THE CHRONICLES OF SANDIA; THE DRIVER, THE HO' AND THE CRACK HOUSE
It was about 8:30 in the evening and as always is the case near Christmas, it had been dark for about 3 hours. I pulled into a large circular subdivision of newish "starter" houses and followed the road as it made a big, slow loop. On nearly every block in Sandia, there are houses without street numbers, period. I have gotten into the habit of trying to pick out house numbers, as soon as I enter an area. At times, it makes me feel a little like a peeping Tom, due to the fact that I drive very slowly, while staring intently at each house. Especially on nights like this when, due to some new hires, there were not enough cartoppers to go around and consequently, as Pizzaguy, I was in stealth mode. The group mailboxes that many subdivisions have adopted, can make finding a specific address even tougher. Because without the need for posting a number for the mailman, many of Sandia's homeowners think there is no need to post an address on the front of their houses, at all. They have forgotten that EMS, police, fire fighters and most importantly, the Pizzaguy, might need to see a couple of numbers to do their jobs.
After a block or so of slowly making my way through the complex, I pulled behind a UPS truck that had stopped in the street. The truck's bright flashing lights helped to illuminate a house so that I could actually read the numbers. I then realized that my destination was about 15 houses up. Just as I put the Whitish into gear and began to go around the truck, the driver jogged back to his vehicle. He was tall, about 6'4" and athletic looking and in his late twenties. I waited as he climbed aboard, then sped off traveling another 15 houses or so, before abruptly stopping again. I slowly crept up and pulled the Whitish to the curb behind his truck again. Just as I began to open my door, the UPS driver jumped out of the driver's side of his truck and stood in the middle of the street with feet wide apart and fists clenched at his side. He appeared to be in full battle mode. The driver glared at me threateningly and screamed at the top of his lungs, "CAN I HELP YOU?!" I continued to exit the car, pizza bag in hand and said, "Not unless you ordered this pizza", I said and pointed to the nearest house.
A look of recognition came over his face, he relaxed and, "Man, I am sorry. I am so tired of people trying to break into my truck and steal the packages, every time I stop. This truck is full of people's Christmas!
"No offense taken. Thanks for being so faithful," I said heading for the house.
My next stop was on the other side of town. I drove into the large subdivision made up of 25+ year old townhouses, duplexes and small single family homes that were close enough to be attached but many weren't. These streets were also winding but the landscape and trees were much more mature than my last stop. I pulled up in front of the house with the house number 248 prominently displayed. I had no dificulty finding the house because it was the only one with lights on, which, by itself was strange. As I have discussed before, you can almost bet that the house on any given block, for any given delivery, will be the only one with it's lights off. Not only was this not the case here, the porch light was a virtual beacon...and it was red. I approached the house, rang the doorbell and waited until an attractive, well groomed young woman answered the door. She pleasantly took the pizza from me, paid and tipped nicely. As she shut the door, I could see another young woman sitting calmly on a couch. I got the impression they were both waiting for something and it wasn't a bus. I walked back to the Whitish and paused to look back at the house for a minute. I looked up, as I opened the Whitish' door. A man was standing across the street, about 20 feet away, leaning on a tree, smoking a cigarette. He had apparently been watching me as I looked at the house, curiously. We made eye contact and he said, "Yeah, they are." He took one last drag, threw his butt to the ground and turned to head into his house.
My last run of the night was later than I was actually scheduled for but it had been a busy night, so I gladly stayed late. I was to deliver one small cheese pizza with jalepenos to an address in a very questionable part of town. We have several large areas of our territory that are blocked out as undeliverable after 6:00 p.m. This is dictated and enforced by the the home office, due to driver robberies or high crime statistics. This house was on the border of the no pizza land. I parked in front of the worn old house and made my way past a bunch of litter, stuff and through the odor of stale urine in the front yard. My guess was that, at one time, this house had been a beauty. It was two stories and featured old Florida architecture with a big front porch, metal roof and short picket fence.The front door was open and the inside of the house was dark without TV or stereo. I rapped hard on the door frame because the door bell dangled uselessly from the wall, held only by it's wires. My eyes had begun to adjust to the lack of light and I could make out several people sitting on the floor of the house. It appeared to have no furniture. One figure appeared to be staring at me, kind of in a daze. The other, appeared to be a woman and was sleeping? A young man, in his late teens, came from a back room and walked towards me, Zombi-like. He handed me a wad of crumpled bills, took the pizza and wordlessly headed back from whence he came. I didn't move while I used my large blue Streamlight to count the rumpled money. He had handed me $21 for an $8.40 pizza. Not that I don't appreciate a good tip but I don't want to take advantage of anybody's mistake, impaired or not. I yelled, "Sir, did you really want to give me this much money?" No answer. "Sir?" I knocked on the door again. No response or for that matter, reaction from anybody, staring, sleeping or whatever. I made my way through the urine smell and presumably its cause and stepped on what appeared to be small pieces of aluminum foil,on my way back to the whitish. I made a mental note not to take my shoes into the house when I got home.
