Delivery story 447 Bear writes: I work at a Donato's in central Ohio. (As far as I've read this is the first Donato's story.) We're known for edge to edge thin crust so the gripe about customers tipping the box REALLY irks us. I have to admit that compared to most of the other drivers I am somewhat spoiled. My GM is a former Army supply sergeant. My AGM is a former Army Cav scout and sniper. I myself am a former Army Ranger (3rd Batt, Benning) and green beret (5th group SF, Campbell.) The background comes into play in the stories. But because of this we all see eye-to-eye. I get to pick the no-night and never deliver zones, and my word is always taken if there's a customer dispute. We unfortunately have the corporate policy that if a no-night/never deliver order is taken and the food is in the oven before the mistake is caught (usually an inside person on the phone when all the drivers are on the road) we still have to deliver it. Being combat trained and armed to the teeth, I volunteer to take them if I'm there. So far, three years and haven't been robbed successfully yet. Though every other driver that's been there more than 6 months has been. But that sets the stage for the first two humorous stories of failed attempts (out of 5 so far) and then one happy story about a better than a tip run. Failed attempt #1: August in Ohio, 105 degrees outside, 95% humidity, and taking a run to an apartment complex I used to live in. Not the best neighborhood, but not a no-night delivery either. As I pulled up to the customers house, I noticed a group of about five teenagers all wearing hoodies hanging around a car about 100 feet away. (Warning sign #1.) I took the food to the little old lady that ordered it, keeping my peripheral vision trained on the group of hoodies. She had paid by credit card and gave me a nice $3 cash tip. As I turned to head the 8 feet back to my car I saw one of them walking over, the only one with any balls. (Warning sign #2.) He hollers out for a cigarette. I ignored him as I have cash in hand (which I quickly pocket.) He came closer, asking again. I respond that I don't smoke and opened up my driver side door, keeping car between him and me 15 feet away. He asks if I could give him a dollar. (Warning sign #3.) I reply that I don't have any as I tossed the now empty hot bag (fortunately last delivery of the run) into the passenger's seat. He asks what about the money you just got. I reply as my right foot is on the car's floorboard, sorry, that's not mine to give. At this point he grabs my car door (open window) leans in and says threateningly that it's about to be his money. Without missing a beat, I chuckle, look him dead in the face, say "Oh, really?" plop into the seat and proceed to forcefully slam his hand in the door. He yelps in pain and his very quickly swelling and bruising hand (I do hope I broke something, he he) releases the door. During this exchange, the other four are starting to run over, which I noticed, having never taken my eyes off of them either. So I started the engine, backed up quickly, using the rear bumper to stop their pursuit, and peeled out. I laugh audibly as I see the first one doubled over in pain holding his hand while the other 4 futilely run after me, fading into the background of my rear-view mirror. Moral to the story: To quote Batman Begins, "Be mindful of your surroundings." Or as per one of the Army mottoes: Stay Alert, Stay Alive. Failed Attempt #2: There's an area of one of the streets we deliver to that has this one house that from March to November (too much of a bunch of pussies for the cold I guess) always has 10-15 young people (15-26 year-olds) hanging out front and very obviously up to nothing good. (Gang colors, drugs, and weapons.) One night I had a delivery to the house across the street. (I volunteered for this one for obvious reasons.) As I pulled into the driveway and approached the door, I heard from across the street, "Hey, it's a pizza guy!" which in that neighborhood sets my Spidey Sense to active. I deliver to the young single black female (statistically our worst tippers) and as expected get less than 50 cents tip. As I turned around, I saw one of their cars with 4 of them (the hoodlums) in it pull in behind me and block me in. All four doors open in unison and all four get out at the same time. (Fortunately my last delivery of the run, again.) I dropped the hot bag, bow-up, take a fight stance, put on my war face, and start to reach for my SOG (ka-bar like combat knife for those who don't know.) At this point all four get right back in their car without saying a word, shut the doors, back up, and peel out down the road. I noticed everyone else at the "bad house" across the street goes inside and locks the door. I boldly snatch up the hot bag, and march to the car and leave, laughing to myself as soon as I shut the door. Every time the lady orders and I deliver it, the people across the street just go inside. I still don't know if it was my reaction or that they read my plates and bumper sticker (Army plates and SF sticker) or a combination of both that scared them off. Moral to this story: If you look like a target, you're a target; but, if you look like trouble, they'll think twice about it. Good Story: While winters here don't bring as much snow as other areas, we do get a lot of icy roads. On one cold, somewhat snowy and definitely icy night, I made a run to a customer's house in the poorer part of our area. Even though she invited me inside while she paid, I was kind of put off by the coin change tip for the bad weather, but shrugged and walked back to the car. As I started to back out, I realized too late that there was a frozen dip at the end of the driveway, and I got stuck. After hearing my tires squeal for the better part of 15 minutes, the customer and her son came out and helped push me free of the mini-ditch. I thanked them whole-hardheartedly for the help. She then told me how sorry she was for not being able to afford much more for the tip, but she would try to do better next time and actually seemed sincere. (She did become one of our better tippers for the area, and consistent if nothing else.) I told them both bless you for the help, that it meant more to me in that instance than a tip and no help would have. Her response was that she just wished she could do more, but her oven was broken and needed something hot to feed her kids. (I later found out she has five kids, the oven really was broken, and she doesn't have a car.) Now even when she doesn't have anything other than coin change for a tip (which is rare) I smile, thank her, and let her know she's one of my favorite customers. return to top