The Last Picture Show

January 17, 2011 at 12:40 AM | Posted in Riding In Cars With Pizza | Leave a comment
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Fall 1991

It was a beautiful fall evening in the suburbs, and everything seemed normal and quiet and I surveyed my domain.  I wasn’t sure how much longer this car would last, though–
But for now it was running well; I just had it back on the road after replacing the shifter.  I buzzed around in the little Toyota with the sunroof open–of course–and enjoying the weather that was still warm enough to do so without looking like a crackpot.  It was after 9 pm so the major rush was long over, but for the few drivers left we still had business, and business is good.
I dropped off the first order of my double without anything remarkable happening, and headed off to the other stop.  Once I found the house, I park against the near-nonexistent curb and cut the wheel.  It’s enough of a bump to keep the car from rolling away, since I don’t have a parking brake–this way I don’t have to turn the engine off.
It’s a standard house in the subdivision, but I remember it had cedar shingles.  Close to the end of the dead end part of the street, so there wasn’t any traffic that didn’t have to be there.  I knock on the door and a guy answers, and holds the door wide for me.  “Pizza man!  Alright!  Come on in!”
Yeah, I know we aren’t supposed to.  If I had a nickel for every time I didn’t follow the rules, my tip average would be higher.  I step in.
The dude that answered the door disappeared to find money–I hope.  I was standing in the living room, and there were three people on the couch.  Two dudes, and a chick.
The dudes looked like dudes.  A little older than me, but that’s not saying much.  One had long hair and a 3/4 sleeve concert shirt, so I assume he was a time-traveler from the 70s.  The other guy looked like a truck driver–hat, slight beard, flannel over a greasy t-shirt.  The chick in question–let’s call her Bethany–Bethany was cute in an escaped-from-rehab kinda way.  Plain face, no makeup.  Revealing top that her boobs sprang out of because she needed to accent her best feature, and straight, flat, dirty blonde hair.  They just sat there, watching TV, then they would one by one glance at me, then glance back at the TV.  They did this a couple of times.  I turned towards the TV.
They were watching porn.
Three guys and one chick, watching porn.  Somebody is getting lucky tonight.  And somebody is getting an STD.
The guy came out with the money, and hesitated, as he caught the eye of the long-haired dude, and some unspoken communication passed between them.  The girl glanced my way, and then at the other guy.  Long-hair nudged her, I think.
I hope I’m better at concealing my expressions now than I was then.  My interpretation is that they were maybe hoping to barter a piece of ass for some pizza.  Maybe they didn’t know how to go about this either–I mean, it always looks easy in the porn movies, because they have a script and everything.
But the uncomfortable moment passed, and the guy paid me money, giving me a three-dollar tip.
It’s probably for the best, anyway.  I was married at the time, and as much as I crave to be the center of attention, performing in front of others in that way might be awkward.  *Might be*?  Shit.  Plus, would it all be male on female?  I like surprises, but I don’t want to be mounted from behind.  I guess it’s a fine line.

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