Mysteries Of The Unknown

February 5, 2010 at 10:09 PM | Posted in Riding In Cars With Pizza | Leave a comment
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  What happened to Imo’s?  Yeah, what did happen to them?  I have a new perspective, since I just saw the movie “Up in the Air.”  I was downsized, a victim of reorganization.
The place got a new manager, for one.  Brad–the old manager–was in stage four burnout.  He reached stage 4, allegedly stole from the company, and got fired.  Enter the new guy.  Chris.  He seems like an okay guy from the scant few minutes I spent with him.  He’s not my BFF.
But I had just gotten a regular schedule from Brad, Wednesday and Friday.  And I work Monday-Tuesday-Thursday and Saturday at The Three Jakes.  That leaves Sunday as my one day off, and I was working 70 plus hours between the three jobs.  Was.
Chris had plenty o people on Friday.  It didn’t take much to talk myself into saying, “Hey, if you don’t need me, I could be off that night.”  So I was down to Wednesday.  In preparation for the live event we had a few weeks ago on a Thursday, I called the Big L and asked him if he could cover Wednesday for me.  He said sure ’nuff.  Cool.  That was the 20th, I believe.
I came in the next week–which was last week–and worked.  I was there about an hour and had taken a couple of deliveries when Brian the heroin addict says, “Hey, you know you aren’t even scheduled tonight.”
I looked, because he’s on heroine and generally not a reliable source of information.  Sure enough, no Bryan.  No Bubba, either.  No where on the schedule was my name listed.  Brian said that Chris thought I may have quit.  I had talked to the fucker personally about my schedule.  And I arranged my own substitute.  Nowhere in any of those actions was a demonstration of my desire to quit.
However–
I took two runs that night, and although they tipped me, I still got all kinds of attitude from them.  My life must be soft, because the most confrontation I’ve had to deal with from anyone lately was these two different assholes, each one giving me shit for knocking on the door instead of ringing the doorbell.  If I had only known that it was my last night, I would have told them the truth.
“Why didn’t you ring the doorbell?”
“Why does it fucking matter, asswipe?  It won’t make you open the door any sooner.  Fuck you and your fucking doorbell.  Answer the goddamn door faster or I’m going to put my balls in your pizza next time.”
I missed a golden opportunity.
Oh well.  I cashed out.  Melissa is the cute young girl running the shift, and she is quitting for another job soon; she had already put in her notice.  Since I was only there an hour, I asked if she wanted me to give some of the money back–the bank they give me.  She said, “Keep it.  What do I care?  I’m leaving soon anyway.”
I wonder if I should feel bad about that…
Nah.
So I took two deliveries, got a total of five bucks in tips.  Plus the five bucks in reimbursement.  Plus the 20 dollar bank she let me keep.  I made 30 bucks an hour…for one hour.
I won’t miss the customers.  Most of them are black and belligerent towards white people.  They don’t tip in bad weather, and they always want something for free.  And they drive like retard school just let out and that’s where they all came from–That’s in good weather.  In bad weather, they drive like it’s their first day on this fucking planet.
I won’t miss the bullshit in the store.  One driver taking as many runs as he can and fucking over the rest, and no one can say anything to him.  Whenever a driver shows up to work, the rest look at him like he’s leper.  “Do you just want to go home?” is the nicest thing you’ll hear.  Vultures, all of them.  The problem with anarchy is that the pay is erratic.
But I will miss the free pizza.

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