If you answer the door in nothing but tight shorts...
And you are obviously compensating for lack of height by gobbling steroids...
And you tip $2.00 on a $30.00 bill...
I know more about you than your mother or Sigmund Freud ever dreamed.
Monday, May 18, 2009
BOOM! Goes The Indian Food
Indian food is both delicious and dangerous.
Every driver's nightmare is spillage. It's not much of a problem for the pizza slingers but for the multi-restaurant driver who handles every thing from Chinese to Jamaican to the dreaded Indian, it is a constant terror.
Indian food with its small army of sauces is a minefield of delivery danger.
For the first time ever, my Indian restaurant handed me food in a brown paper bag. The usual opaque plastic allows me to eyeball the plethora of tiny containers and quickly spy potential problems. Mr. brown bag, already stapled tightly shut, mocked me like a teenager's friday night shit bomb.
I had no choice but to pack it as tightly as possible and pray the grinning cooks had sealed all the containers.
Arriving at the customer's hotel room, I opened my carry bag and carefully lifted the little brown bag. What I could not see was the small puddle of wetness from a slow leaking cup of soup which was corroding the bottom.
BOOM!
The bottom of the bag blew apart in a pungent explosion of curry and peanuts.
I had no choice but to call dispatch and tell the boss I was headed back to the tandoori tabernacle for a second helping of nan and bean curd. And by God, this time it better be in a fucking plastic bag.
Every driver's nightmare is spillage. It's not much of a problem for the pizza slingers but for the multi-restaurant driver who handles every thing from Chinese to Jamaican to the dreaded Indian, it is a constant terror.
Indian food with its small army of sauces is a minefield of delivery danger.
For the first time ever, my Indian restaurant handed me food in a brown paper bag. The usual opaque plastic allows me to eyeball the plethora of tiny containers and quickly spy potential problems. Mr. brown bag, already stapled tightly shut, mocked me like a teenager's friday night shit bomb.
I had no choice but to pack it as tightly as possible and pray the grinning cooks had sealed all the containers.
Arriving at the customer's hotel room, I opened my carry bag and carefully lifted the little brown bag. What I could not see was the small puddle of wetness from a slow leaking cup of soup which was corroding the bottom.
BOOM!
The bottom of the bag blew apart in a pungent explosion of curry and peanuts.
I had no choice but to call dispatch and tell the boss I was headed back to the tandoori tabernacle for a second helping of nan and bean curd. And by God, this time it better be in a fucking plastic bag.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
We Know You're Having Sex
We know you're having sex.
Here is the scale of likelihood your customer was just having sex
Out of breath - Possible
Out of breath and sweating - Very Possible
Out of breath and sweating, partially disrobed - Likely
Out of breath and sweating, partially disrobed and other people in the same state in the dimly lit background - SWINGERS!
Also do your favorite delivery driver a favor - we know you're desperate for post-coital carbs, but don't open the door in your boxers and nothing else.
Here is the scale of likelihood your customer was just having sex
Out of breath - Possible
Out of breath and sweating - Very Possible
Out of breath and sweating, partially disrobed - Likely
Out of breath and sweating, partially disrobed and other people in the same state in the dimly lit background - SWINGERS!
Also do your favorite delivery driver a favor - we know you're desperate for post-coital carbs, but don't open the door in your boxers and nothing else.
Rainy Days Make Me Hard
Rain causes two reactions in your average Atlantan - the need to drive like a maniac and the urge to order food.
Reaction one makes my day frightening.
Reaction two fills my wallet.
Once on a rainy sunday, I made 13 deliveries during a six hour shift. Rockin and rollin in the rain and making bank. Make it rain, baby. Make it rain.
Reaction one makes my day frightening.
Reaction two fills my wallet.
Once on a rainy sunday, I made 13 deliveries during a six hour shift. Rockin and rollin in the rain and making bank. Make it rain, baby. Make it rain.
It Fell Off A Truck
Sitting in a car all day, you get some strange offers.
The other day, two young men in a van wheeled up to my open window and offered to sell me a home theater system. One of them actually used the old "the store had an extra one and my boss said I could have it" line.
I pointed to my car topper and said, "Dude, I'm a delivery driver. I can't afford a home theater system".
To which the wild eyed thief replied "But dude! You drive a Mustang!"
Apparently having a 7 year old pony car equates to lots of money in the eyes of your average cross-eyed cat burglar.
The other day, two young men in a van wheeled up to my open window and offered to sell me a home theater system. One of them actually used the old "the store had an extra one and my boss said I could have it" line.
