DependsMarch 20, 2008 at 11:53 PM | Posted in Riding In Cars With Pizza | 1 Comment
When I first started delivering pizza–back in the 40s–it was a different world. You young’uns have it easy with yer GPS and yer paved roads. And cars. I delivered pizza on the back of a mule on a cobblestone path. Uphill. Both ways. In the snow. And blazing heat. The weather was odd back then.
But it is different now. Let’s put this in perspective. It was 1991, maybe 92. This was Domino’s. We still had the 30 minute guarantee [As a real guarantee; it meant something. It meant money. When I was a manager, it meant money directly out of my pocket. Customers would always ask the drivers, "Do you have to pay for it when it’s late?" No, of course not. It would be wrong to make the drivers pay for it. But they had no problem making the managers accountable. Lates came directly out of our "bonus." (When you say "bonus" in reference to Domino’s, you always use quotation marks to indicate its very figurative sense.) they have a thirty minute thing now but it’s little more than a suggestion], and the delivery fad was just starting to catch on. Pizza Hut was delivering, but didn’t really know what teh hell they were doing yet, and Papa John’s had not yet entered the scene. WE were king.
I worked at a damn busy store. Let me tell you about my busiest night ever. It was a Friday, and I came in at 5 pm. We closed at 2 am. What is that….9 hours? I took 54 deliveries. If I’m up on all my gazintas, 9 gazinta 54 about 6 times. That’s 6 deliveries per hour, every hour.
What I hoped for was at least four runs per hour. I would hit five and occasionally six, which would help out the average later on in the night when we were slow. But six all night long is something else. I made 170 bucks that night, also, which was really damn good. I’ve had a few hundred, hundred twenty dollar nights. Mostly eighty to ninety. One-seventy was pretty fucking awesome. A little over three bones per run.
But look, this is 1991. A dollar went alot further. Taking inflation into account, 170 back then is equal to about a thousand dollars today. I made one thousand dollars in a night. And kept my pants on.
Serious, it would be about–
Close to 300. That’s alot of fucking money for riding in cars with pizza.
Contrast that with today. Tuesday, it rained. In the olden days, I would have driven my ass off and been pissed and wet all night long. I worked from 530 to midnight, and took 10 deliveries. Ten. Ten fucking runs. That’s about one and a half per hour. I didn’t even get wet enough to bitch about it–and I have a low threshhold, as you might have guessed. The reality is, I took six of them in the last three hours. Ten runs, 30 bucks. Three bucks a run. This is not a normal night, not really. But I was disgusted. The last three mother fucking runs stiffed me.
One of them was to a dorm. I called on my cell when I get there. "Yeah." "Hello, this is Bryan from Domino’s Pizza." "Uhn. Oh. Ah." Click. I wait about ten minutes, wondering if I should call again or just leave. Or–
Two young dudes at a table in the common area where I am waiting offer to buy them from me. I said, "I already made the call. It’d be awkward when they show up."
Finally, the thug appears. The total is 20.50. Perhaps he misunderstood; he gave me 20.55. I’m in no mood. I hand him a nickel back. I said, "Here. You’re not doing me any favors." Like most things in his life, he didn’t understand this.
I thought he was gone, but it turns out he was still in the common room, but almost to the door when I said to the other dudes, "If you would have tipped me, I would have sold them to you." They understood from my tone that the other assclown didn’t tip me.
He may have heard me. All eyes turned to him, because I just called him out. Like I give a shit. You better tip when it’s fucking raining, assholes.