Getting A Pizza His Mind, Part 2

| Working | October 8, 2014

(I’m home by myself one Saturday night, when I hear the doorbell ring. When I open it, I see a delivery guy with three pizzas in his hands.)

Delivery Guy: “Hey, sorry that took so long. Here are your pizzas. Your total is $24.00.”

Me: “Oh… no, I’m sorry—”

Delivery Guy: *interrupting* “Are you f****** with me? I drove all the way out here to bring you your d*** pizza, and now you think you’re getting it for free?”

Me: “No, I—”

Delivery Guy: *clearly not listening* “You’re paying for your pizza or I’m calling the cops, so which is it?”

Me: “Will you listen to me?”

Delivery Guy: *ignoring me* “Seriously, I will make that call.”

(The delivery guy pulls out his phone, either to call the police or his boss, I don’t know, at which point I make myself heard.)


Delivery Guy: “What?”

Me: “I didn’t order a pizza. You have the wrong house.”

(He pulls out a piece of paper, glances at the address, and then back at me.)

Delivery Guy: “Isn’t this [address roughly two blocks away]?”

Me: “No, it’s [my address].”

Delivery Guy: “Oh. Umm… okay.”

(He turns the leave, and I begin closing my door. As I do, I hear:)

Delivery Guy: “I’M SUCH A FAILURE!”

Getting A Pizza His Mind

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