IN DA BEGINNING-DASECRETDIARYOFDAPIZZAGUY
START HERE....!I started delivering pizzas a few months ago. At the time I decided on this career change, it was all I felt qualified for and just barely that. In spite of my background and years of management experience,the last couple of years had taken their toll physically, emotionally, mentally and even spiritually. So, when I first considered taking this position, it was shortly after driving by a pizza joint with a sign(from God?) in the window saying"Delivery Drivers Wanted". Upon receiving this calling, I began to use all the analytical skills that I had developed over the past 20 years. Delivery...Driver......Wanted! I knew all of these words.
1. I was in a car.
2. I was seated behind the wheel.
3. The car was moving, ergo, I must be driving.
4. It seemed logical to me that since I was alone in the vehicle, I had at least some room to carry a cooked pizza to deliver from point A to point B, assuming someone would give me a hint where A and B were.
5. Pizza and Wanted.....I can do this.
Visions of spontaneous parades and greatfull people showering me with tip money,as I handed them their much anticipated pies of delight flashed through my head! That was the dream, this Diary is the reality.
THE INTERVIEW
This consisted of filling out a 1 page application, which seemed to focus a great deal on how I got into this country, to which of course I printed, "birth canal". Either nobody understood this phrase or found it humorous. This was followed by arriving(early) for 3 separate interview appointments and being totally stood up by the "assistant manager" or being told he was too busy for each. Following the 3rd failed attempt I was told, "I guess you're OK". I think the reason they said this was because the driver they had scheduled to work that night, didn't have enough tip money for gas and even though I was aged and decrepit to them, the fact that I didn't pass away in between failed interview attempts was seen as a plus. I was then told to report to another restaurant for "TMT-Team Member Training". Great, it felt good to be on somebody's team, again.
THE TRAINING
Once there, I joined with a group of six other new employees, whose ages totaled slightly less than mine(I think one was actually a fetus). Anyway, we watched an intensive video on hand washing and joined in a rousing discussion on allowable "visible" body piercings and tattoos. I was so relieved that they stated visible. At several points the General Manager, who was about 12 and seemed very impressed with himself, was forced to say, "I don't care about that, this is not Hungry Howies!"
After an hour, we were told to return to our own restaurant to complete our training. Once back at our new base, a 20 year old guy and I followed a 16 year old girl around our restaurant and tried to listen as she mumbled into the phone, taking pizza orders and subsequently slapping the computer keys for no apparent reason.Geezer that I am, I finally tired of saying "What?" to the girl, following each new mumble and turned to the 20 year old guy and said, "What did she say?" He looked at me and said, "I was hoping you understood her." The final section of training consisted of learning how to fold pizza boxes. I thought I had grasped the basics of rudimentary box folding until I noticed that I had caused the eyes of our 16 year old trainer to roll up in her head, on several occasions. Training complete, we hit the road.
THE CAR
Just prior to my first evening on the job(any kind of job for 36 months), our 1997 Volvo with 200,000+ miles blew a head gasket. It just so happened, Mike, a friend of mine knew of my situation(zero money) and had pity on me. He had an extra car that I could have and I would use in my new vocation at least until I had earned enough tip money to fix the Volvo. To say that this idea was optimistic was an understatement because I was quoted $1500 from the local dealer for the repair. In my mind, I figured this would take me at least a weeks worth of tips to make sure I had earned enough money.
All kidding aside, I was grateful for the job and the car. I believe that God was directly responsible for both and I learned to thank Him often. You notice I said learned. I don't think people would say that I was ever a particularly big ego guy but to say that I didn't have some ego would be a lie. With the deft moves of a surgeon, God was about to do an egoectomy.Which is why I refer to this blog as the diary of the alter ego of an altered ego.
The car that my friend gave me was....a car. A whitish, 1993 Chevy(ish) Cavalier with 177,888 miles. Judging by the condition, the previous owner(s) had disliked the car immensely. Not only were the whitish doors all dented but someone had attempted to brighten the cars appearance by repainting it in a shade of white, without the benefit of masking the trim or without even washing it or knocking the dust off. Oh well, the spray painted white grass added an interesting texture to the hood. The interior had apparently, at one time, served as a baptismal for Starbucks(with light cream and heavy sugar, I believe) because it seems as if it had been sprayed with many days worth of latte, seats, carpeting, dash and all. To remedy the sticky coffee, someone had taken a garden hose to the interior. The coffee combined with the ensuing mold and what I believe to be cat urine, created an enchanting look and aroma. Many mechanical items were in working order except the horn, the cup holder, which would fall on the floor for no apparent reason , the entire glove box which would fall on the floor taking the cup holder as hostage. The electric windows all worked, except for the driver's side. The power door lock(s) worked but only on the driver's side and only on occasion. The interior dome light would come on, for no apparent reason. The gas gauge worked but basically on it's own terms, ie, 1/4 tank didn't really mean that...all the time. After running out of gas on so many (5)occasions, I got to the point where I would break out in a sweat if I accidentally passed a gas station without topping off, no matter what the gauge said. The ABS light was always on along with an intermittent, always flashing check engine light. The windshield wipers and power steering worked well, until it rained. Under the spare tire, which I used on several occasions, I found several hypodermic needles. Finally, my little Rolls was equipped with a fine AM/FM radio which, would always blast on, in high volume(whether left in on or off position), on what I believe to be the Afro-Mexican Pentecostal channel. I got into the habit of starting the ignition with one hand and stabbing at the radio off switch with the other. Now, all this would have been enough by itself but God wanted to see to it that I was never alone because the car was also infested with cock roaches. Little did the folks who ordered pizza( from the chain with the guy with permanent eye liner) know that their pizza would have been better delivered by a garbage scow.
