Delivery story 179 BPen writes: It was lunch time on a weekday and my delivery was to a house in a nice suburban neighborhood. The order was a medium pizza with a can of soda and cup of ranch dressing. I placed both extras into a bag. Arriving at my destination, I walked up to the door, holding the pizza with both hands and resting the bag on top. I knocked on the door at my destination and waited. There was no answer. I checked the address on the tag and the address on the house and confirmed that I was at the right place. I knocked again, louder. About one minute later, I heard someone begin to open the door. As the door began to swing open, I immediately heard sounds of women screaming, in sexual pleasure, from this guy's blaring home stereo system. He was about 45 years old, he wore glasses, had a portly figure, and thinning hair. Dressed in yellow-stained white sweatpants and a white sleeveless undershirt (both of which were sized for someone half his size) he appeared to have just emerged from a steam room, the sweat which was no doubt a product from his own hand-oriented exercises. He reeked of BO - dirty onions and crusty bathroom to be exact. He began fumbling through his pockets for the cash. As hard as I tried to keep the pizza and the bag full of extras I was clutching between us, and also in the way of my view of his crotch, I just couldn't help but glance. Sure enough, there it was, a two-inch wonder pointing north. Every time he shuffled his hand in his pocket he caused it to bobble. With the amount of loose change in his pocket it sounded like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz was playing with himself. The thought still makes me throw up in my mouth a little. No words have been exchanged at this point, and I wasn't going to be the one to initiate conversation. Finally, he gathers all the wadded up one dollar bills and about four dollars in change consisting entirely of dimes into his right hand and holds it out. I blink and stare at his hand, trying to judge by his coordination if he is a lefty or a righty. I go with the safe bet and assume that either hand is equally as tainted. The bag with the soda and ranch have been placed on top of the pizza box this whole time. I grab the bag with my right hand and hand him the pizza. I then reach into the bag and pull out the soda and ranch and place them on top of the pizza. I look at him in the eyes (for the first time) and watch a confused face become one that understands. I hold out the empty bag and he drops the money into it. All the while pornographic screams emanate from his living room. Still no words have been exchanged. I look at him and give him a slight head nod to say 'thank you.' A pervish smile crosses his face to reveal his rotting Tic-Tac teeth. Transaction completed, I turn around and begin to walk away, contaminated money bag in hand. Just before the door closes, I hear a man's voice from the living room yell, "Did that come with extra anchovies," no doubt referring to the infamous order from the movie "Lover Boy." I sigh as this crisis is successfully averted. When I get back to the shop, I carefully dump the money on the counter. My boss, without question, begins to integrate it into our till, uncrumpling each dollar and sorting each dime. After he is done he looks at me and says, "Why did you have it in a bag?" I look at him and say, "Boy, have I got a story for you ..." return to top