Doubles

Doubles are a blessing and a curse.

On the one hand, a successful double gives you twice the money in roughly the same amount of time as a single. On the other hand, it is like a series of dominoes where each piece must be carefully aligned in order reach the correct conclusion.

Here's how you get a domino disaster.

While you're at restaurant 1, dispatch calls with the wonderful news that you have a second pick up and your additional destination is only a half mile from the first.

You already know things will be tight since restaurant 2 is on the other side of the territory but if the dropoffs are that close it shouldn't be a problem.

Then restaurant 1 takes 15 minutes longer than normal.

This results in the food at restaurant 2 sitting an additional 15 minutes.

Also dispatch failed to tell you customer 1 wants a six pack of coke. Since you sold a single coke earlier, you're short one. You'll have to stop at a store to buy a coke.

Restaurant 1 finally completes order 1 which now has been on the clock for 35 minutes.

It takes 13 minutes to get to restaurant 2 to pick up the now lukewarm food.

You now have 12 minutes to get from northwest Sandy Springs to southeast Buckhead. Oh, and you have to find a store to get a can of coke.

As you dash into a store, dispatch calls for a status. You explain you're going to run about 5 minutes past an hour. Dispatch promises to let the customer know.

Then you catch every red light in Buckhead. Not hyperbole. Every mother fucking one.

Your first dropoff is a fancy condo complex with 24 hour security. Except the security guard ain't there. SHIT!

Finally, after spending the time finding the customer on the hideous callbox, you enter the complex.

The only thing that goes right is this is a regular customer and you know exactly where he lives. He's also nice and doesn't give you any grief.

Time for the second leg of the double. Although, its on the clock at 58 minutes since its close, there is a chance to get it in under the wire.

But this is an address you don't know. You punch it in to the trusty GPS and your digital guide chirps out that it is 9 minutes away.

It's not a half mile from the first drop off. It's three miles and buried in a neighborhood. A neighborhood with some road closures due to damage from last week's storm.

15 minutes later, you finally drop off at customer 2. He doesn't seem to notice the containers are not piping hot and says it's okay when you mumble a lie about bad traffic making you late.

You peel out before he discovers he's going to need the use of his microwaves and silently thank the driver gods that the tips were pre-paid.

And that my friends is how the dominoes get spilled all over the table.