1. I was in a car.
2. I was seated behind the wheel.
3. The car was moving, ergo, I must be driving.
4. It seemed logical to me that since I was alone in the vehicle, I had at least some room to carry a cooked pizza to deliver from point A to point B, assuming someone would give me a hint where A and B were.
5. Pizza and Wanted.....I can do this.
Visions of spontaneous parades and greatfull people showering me with tip money,as I handed them their much anticipated pies of delight flashed through my head! That was the dream, this Diary is the reality.
THE INTERVIEW
This consisted of filling out a 1 page application, which seemed to focus a great deal on how I got into this country, to which of course I printed, "birth canal". Either nobody understood this phrase or found it humorous. This was followed by arriving(early) for 3 separate interview appointments and being totally stood up by the "assistant manager" or being told he was too busy for each. Following the 3rd failed attempt I was told, "I guess you're OK". I think the reason they said this was because the driver they had scheduled to work that night, didn't have enough tip money for gas and even though I was aged and decrepit to them, the fact that I didn't pass away in between failed interview attempts was seen as a plus. I was then told to report to another restaurant for "TMT-Team Member Training". Great, it felt good to be on somebody's team, again.
THE TRAINING
Once there, I joined with a group of six other new employees, whose ages totaled slightly less than mine(I think one was actually a fetus). Anyway, we watched an intensive video on hand washing and joined in a rousing discussion on allowable "visible" body piercings and tattoos. I was so relieved that they stated visible. At several points the General Manager, who was about 12 and seemed very impressed with himself, was forced to say, "I don't care about that, this is not Hungry Howies!"
After an hour, we were told to return to our own restaurant to complete our training. Once back at our new base, a 20 year old guy and I followed a 16 year old girl around our restaurant and tried to listen as she mumbled into the phone, taking pizza orders and subsequently slapping the computer keys for no apparent reason.Geezer that I am, I finally tired of saying "What?" to the girl, following each new mumble and turned to the 20 year old guy and said, "What did she say?" He looked at me and said, "I was hoping you understood her." The final section of training consisted of learning how to fold pizza boxes. I thought I had grasped the basics of rudimentary box folding until I noticed that I had caused the eyes of our 16 year old trainer to roll up in her head, on several occasions. Training complete, we hit the road.
THE CAR
Just prior to my first evening on the job(any kind of job for 36 months), our 1997 Volvo with 200,000+ miles blew a head gasket. It just so happened, Mike, a friend of mine knew of my situation(zero money) and had pity on me. He had an extra car that I could have and I would use in my new vocation at least until I had earned enough tip money to fix the Volvo. To say that this idea was optimistic was an understatement because I was quoted $1500 from the local dealer for the repair. In my mind, I figured this would take me at least a weeks worth of tips to make sure I had earned enough money.
All kidding aside, I was grateful for the job and the car. I believe that God was directly responsible for both and I learned to thank Him often. You notice I said learned. I don't think people would say that I was ever a particularly big ego guy but to say that I didn't have some ego would be a lie. With the deft moves of a surgeon, God was about to do an egoectomy.Which is why I refer to this blog as the diary of the alter ego of an altered ego.
The car that my friend gave me was....a car. A whitish, 1993 Chevy(ish) Cavalier with 177,888 miles. Judging by the condition, the previous owner(s) had disliked the car immensely. Not only were the whitish doors all dented but someone had attempted to brighten the cars appearance by repainting it in a shade of white, without the benefit of masking the trim or without even washing it or knocking the dust off. Oh well, the spray painted white grass added an interesting texture to the hood. The interior had apparently, at one time, served as a baptismal for Starbucks(with light cream and heavy sugar, I believe) because it seems as if it had been sprayed with many days worth of latte, seats, carpeting, dash and all. To remedy the sticky coffee, someone had taken a garden hose to the interior. The coffee combined with the ensuing mold and what I believe to be cat urine, created an enchanting look and aroma. Many mechanical items were in working order except the horn, the cup holder, which would fall on the floor for no apparent reason , the entire glove box which would fall on the floor taking the cup holder as hostage. The electric windows all worked, except for the driver's side. The power door lock(s) worked but only on the driver's side and only on occasion. The interior dome light would come on, for no apparent reason. The gas gauge worked but basically on it's own terms, ie, 1/4 tank didn't really mean that...all the time. After running out of gas on so many (5)occasions, I got to the point where I would break out in a sweat if I accidentally passed a gas station without topping off, no matter what the gauge said. The ABS light was always on along with an intermittent, always flashing check engine light. The windshield wipers and power steering worked well, until it rained. Under the spare tire, which I used on several occasions, I found several hypodermic needles. Finally, my little Rolls was equipped with a fine AM/FM radio which, would always blast on, in high volume(whether left in on or off position), on what I believe to be the Afro-Mexican Pentecostal channel. I got into the habit of starting the ignition with one hand and stabbing at the radio off switch with the other. Now, all this would have been enough by itself but God wanted to see to it that I was never alone because the car was also infested with cock roaches. Little did the folks who ordered pizza( from the chain with the guy with permanent eye liner) know that their pizza would have been better delivered by a garbage scow.
posted by pizzaguy at 7:52 PM
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