It seemed like just another afternoon in my microcosm of hell on earth: delivering hot pizza pies for what we call a "living". Often I have thought that society views our relationship (customer and driver) as a king to a peasant one, spitting upon our faces for we share no dignity and should remain penniless. Along the same chord as the busboy, the bellhop, the trashman, or the roadside ruffian begging for cigarettes and polished nickels (Yeah, when you throw the change try to leave a bruise). All those things are beside the real story here. I have been the proud owner of a beaten----I mean beaten to crap 1996 puke-green Sentra. If they remake a modern day Mad Max, my elephant man import would have a starring role. Even small children know a piece of junk when they see it. I have been delivering since 1994, and must say.........it has left a permanent scar. Not that there isn't good times, it's just on my days off. So here is an inspiring, real-life story between pizza boy and his disabled friend, Mr. Perkins.........(Set some years ago).
It is not that I have a disliking of handicapped people, not at all; just this one. Why? Well, he lived in the apartment right across the street from where I work. I used to help close the store 5 days a week, and this fellow would order really late at night, which meant I had to take it since the maggot I closed with totally refused to deliver it. He was one of those dudes who saw what following run would develop after his, didn't want to go there, took as long as he could on his delivery till you got back, and if you had not yet arrived when he was finished he waited across the street at the local drugstore. I usually had no problems delivering his crappy $5 sandwich a few times a week. The common routine was going up three flights of stairs, knocking on his door, waiting 5 minutes, bringing it to his kitchen counter, and taking his greasy quarters for a tip. This dude had no legs..........no problem. I was happy to bring his food to the dining area and even chat for a few minutes; heck, I waited 5 minutes to deliver the stuff I might as well blow a few more to be nice. I even started opening his door and calling out his name, walking in to search for the man and his hunger. But sometimes it was locked and all pizza drivers HATE waiting 5 or more minutes before someone answers or pays, especially for that generic buck or nothing at all.
There were troubles with this guy and plenty of them. First of all, the guy was in a wheelchair...........no problem. But he arrived at the door nearly nude sometimes with nothing but a small towel (you know, like a hand towel) draped over the groin area. Don't ask me why, I don't know, I don't think he was gay. One time I cracked the door open and he was yelling from his bedroom, "Hey man, pizza dude, can you help me? I'm in my room!" Of course I was a little nervous to see what he had in store for me. What could happen, I thought, what if I went in there and suddenly even the little towel was gone. God help me! But when I stepped into the apartment a deafening noise was blaring from his bedroom. I scoped out my path to the room and slowly peeked my head around the door only to find him lying in bed with his TV up full blast. You could barely hear yourself let alone anything. He said, "Hey, could you do me a favor and find my remote! The television is too loud, man!" Mr. Perkins relayed that he thought the controller slipped beneath the bed. So there I was diving for cover and searching for my sanity in a stranger's chamber. I almost expected him to next ask me to roll him over and change out his bedpan. I'm a bleeping delivery driver for a pizza monger, not a nurse, not a volunteer, just a guy who has made some mistakes and is trying to put some bread on the table for his family.
Nonetheless, I found his TV remote and turned down the volume from a ear bleeding 70 to a sensible mute button at the time. I had my doubts; was this some sick charade to test the boundaries of what I was willing to do. I mean how does something like that exactly happen? Does one turn up the television as loud as possible and ACCIDENTLY have the controller slip out of one's hand and under the bed. Not likely. Well, I received my dollar for my troubles, but this foreshadowed an even greater evil.
The afternoon..........a time in pizza delivery when tips plunge even further and the business sector comes out to play. I work days in accordance to my nights because.......well because I can't make enough tips at night. But one particular day, shortly after the remote ordeal, Mr. Perkins' order appeared. Certainly I was in rotation to take it because that's how the pizza gods work. If there's room left in your backside they'll find a way to fill it.
I proceeded to drive through his complex, find a place to park, and walk toward his building with the horror of my last delivery still fresh in my mind. I started to pass this maroon and gold-trimmed Cadillac when the driver door opened, swiftly blocking my way and accompanied by a sinister voice, "I knew it would be you, man. Can you help me? My nurse couldn't make it today and I gotta get out of my car." ..........uh, huh. I braced myself for the worst and told him, "Certainly."
The task was to remove and assemble his wheelchair which someone had crammed into the trunk and "load" his dead weight into the chair. Four or five minutes passed and we were off and rolling. His building had an elevator so we cruised up to the third floor and made our way into his palace of pain. At that time I had an epiphany......my job sucked beyond all my expectations. Here I was, helping this man out, making everyone else's order late, and in return I would receive some shiny new coins for my childhood piggy bank.
We entered the kitchen where I put his sandwich and beverage on the table while he muttered obscenities about the nurses who stabbed him in the back by stealing his possessions. I whipped out my hand for the money, gave him the difference, and Mr. Perkins took out a crisp, new one dollar bill for my curbside service. What a great guy. Drives a pimped out Caddy and has just enough leftover to stuff my pockets with a single greenback. I walked away disgusted.........disgusted with my job, disgusted with myself, and disgusted with our way of life, only to deliver another day.........
