Delivery story 482 B-Cash writes: I worked at Farley's Pizza in Charlotte, NC a few years back. The delivery area is a nice, safe one near the South Carolina boarder and next to the 'Ballantyne' area, a rich banker's golf homes kind of place. One particular blazing hot day in July 2010 will hold a special place in my heart, as I was humbly brought back to understanding humanity, and what matters in life. I had a double delivery sometime around 7 PM on a Saturday. The first was a $78.86 delivery into a rich golf neighborhood north of the store. As I pull up to the location, the images that greet me are that of 5 or 6 kids running around playing in the large front yard, a grandiose stone fountain flanking a half-moon cobblestone driveway, and a massive glass front door shielding a sparkling chandelier. I proceed to the front door... The man who answers the door bell is not a day past 30, wearing clothes that he recently had golfed in, and the apparent lack of a smile. (Must have been a bad day on the course, I thought.) As he quickly asks for the total, I struggle to un-package his 6 pizzas from their safekeeping in the hot boxes. I tell him the $78.86 cash total, and he proceeds to thumb through his bulky money clip. Sorting out four $20 bills, he hands them to me with the ringing line of "keep the change." The door closes. Dumbfounded, I return to my car, steam almost visible pouring from my ears. How dare he, barely a $1.00 tip on $80 worth of food. Six large pizzas are heavy, by the way, up your steep front steps. I collect myself and then realize my second delivery is only a $12.66 tab. Oh great, I thought. Looks like this whole little outing will net me about $2. Glancing from my GPS to the entrance of the next neighborhood, I quickly realize I'm heading into one of the only trailer parks in this area. Great, I think again to myself. At least I found the trailer in quick fashion, and grab the small pizza + 2 liter of coke. I emerge from the car into the searing sun. At the front door, I knock. Immediately I am greeted with a whooping, "Yes! The pizza guy's here." "Open up buddy, come on in. It's hot out there." I hesitate, then slowly open the creaky swinging glass door. The man I see is in a wheelchair, probably about 50 years old. His beard is messy, his face wrinkly from a long life of hard work, but his eyes are immersed in joy and a welcoming friendliness. I notice the Army memorabilia around the trailer and emblems on his hat. I set his order on the couch-side table and tell him the total. Almost as if he was ignoring the fact that I was a delivery guy needing to do business with him, he proceeds to point at his TV, currently tuned to Sports Center, and ask me what I think of this A-Rod guy. Not a big baseball person, but knowing Alex Rodriguez, I try to indulge him. "Dude needs to get over himself," I say. "Damn Right!" the wheelchair bound vet replied. He asks me what the total was, and I reiterate the $12.66. This man quickly hands over a $20 bill to which I ask how much change he'd like. "Change?! No need." I thanked him, wished him well, and to enjoy his food. He hands me a Gatorade on the way out to help mitigate my dehydration, which I actually was experiencing. Lemon-Lime. My favorite. The moral of this story is obvious, but still powerful. Life is what you get from interacting with one another. Be good to each other. I learned a lot from those two men that day in July. I hope you all can learn something from this story as well. Keep delivering, fellow drivers. return to top