WORST JOB EVER!

When I was a teenager, I had a lot of crappy jobs.  I delivered newspapers for assholes, I washed and bussed  dishes, shoveled dirt, and basically tended to the wishes and whims of sycophantic store managers who desperately tried to cram their noses into the descending colons' of their superiors. But nothing NOTHING is worse than delivering pizza.

     Pizza  seems to be the food we all eat when we are too lazy and stupid to cook for ourselves.  Now we are well within our rights to indulge in pizza, and it's accompanying air of sloth, from time to time, so this isn't about the 98% of us.  This BLOG is about that 2% of the population who make this job a complete an utter HELL by making pizza their primary food source, and, by default, making me deal with their almost endemic stupidity.

     When you order a pizza, wouldn't it be a good idea to KNOW what it is that you want?  I mean, it isn't difficult.  It's a flat piece of bread with cheese on it, right? It isn't rocket science.  If you can't organize your thoughts enough to cook, and you can't  agree with three people at home about what goes onto your pizza, are you sure there is enough mental faculty left to to chew?  Let's hope that your  your autonomic nervous system works when the rest of your brain has taken a sabbatical or you'll choke.
  In order for me to explain this, I'm just going to write out a noteworthy pizza order  I had.

"Hello. Thank you for calling Dominerd's Pizza.  How can I help you ,Sir?"
"Um..okay....How big is your sixteen inch  pizza?"
" Ummm.... Sixteen inches?? Oh no wait. I'm afraid we have misled you. The pizza is a TOTAL of sixteen square inches which is not even a morsel for a yapper like yours that could quite possibly suck up a Volkswagen with no ill effects." "It's sixteen inches."
"Well...how big is sixteen inches?"
"About the size of a hubcap, Sir." "Which is a good frame of reference seeing as how you no doubt pried them off of cars to get the cash for this 'Fare Of The Feeble-Minded'. "I mean.. how many pieces is that?"
"It's usually twelve, Sir." "Ironically, The same as the collective  IQ of you and your buddies." "Okay..I'll have that one."
"Alright, Sir,and what would you like on it?"
Okay... on the FIRST slice I want....".
   
     THINK PEOPLE!!!!  I'm making a total of  $3.35 an hour to do the job a typing monkey could perform.  The only difference is that a monkey has the common sense to prefer smearing himself with his own feces than to get pizza sauce on him.  I don't have the time to be hand feeding and spoon feeding  the sick, lame, and lazy through a task as simple as this.
     Never mind. Screw it. I don't have time to get all bent around the axles about this.  Time is money, and as the last person to have anything to do with the preparation of a pizza, a Dominerd's driver will take the heat for it by having to pay for the pizza it took  5 people too long to screw up.  Luckily, this one goes perfectly giving me the maximum amount of time to deliver it.
     Okay, so the pizza is made and on it's way out to my car in 12 minutes.  Careful to mind the "30 Minutes Or It's Free" motto, I quickly calculate that I have 18 minutes to get to this guys house.  I drive for 9 minutes, filling my car vents with the noxious  smell of someones idea of taste  to get to the street and that leaves me with another 9 minutes extra. right? WRONG.  The guy who only 21 minutes ago couldn't order a pizza without serious help has now figured out that if he can stall me for 9 minutes, he gets a free pizza.  It's not too hard though. All I need do is look for the car with the wheels pulled up to the address on the curb and the house numbers pried off. It's also the ONLY house on the block with all the lights off.  No problem. I have a spotlight large enough to be used on a Coast Guard cutter, and shine it through the window.  It's not really there to find the address, but more as a subtle way of showing the dimwitted money-grubber that even a raccoon has better evasion skills.

     Pizza in hand, I put on my hat which completes the Dominerd's delivery ensemble which identifies me, and what we refer to as, "The Man Most Likely To Get Beat Up For Looking Like A Homo", and ring the bell with 4 minutes left.
(How fitting)
     The neandertha.....I mean man, opens the door and looks at his watch with the theatrics God gave to Omar Shariff.  I'm not sure why.  Apparently to reaffirm to  me that he is of an intelligence high enough to tell time.  I don't dare tell him that all it does is prove to me that he has the IQ to comprehend  Velcro.
    He's big. I mean REALLY big.  His body fills the entire frame of the door leaving only a small triangle above his shoulders to show me that the entrance to his troglodyte domicile is open.
     "How are you, Sir.  Here's your pizza."And please don't eat me."
 "How much is it?"
"It's $13.50, Sir."
     He hands me a twenty dollar bill and i quickly make change.
"Okay that's $13.50.  Here's 50 cents. That makes fourteen, and here's fifteen and twenty.", I say as I hand him a one dollar bill and a five.
"No.....That's not right."
"Yes it is, Sir. The pizza is $13.50 and you gave me a twenty. That means I owe you $6.50.... two quarters, a one, and a five."
  "That's not right."
"WTF  do  you mean it's not right, you Dumbass???  Twenty-eight minutes ago I had to explain the complexities of an  abstract mathematical  concept like  SIXTEEN!!!  Did you take some kind of "New Math?"      "Well how much is it then?"
"This is a twenty..  And the change from a twenty is $6.50."
"That's right, Sir.  It is. But YOU paid for the pizza. So $13.50 is the price of the pizza. NOT YOUR CHANGE."
     The man was beginning to look very confused.  And if you've ever seen Mutual Of Omaha's, Wild Kingdom, You know how freaky and angry the big animals get when they're disoriented.
     This continued for another 2 minutes until I realized that keeping my face securely screwed onto my head  was going to cost me $13.50.  I returned to the store and found the eighteen year old store manager waiting for me in his office.  He proceeded to tell me that the big monkey....I mean man, had managed to operate the telephone correctly twice in the span of an evening and that he was displeased with his pizza. (He no doubt forgot to remove it from the box).  I explained to him  that I had to basically sell the pizza for 6.50 cents.
"That's not how much a pizza costs,Tim. You owe us...."
     He leaned over and started looking for  his calculator, mumbling to himself.
 "Let's see... 13.50 minus.... 6.50....leaves...."
"Seven Dollars"
 " Is it?
"Oh shit. Here we go again."  "Yes, SIR. I'm QUITE positive that it is."
     The evening finally ended and I went out the door and counted my meager tips for the entire evening.  Grand total for spending an evening dealing with idiots from both sides of the counter?Thirteen dollars......and 50 cents. 
Karma is a BITCH!!