After a block or so of slowly making my way through the complex, I pulled behind a UPS truck that had stopped in the street. The truck's bright flashing lights helped to illuminate a house so that I could actually read the numbers. I then realized that my destination was about 15 houses up. Just as I put the Whitish into gear and began to go around the truck, the driver jogged back to his vehicle. He was tall, about 6'4" and athletic looking and in his late twenties. I waited as he climbed aboard, then sped off traveling another 15 houses or so, before abruptly stopping again. I slowly crept up and pulled the Whitish to the curb behind his truck again. Just as I began to open my door, the UPS driver jumped out of the driver's side of his truck and stood in the middle of the street with feet wide apart and fists clenched at his side. He appeared to be in full battle mode. The driver glared at me threateningly and screamed at the top of his lungs, "CAN I HELP YOU?!" I continued to exit the car, pizza bag in hand and said, "Not unless you ordered this pizza", I said and pointed to the nearest house.
A look of recognition came over his face, he relaxed and, "Man, I am sorry. I am so tired of people trying to break into my truck and steal the packages, every time I stop. This truck is full of people's Christmas!
"No offense taken. Thanks for being so faithful," I said heading for the house.
My next stop was on the other side of town. I drove into the large subdivision made up of 25+ year old townhouses, duplexes and small single family homes that were close enough to be attached but many weren't. These streets were also winding but the landscape and trees were much more mature than my last stop. I pulled up in front of the house with the house number 248 prominently displayed. I had no dificulty finding the house because it was the only one with lights on, which, by itself was strange. As I have discussed before, you can almost bet that the house on any given block, for any given delivery, will be the only one with it's lights off. Not only was this not the case here, the porch light was a virtual beacon...and it was red. I approached the house, rang the doorbell and waited until an attractive, well groomed young woman answered the door. She pleasantly took the pizza from me, paid and tipped nicely. As she shut the door, I could see another young woman sitting calmly on a couch. I got the impression they were both waiting for something and it wasn't a bus. I walked back to the Whitish and paused to look back at the house for a minute. I looked up, as I opened the Whitish' door. A man was standing across the street, about 20 feet away, leaning on a tree, smoking a cigarette. He had apparently been watching me as I looked at the house, curiously. We made eye contact and he said, "Yeah, they are." He took one last drag, threw his butt to the ground and turned to head into his house.
My last run of the night was later than I was actually scheduled for but it had been a busy night, so I gladly stayed late. I was to deliver one small cheese pizza with jalepenos to an address in a very questionable part of town. We have several large areas of our territory that are blocked out as undeliverable after 6:00 p.m. This is dictated and enforced by the the home office, due to driver robberies or high crime statistics. This house was on the border of the no pizza land. I parked in front of the worn old house and made my way past a bunch of litter, stuff and through the odor of stale urine in the front yard. My guess was that, at one time, this house had been a beauty. It was two stories and featured old Florida architecture with a big front porch, metal roof and short picket fence.The front door was open and the inside of the house was dark without TV or stereo. I rapped hard on the door frame because the door bell dangled uselessly from the wall, held only by it's wires. My eyes had begun to adjust to the lack of light and I could make out several people sitting on the floor of the house. It appeared to have no furniture. One figure appeared to be staring at me, kind of in a daze. The other, appeared to be a woman and was sleeping? A young man, in his late teens, came from a back room and walked towards me, Zombi-like. He handed me a wad of crumpled bills, took the pizza and wordlessly headed back from whence he came. I didn't move while I used my large blue Streamlight to count the rumpled money. He had handed me $21 for an $8.40 pizza. Not that I don't appreciate a good tip but I don't want to take advantage of anybody's mistake, impaired or not. I yelled, "Sir, did you really want to give me this much money?" No answer. "Sir?" I knocked on the door again. No response or for that matter, reaction from anybody, staring, sleeping or whatever. I made my way through the urine smell and presumably its cause and stepped on what appeared to be small pieces of aluminum foil,on my way back to the whitish. I made a mental note not to take my shoes into the house when I got home.
posted by pizzaguy at 10:42 PM
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