Delivery story 411 Thruxomatic writes: I used to deliver for Boston Pizza up in Canada and did it in a small town of roughly 12,000 people. It was a sleepy little town with little to no crime, so you normally left your vehicle running in the very cold winters when you did the walk to the door. One night, when delivering to an apartment building, my car was stolen mid-delivery. After another driver picked me up and took me back to the restaurant, one of our off-duty cooks came in and said that he had "heard from a cop" that my car had been stolen. Problem? I hadn't called the cops yet, so I knew he was the perp. I accused him of it, he got in my face, and we nearly came to blows before wiser heads separated us. The cops found the car a few blocks over later in the night, empty of gas and any loose change, and with sneaker marks up and down from someone who had walked all over it (on the hood, roof, inside ceiling of the interior, etc.) He went for a couple of days thinking he'd gotten away with it, but his younger brother was a really decent guy and brought his brother's shoes in for me totally unasked for. Of course, the prints matched. So, a week or so later the perp and I were working late on a closing shift together and he walked out to get into his vehicle, which he had remote started so that it could get warm while he did his knock down in the kitchen. When he got in, he was greeted by the absolute reek of professional grade coyote scent used in hunting that he had so helpfully percolated through the cabin of his truck for 20 odd minutes as it warmed. Of course, I had "no idea" how it got there, but I took great joy in watching him race to get his window down before puking, nearly make it, and then puke all over himself. As an aside ... older brothers have their uses.