Pause That Pamplemousse Posthaste!

I work for a major pizza company as a delivery driver. The pizza company owns the cars, they own the insurance on the cars, and there are certain procedures that must be followed when an accident occurs, no matter how minor.

One day, I’m out delivering pizzas. Traffic gets bad, and I’m forced to stop. The Pamplemousse behind me stops way too close to my car. I signal to change lanes. The Pamplemousse behind me changes lanes and stomps on his gas, clipping my car.

It’s not a lot of damage, but there is now a dent on my company car, so I must follow procedure. First, I call dispatch and let them know. Then, I call the police. The police decline to report to the scene, and 911 lets me know that it’s okay for me to leave the scene.

I return to the pizza place. They’ve already started remaking the pizzas that I had taken out for delivery. I “dock” my car to the relevant Bluetooth connection and upload the videos between the relevant timestamps from the cameras. By the time the videos are done uploading, the pizzas have been remade.

I drive back out to deliver the pizzas, hot and steaming fresh. When I get to the first customer’s house, I notice something odd. His car is a bit dinged up, and it looks fresh.

I knock on the door, and a somewhat cranky-looking man answers.

Man: “I sped all the way home. I even got into a traffic accident to get here in time, and you arrive late!”

This was my Pamplemousse from earlier.

Me: “I’d be happy to take down your complaint.”

I felt a sort of smug sense of satisfaction as I walked him through reporting his complaint on the official corporate recorded line.

As far as I’m aware, the company’s insurance company got their money from his insurance company. Probably. They certainly didn’t take any of the damages out of my paycheck, and that’s what’s important.

I still see pizza deliveries occasionally pop up going to his address, but I have not yet had the personal pleasure of taking one to him and seeing how he’s doing.