I used to deliver in the Roseville (suburban Detroit), Michigan area. I quit in early 1998 after delivering for 3 years. I have one particular story that stands out in my mind that I will probably never forget, and which will perhaps shed some additional light on the plight that drivers face on a fairly regular basis. It was a Saturday night, and pretty busy. It was also winter. One of the phone people took an order from someone who had, apparently, just moved into the neighborhood, and didn't even know their own address. The phone person made them go outside and check the house number. The phone person think's she's got the correct address, but as I later find out, it wasn't.
The actual house was on a tiny street off a major road called Blue Island Court. The major road is 11 Mile Road. The address the customer gave was an 11 Mile Road address, not Blue Island Court. Anyway, the residential section of 11 Mile Road is set pretty far back from the road and even with porch lights on, you can't really make out an address from the street, particularly not with a 40MPH speed limit and a rather steady stream of traffic all around you. So I started pulling into driveways and shining my lights on the addresses that I could find. On my second or third check, right as I'm about to back out onto 11 Mile again, a couple of rednecks come running out of the house and toward my car. I peel out of their driveway and back onto 11 Mile, because, even though I was just trying to deliver a pizza, I didn't want to mess with those guys. Anyway, I drive away. A minute later the two rednecks are in a pickup truck, tailgating me. So I reduce my speed to the speed limit and turn onto a residential street, which I take to the next major road, on which the store is located. I drive back to the store, still going no faster than the speed limit. I managed to get the rednecks stuck at a red light right before the store, so I pulled in really quick and parked right outside the door, and ran inside the store. I told the manager I was being followed and then I hid in the walk-in cooler. I came out a few minutes later because after the manager explained to the rednecks what was going on, that I was only attempting to make a delivery and I couldn't see their address, they wanted to apologize. So I come up to the counter from the walk-in, and one of the guys has a rifle slung over one shoulder! I ran back into the walk-in and didn't come out until they'd left.
Needless to say, we started making sure that any future deliveries to 11 Mile Road addresses had their porch lights on and were watching for the driver.
The best part of this story? The guy on Blue Island Court, who didn't know his own address, ended up with a free order because the delivery took so long, which means, as usual, the idiot wins.