I pointed to my car topper and said, "Dude, I'm a delivery driver. I can't afford a home theater system".
To which the wild eyed thief replied "But dude! You drive a Mustang!"
Apparently having a 7 year old pony car equates to lots of money in the eyes of your average cross-eyed cat burglar.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Love And Hate
In case you haven't figured it out, I'm a multi-restaurant delivery driver. Unlike the pizza slingers, I visit multiple joints each night and they range from the cheap-o sub place to one of the oldest high end italian swank pits.
But no matter the clientele or price, restaurants break down into two categories - love or hate.
However, those two broad categories do have their subtle differences. Let's take a look at them.
HATE
El Cheapo - Cheap food equals small bill equals small tips. The only upside is the occasion when some corporate yahoos get a hankering for plebe food, order a shit load of burritos causing the automatic gratuity to kick in.
Far, Far Away - One reason that is obvious is you lose money on gas. A reason that's not so obvious is the longer a run takes the higher the chance the driver rotation will get fucked up and you will miss a milk run (see below).
Slowwwww - No matter how far away it is, no matter how long it takes to get there, no matter how simple the order, it won't be ready. See Far, Far Away for the explanation on why turning and burning is important.
The Fuck Ups - How hard is it to fuck up fish with a simple lemon and herb glaze? How hard is it to remember to put three cookies in a bag? You'd be surprised.
LOVE
The Milk Runs - They are not only close by but because they are neighborhood joints their customers also tend to be nearby. A true milk run can take less than 20 minutes and is only a 6 mile round trip.
Big Tickets - They are so outrageously expensive they almost always result in the automatic gratuity. Also, people paying $80 for two entrees plus a delivery fee plus an automatic gratuity probably have so much money they don't buy toilet paper - they just use spare dollar bills. They will occasionally throw an extra $20 on top of the automatic. Not kidding. I once made $38 on a single big ticket milk run.
Hot Bartenders - Two things make me a little tingly - women who play guitar and women who serve me drinks. A hot bartender who will provide a little non-customer interaction on a long night can wipe out all the hate.
I get a little bit of it all and it does keep the job interesting.
But no matter the clientele or price, restaurants break down into two categories - love or hate.
However, those two broad categories do have their subtle differences. Let's take a look at them.
HATE
El Cheapo - Cheap food equals small bill equals small tips. The only upside is the occasion when some corporate yahoos get a hankering for plebe food, order a shit load of burritos causing the automatic gratuity to kick in.
Far, Far Away - One reason that is obvious is you lose money on gas. A reason that's not so obvious is the longer a run takes the higher the chance the driver rotation will get fucked up and you will miss a milk run (see below).
Slowwwww - No matter how far away it is, no matter how long it takes to get there, no matter how simple the order, it won't be ready. See Far, Far Away for the explanation on why turning and burning is important.
The Fuck Ups - How hard is it to fuck up fish with a simple lemon and herb glaze? How hard is it to remember to put three cookies in a bag? You'd be surprised.
LOVE
The Milk Runs - They are not only close by but because they are neighborhood joints their customers also tend to be nearby. A true milk run can take less than 20 minutes and is only a 6 mile round trip.
Big Tickets - They are so outrageously expensive they almost always result in the automatic gratuity. Also, people paying $80 for two entrees plus a delivery fee plus an automatic gratuity probably have so much money they don't buy toilet paper - they just use spare dollar bills. They will occasionally throw an extra $20 on top of the automatic. Not kidding. I once made $38 on a single big ticket milk run.
Hot Bartenders - Two things make me a little tingly - women who play guitar and women who serve me drinks. A hot bartender who will provide a little non-customer interaction on a long night can wipe out all the hate.
I get a little bit of it all and it does keep the job interesting.
The Fizzle
The fizzle is one of the rarest deliveries.
It's always a cash run.
You show up and nobody's home.
Annoying, yes. First, it wastes time when you could be picking up the next run. Second, it's a stiff, so your only working for your delivery fee which if it's a long one means you're breaking even. It can reach the depths of tortuous hell if you are required to visit douchebag land on a full moon Friday night.
Dispatch eventually reached tonight's fizzle. She was asleep.
Dope fiends are a blessing and a curse.
It's always a cash run.
You show up and nobody's home.
Annoying, yes. First, it wastes time when you could be picking up the next run. Second, it's a stiff, so your only working for your delivery fee which if it's a long one means you're breaking even. It can reach the depths of tortuous hell if you are required to visit douchebag land on a full moon Friday night.
Dispatch eventually reached tonight's fizzle. She was asleep.
Dope fiends are a blessing and a curse.
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