After I left active-duty service, serving on board a ship, all I wanted to do was drive, so in 1999, I got a driving job delivering meat in Southern California. It was a tough job, dealing with traffic, and my schedule was always tight with sixteen to twenty deliveries each day to local markets.
I was mostly given inner-city routes with markets with limited space for mid-size delivery trucks.
One of my weekly stops was a small market owned and run by an Iraqi immigrant. I will call him “Ali”.
Ali was always scheduled to be my fifth or sixth stop and would always complain to me why I would show up that late (after 9 AM each time). He said he wanted to be the first one of the day.
I told him I knew he opened each day after 8:00 AM each weekday and that I start my route at about 6:15 AM, plus I don’t schedule my route. If he wanted to make sure he was the first delivery of the day, he would have to call “Steve”, our delivery route supervisor.
Ali, in fact, called Steve because the very next week I received special instructions that read: “Make sure Ali’s Market is your first delivery of the day.” I had my normal amount of stops that day, about eighteen, and I knew they all would be pushed back at least two hours because I knew Ali would not open until 8 AM, and he would not open the rear door until an hour later (the rear door was for deliveries and trash bin access).
I began driving at my usual time. I arrived at Ali’s market fifteen minutes later. Ali’s market is closed, I have my orders, and I will make sure Ali’s market is the first one of the day. I park and wait.
8 AM came, and Ali showed up. He drove his old Benz around the back of my truck, parked, and walked inside through the back door. I wait for him to open the front door, and he ignores me. He was busy pretending to supervise the cashier, intentionally ignoring me, so I walked to the meat counter at the back. The guy tells me he was not allowed to take deliveries, that I had to wait for Mr. Ali. At this point, I could have gone to make two or three deliveries and then return, but I had my very specific order.
As I was walking towards the front to exit the market, I grabbed a newspaper, paid for it, and then told Ali, who was just standing there looking at me, “Let me know when you are ready to take your order, you know where I parked.”
Ali didn’t say a word; he was apparently taking revenge for all these years for his small city market not being the #1 priority of a meat distributor who delivered beef, pork, chicken, cheese, and other refrigerated products from over twelve distribution points throughout the United States.
Steve arrived at his desk right after 10 AM. The first thing he saw on his computer screen was an alert of my truck sitting inert for four hours. He called me all in a rage, demanding I explain to him why my truck was sitting for all that time, and I explained that I was following his order to make sure I deliver to Ali’s market first.
Steve hung up and called Ali. Whatever Steve told Ali made Ali get his whiny butt out of his crappy little market and take delivery of his meat order, about fourteen boxes of product, if I recall correctly.
I then began to rush through the rest of my stops, not wasting time at all, and at the end of my day, I was the last driver back to the warehouse. I got an extra $80 on overtime because Ali cried for not being the first delivery of the day.
I never returned to see Ali again. Apparently, we dropped his whiny butt as a customer.
