slowly realized this was the lone reason he originally got in my car.  Back at base, as I began to recount the story to a coworker named Robby, I said, "Thomas took me to his house."  Before I could finish Robby quipped, "Did he show you the dolphins?"  I was a tad bit sad that Thomas did not in deed judge me to be dolphin worthy unique.

Huggy Bear

A Filipino restaurant I frequented in latter days has reopened its doors in shopping center.  It now resides in what formerly was a mexican market, and before that a tomb stone shop.  As I was picking up a dish of curry to go the owner, a 5'5 filipino woman with dark, exotic skin, a thick accent, and fake bosoms, asked to give me a hug.  I agreed.  It was a very matter of fact action.  She asked, I consented, we embraced, I left with curry in tow.  I have since asked around and have come to the realization that this behavior is commonplace.  She hugs her guests as they leave.  I immediately wondered if this behavior would translate in the world of pizza delivering.  I'm eager to try in out this evening.  "Here's your pie, your total is 14.43, owe a two dollar tip, thank you, may I have a hug?"  I'll have to include my fellow drivers on the matter, though their filthy minds will surely take it somewhere I intend it not to go (read Patrick Dempsey in "Loverboy" http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0097790/.  stay tuned...

The hijacking of "keep the change"

"Keep the change," that much sought after phrasing all drivers long for has been hijacked by a grouping of people laboring under the traditional social decorum long held by the driver and patron. I had a young man hand me a wad of cash with a shiny dime on top today. His total reached $18.09, he said with pious confidence, and the non-verbal that often accompanies an action in which one person feels as though he is bestowing graciousness upon another person who is in need--squinted eyes, pretentious head nodding, no eye contact, soft voice decibal-- all very bless his heart-esque, "keep the change." I got to my ride to count the booty only to discover the change I was so graciously keeping was not change in the correct etymological sense, but rather was an actual cent. He would have been correct to say "keep the cent." However, how could he say "keep the cent" and feel the self-importance that goes along with saying "keep the change." I've noticed that this gadfly is not alone in his miss usage of the long steadied traditional phraseology. Many like him toss "keep the change" around as if they too belong in the same tipping category as those who use it properly. It has long been a generational tradition in the field of pizza delivering, and any other service oriented career, that "keep the change" most assuredly refers to nothing less than .95 cents, and usually equals a dollar or more. The prideful look on the faces of the thieves as they steal and abuse this ancient phrase sickens me. They should not reap the same benefits (sleeping well at night, sticking your nose in the air with confidence, bossing the driver to bring you parmasean cheese from their vehicle) of those who are properly keeping with correct social dynamics. They should have to site the specific amount they are giving, "keep the nickel" or if that is too degrading perhaps they could subscribe to the idom "keep the rest" or "have the leftovers." We must take a stand against those who are set on running our time tested traditions through the mud or before you know it these cowards will hijack "don't write a check your butt can't cash" or "git er done," and then where will we all be, what kind of socially confusing situations will our grandchildren find themselves in, not to mention immigrants trying to learn our colloquial language systems.

