Five bucks

2002-03-06 - 4:49 p.m.

...but this isn't about that. No, this is about pizza.

I used to deliver pizza.

I got paid to tool around in my Jeep and listen to music and bring you your food. In the summer, the top came down (on the Jeep). If you've ever ridden in a convertible, I don't need to explain what a joy that is. If you haven't, cut the top half of your car off and live a little.

Cush job, would be a good way of describing most of it. Sure, there were parts that sucked like a Hoover. Unhappy food service customers are easily the biggest assholes on Earth. Still, you have to remind yourself that you're making money for semi-aimless meandering, singing to your new tape, smoking more butts than you need, and letting someone else's food ride shotgun.

It's good work if you can get it.

Bad weather wasn't even a drawback. You bring Joe's family their dinner half an hour late in the middle of a blizzard, and you're their hero. People tip big when the weather's bad enough they wear a coat just to answer the front door.

I never made as much in tips as I did during the tornado. Actually, that should be pluarl, as there were three different tornados tearing shit up at the same time that night.

So, what I'm saying here people, is that sometimes, after a day of monkey-grinding at the office, and public-transiting my ass home, when it's rainy and miserable and I'm feeling rainy and miserable, I'll find myself ordering pizza. When it arrives, here's a $5 tip.

$5, not for the pizza.

$5 for the memories.