The road less cycled

Today’s shift was ridiculously overwhelming; yet at the same time exhilarating. Twenty-two deliveries and I still did a quick close, making around $18.50/hour before subtracting gas costs. Those are the kind of shifts which keep me coming back to the pizza biz. I’m a little taken aback at the foul mouth I displayed today though, being incredibly ticked at having wrong addresses, idiot customers, and being the only driver. I learned an important lesson however.

I did a delivery out on Emerson Way. The fellow had left his address but not his buzzer, room number, or last name so I had no way on Earth of contacting him short of standing outside the building hollering, which I attempted as well. This oversight on his part left me irrationally beside myself with frustration at the idiocy of ordering a pizza pie, and not giving proper instructions as to how to actually deliver the damn thing. As I left the building, a stream of curses that I will not repeat here ripped from my mouth, most of them, I’m ashamed to say, directed at the customer, as I had more deliveries waiting at the store and couldn’t really be held up.

Tried calling him from a payphone, but he didn’t pick-up, which left me even more irate. In the end, I had to go back to the store with his food, and he didn’t end up getting his meal until well into the evening, at least two hours after he’d ordered. So what was his reaction? Did he use me as a scapegoat to berate the crappy service (customers never do admit they are in the wrong). Did he refrain from tipping because his pizza retained only the barest shards of warmth? Did he gesticulate wildly or frown solemnly at me to communicate his displeasure? No, he did none of these things.

This gentleman, an elderly fellow with a cane, wouldn’t even take a discount after I offered him the pizza for free. He insisted on paying the full price, saying he used to work in the restaurant business and everybody made mistakes. Furthermore, after waiting a good two hours to finally receive his food, he also tipped close to $4.00, well above average. Witnessing this act of patience and good humour on his part completely took the wind out of my sails. This fine gentleman, whom I’d vehemently berated when still in my car for forgetting to provide us with the proper information, who then had to wait for hours for his food, took it in stride, tipped generously, and uttered not a word of displeasure.

Personally, I think I just met my first angel.