Starry, Starry Night

February 23, 2008 at 3:05 AM | Posted in Riding In Cars With Pizza | 1 Comment
Hold on to your butts, children.  I had to play catch up.  There are three separate new posts, covering about thirty topics.  Captain ADD–
Plus, scroll down the left side for some new American Fortune Cookies!  Better Flavor!  Vitamin Fortified!  Radioactive!

The store sits in the middle of an exclusive and rich subdivision, which is odd.  Contained in a small strip mall, it is barely noticeable.  The landscaping and architecture try to hide what it is because the residents want it both ways:  They want to have the convenience of service, but don’t want to have the eyesore.  Everything has to be *just so*, just a certain way. 
  Because this theme runs throughout the town, addresses are hard to see, lighting is decorate rather than useful, and there is never a logical layout to . . . anything.
  This may not be related, but last night the lights on the strip mall were out.  That means I was walking in complete darkness to my car.  If this were a bad neighborhood–
  But it’s not.  Of course, I’m always wary and suspicious; even though I was robbed 20 years ago the skittishness has not waned.  I am concerned that the others who work here take a less than strident approach to security, and I don’t want to die through someone else’s carelessness. 
  Or trip over something in the dark.

  This area has a large Jewish community.  There is a Jewish School, even.  Or Hebrew School, as they call it.  I delivered there a few weeks ago, and I was up for it again.  This time, I knew where to go, and saved myself alot of walking and some steps.  As I put the pizzas on the table, the lady–teacher, patron, Jewish Princess, what-have-you–the school-marmish woman signed the A/R slip.  I make with the conversation.
  "So, I noticed that these are all cheese pizzas."
  "Yeah, that’s right."
  "Is that because it’s Lent?"
  I didn’t think someone could fluster that easily.  "Uh–no.  See…that’s not….We–"
  I responded quickly, put a hand on her shoulder.  "I was just kidding."
  She relaxed, appeared relieved.  "Oh.  I just didn’t want to have to go there–"  I explained that I have lots of Catholic friends who seem to think that everyone observes Lent.  She then gave me the Cliff Notes version on the rules of Kosher.
  "Wow.  No cheese on a cheeseburger?" I said. 
  A man came up to help with the pizzas said, "When I converted I had to give up baby back ribs.  I miss them."
  That’s why I do what I do.  I talk to customers pretty much any way I want to.  I try to be funny and engaging, because it’s nice when I get it back.  Plus, I’ve just been doing it too long to care what I say to anyone.

  Chris was the closing manager.  I haven’t worked with him much.  I thought he was the quiet one, but it turns out Sam actually is.  Sam is wound tight.  Driven to succeed, he is.  And daft if he thinks Domino’s will provide him that opportunity, but I’m not telling him that. 
  Chris and I exchanged our histories briefly–marital status, children, work history. …aspirations.  It’s a bloody short list.
  He’s been married less than a year, I think.  Baby on the way.  I remember that as an exciting, scary time.  A time when I thought I had to grow up.  He holds no illusions as to what Domino’s has in store for him.  He has no future here.  "This is just till I finish school."  Good for him.
  Because I feel the same way.  As much as I like this–delivering–I can’t keep it up.  In the immortal words of Danny Glover:  "I’m getting too old for this shit."  I can’t see at night, and getting in and out of this car all night kills me knees.  I feel like I’ve been doing a doggie-style marathon, except without the satisfaction–just the knee pain.  Plus, combined with my other two jobs I’m working about 70 hours a week. 
  The irony of me, a homeowner never being home while my girlfriend’s sister–technically a homeless chick–is at my home on her fat ass on my couch all the time is not lost on me, trust me.
  I can’t keep this up forever, no matter how good the money is.  And Good God, the money is good.  These rich people just–it pisses me off.  I want to scream at them.  "Throw more money at me, you fucks!"  But my hope is that in a few months, I won’t need to do this because I’ll have a couple of bills paid off.

  Don’t count your chickens before they cross the road, I know.  I’m just hopeful.  I want to spend more time with Detroit before she decides she can get a better man….
  And leave her sister with me.

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  1. I\’ve missed your sense of humor B~ My modem decided it was tired & when I tried to fix it, it decided to show me who was boss & promptly died…OY VIE! It\’s taken a month for MSN to let me back in… I think they\’re in cohoots with the modem.Good Luck with getting rid of your house guest 😉 Say \’Hi" to Detroit for me!

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