Angry Customers pt.1

Nothing tickles me more than sincere anger. Showing up at a patrons home an hour late is always a treat. Sometimes I am disappointed to find a laid back, tip-wielding mother of four, grateful to have the food, understanding of what I must have gone through to deliver her goods. However, more often I find the disgruntled, mumbler type who spouts his/her grievances. These cowardly types are all the same. "How much of a discount do I get for it being an hour late"--"I'm never ordering from here again"--"Took Long enough"-- I can't help but to have a blatant smile spread wide across my face at the flustered tones and dim witted criticisms. I have developed a standard reply to such encounters. I begin by letting the patron spew what they may. Then I begin staring at their eyeballs. (in my estimation the expected social decorum for the driver at this point is to apologize for the inconvenience and, perhaps, blame it on some scapegoat back at pizza headquarters, i choose neither of these options)-- I, in earnest response, ask them if I can take the pizzas back to the store, and report to my manager that you were dissatisfied with your service. Of course they will never choose this option, they've been waiting for their pizzas for an hour, they're starving. I, however, care not whether they opt for it or not: A) i'm not getting a tip, so I'm in this encounter for the jollies B) if they send it back i get to eat it, and we'll be greeted as a hero by my fellow workers for providing a snack for all. This approach usually throws the patron off his spiel. The balls in my court now. Now he/she is like, "No, please don't take it back, I'm starving."
The other method I exercise is the detailed excuse. In this method I methodically, and with intentionally painstaking, and unnecessary detail, account to the patron detail by detail as to what I have been busying my self with for the past hour. It goes something like this: Ma'am/Sir, It all started when Turk, he's a delivery driver like me--I call him Turk on account of the show Scrubs-- locked up the computer back at the store. So, you see, I had to wait 5 minutes to log out your order. Then, well, since we're shorthanded tonight because of this girl Brandy--she's a delivery driver like me-- called in at the last minute-- apparently, she had a falling out with her boyfriend over him watching her kids while she was at Beauty school during the day. Anyway, so In front of your pizza's I had two others, on opposite ends of town. The first delivery went to some migrant workers at the Royal Inn. It took longer than usual there because we had to get someone from two rooms down who spoke a garbled mixture of Spanglish to come translate the total to them--that took 28 minutes. Then, my next delivery went to an apartment complex, only the girl back at the store Candy, she couldn't hear the lady well on the phone--when she was ordering (because our phones at the store are so archaic) so she entered down the wrong apartment number. So, after knocking on the wrong door, I had to call the cell phone number on the ticket and talk to the lady, find out the right number, then deliver her the pie-- that took 25 minutes. So, you see ma'am/sir, all this, plus driving time, led me to your door later than you expected. By then they'll do anything to get me to leave.

Descartes around the watercooler

As deliveries became scarce last night, discussions heated around the watercooler (metaphorically, actually around the dishwasher). The question was posed as to whether or not unicorn's exist. I sided on the assertion laid forth by Descartes, he of "I think, therefore I am fame." I asked Gene, an older gentlemen known for limping and calling Turk's mistress a hoochie to her face, if he has seen wings--"yes"-- what about a horse--"yes"--how about a horn--"yes"--well then what's to say all these don't exist somewhere in the form of a majestical flying horse known affectionately as a unicorn. I also employed the "They didn't know there were red men in a Brazilian rainforest until last week" defense--which seemed to get raised eyebrows. Gene was sold. Marquise, a cook whom Turk calls Usher on account of their likeness, wasn't. His argument rested on the widespread belief on such creatures, basically, he hasn't seen one, so they must not exist. Turk was optimistic, "If unicorns come out, I'm going to get me one of those joints. People will say, hey man, you got one of those unicorns, and i'll say, yeah, I got a white and brown one, picked him up bootleg before they hit the streets."

Strategery pt.2

In the last tip strategizing post I focused primarily on tips in regards to cash orders. Since that time, I have developed a strategy for shaming tips out of patrons who have used debit/credit cards to pay over the telephone. On a receipt for such orders, which I carry to the patrons door to be signed, there is a total listed--followed by a blank dash for a tip and another blank dash for the complete total. There are three ways, I have found in my limited experience, for a patron to approach said receipt: 1) put a tip in the first blank and an adjusted total in the next--needless to say, I fancy this as the most appropriate approach. 2) put a zero in the first blank (cheap wanker) and the total in the second. 3) Just sign the ticket, leaving both dashes blank. This third approach is the subject for the stategizing session. I opine that leaving both dashes blank, and merely signing the ticket, is the patron's way of feigning ignorance to the proper tip- to- driver decorum. I, for weeks, let the patron get away with this disgusting behavior, but nevermore. Now, I say to the patron, "Would you mind putting in the total in the dashes. This way I don't have to the write the total in my own handwriting--giving an heir of dishonesty" (The dishonesty speil is for my own kicks, I'm trying to paint myself out to be a boyscout trying to get a merit badge, but in reality I'm giving the patron a look like a chessplayer gives his foe, I'm making my move and tapping the timer).I say all this to put the patron in an obvious social quandry. Now, the patron can either put the zero there, and thus win the standoff (which I must say I applaud, it takes gumption to put the zero there while i'm staring a hole through you), or put the tip in the blank. So far it's worked 3 out of 4 times (some punk, pimpled face, teenager got the best of me).