I’m a pizza delivery guy. I was winding down for a much-needed early close on Mother’s Day Sunday. I was one of the only people on staff who didn’t have family plans that day — my family situation is what you might call “complicated” — so I worked all morning while we were short-staffed, and I was pretty beat.
It was especially emotionally hammering to deliver so many pizzas to happy families visiting or hosting their moms. I was ready to go home and get drunk and forget about the whole stupid holiday.
I got a late call, just a few minutes before we closed, and decided to take it because money is money and it was a pretty big order — six pies.
I loaded it up and realized about three-quarters of the way to the destination that the address was for the local senior center. The residents there used to order all the time, tip really well, and make really sweet conversation before the global health crisis, so I was psyched to see that they were safe and steady enough to order pizzas again.
I snuck them a side of breadsticks from an order I was dropping off along the way; that order was for a d****hebag who never tips and always harasses our female drivers. By the time he’d call to complain, we’d be closed. Suck on that — but not on your breadsticks.
Anyway, I digress.
I got to the senior center, glad to finish off what had been an overall really s***ty day with a pleasant trip there, and carried the food to the front desk.
The receptionist offered to carry the pizzas back, but she looked frail enough to be a resident there herself, so I said I was happy to get them where they were going.
She gave me the usual checks for [health crisis illness] and gave me a new mask, and I found my way to some event room where they’d ordered the pizzas.
And… it was a total gut punch. It was literally just a roomful of sons and daughters visiting their mothers and having some kind of festive party.
My good mood went away real quick, and I dropped the pizzas on the table and shuffled out. But… I realized that, while they’d prepaid for the pizzas over the phone with a credit card, they hadn’t tipped, so no matter how bitter I was, I had to make in-person contact with whoever had ordered the pizzas or I had basically just wasted half an hour.
I went around the room asking for the woman whose name was on the order, and eventually, someone put me in front of her.
Our shop doesn’t have a uniform or anything, so I started to explain.
Me: “Hi. [Organizer #1], right? You ordered—”
She was really frazzled, I guess running the event, so she cut me off.
Organizer #1: “Oh, good! You’re here! We were starting to wonder. I don’t think [Resident] has been matched with anyone yet. Wait right here.”
I tried to cut in and explain that I’d just delivered the pizzas and she’d mistaken me for someone else, but it went right over her head. She pushed an old woman over in a wheelchair and said, practically shouting:
Organizer #1: “[RESIDENT], THIS YOUNG MAN IS HERE JUST FOR YOU!”
Before I could try my explanation again, [Resident] replied.
Resident: “He is, is he? Well, full disclosure, son, don’t get too attached, ‘cause Jesus has my heart.”
Organizer #1: *Whispering to me* “She’s a real live wire. Have fun!”
And then [Organizer #1] — and my tip — were in the wind.
Resident: “You like bridge? I hope you brought your checkbook…”
And she started wheeling away to a table! I followed her, thinking I’d better not lose track of her until I could return her to [Organizer #1].
I spotted a woman with an ID badge who looked like she knew what she was doing — clearly another organizer — and explained that I was the pizza delivery guy but someone had left me with this old woman in my charge. I guess my explanation wasn’t clear enough. I said something like:
Me: “Hey, I was actually delivering some pizzas up here.”
Organizer #2: “You brought pizza? Aww, that’s so nice! I’ll make sure you’re compensated.”
At first, I thought, “Great, all resolved now.”
But no. She gave me a wad of cash, and [Organizer #2] also disappeared, leaving me with [Resident] and her deck of cards.
I kept looking for [Organizer #1] to return this lady to, but I also did kind of enjoy making conversation with her, and I knew no other deliveries would be coming in since we’d closed on my drive over.
I actually did like listening to [Resident] talk about the YouTube conspiracies she wholeheartedly believed, the spat she was having with the arts and crafts chaperone, and so on. She even gave me a recipe.
But I was worried that she had dementia and thought I was a family member, or that she was expecting a particular visitor and at any moment a guy would storm in and say, “What’re you doing with my aunt?” or something.
So, finally, I saw [Organizer #2] again — the one who’d given me the cash. I figured [Organizer #1] may never return, so I shouldn’t wait for her, and I pulled [Organizer #2] aside.
Me: “Look, there’s been a mix-up. I don’t really know this woman.”
The organizer seemed distracted; she was doing several things at once.
Organizer #2: *Very casually* “Oh, there’s no mix-up; the pairings were totally random. You weren’t expected to have much in common. You’ll get to know her. Don’t overthink it.”
And she receded back into the crowd while I was still saying, “No, I’m just delivering pizza.”
At that point, I seriously considered leaving because it wasn’t my fault that these people were disorganized, but [Resident] was waiting for me with this huge grin on her face to play more cards, and it didn’t look like there were any real relatives coming for her, so I figured I would stick it out for a few more games.
I was eventually able to pick up in context from eavesdropping on other “pairs” that this was not a mother-child extravaganza; it was a volunteer event for women living at the senior home without kids or whose kids couldn’t visit them.
That was a huge relief because I would’ve felt really terrible if she was a dementia patient who thought her son had come — especially because I was kind of enjoying being “mothered” by her for lack of a better term.
It felt really good to have someone asking what I was doing at work and saying they were proud of me for things that weren’t actually a big deal.
She proudly bragged to everyone we passed on our courtyard walk about this silly little employee of the week award I’d just won. It was basically a title only — you get your photo on the wall, but everyone gets it at some point and usually more than once — but she made it feel really important.
And I really secretly loved how she got outraged over minor transgressions on my behalf. I told her how my landlord was sticking it to me on repairs, and she said:
Resident: *With sincere gusto* “He’s quite the ripe hair in the tuna! I know a guy who could tune him up for you!”
I don’t think she was talking about repairs, but I didn’t follow up.
Every time I tried to extricate myself, she’d have another activity she’d want to do. Once we finished playing cards, she wanted to do arts and crafts. Once we did that, she wanted me to push her around the courtyard. Once we did that, she was “famished from the walk” and wanted pizza.
I’d fed her two slices before an orderly appeared and angrily informed me she was not supposed to eat pizza. I don’t know how she then ended up with a third slice, but I seriously did not give it to her.
Finally, the party was winding down, and she wanted me to hang out and watch a game show with her. About thirty seconds into the show, she was asleep.
I left her a coupon — even though I guess she isn’t supposed to eat pizza — and headed home.
It was kind of nice to spend Mother’s Day doing Mother’s Day-type stuff. Really nice, actually.
At this point in my life and career, if you want to call it that, I can have no wholly good memories that involve pizza. But this was pretty close.
