After the helicopter crew also reported seeing laser beams, FBI agents canvassed Banach’s neighborhood trying. Banach told the agents it was his daughter who shined a beam at the helicopter, according to court papers. He denied the laser was in use when the jet had passed nearby. But later, Banach submitted to a lie detector test and eventually said he shined the laser beam at both aircraft, according to the court papers. The papers did not give any alleged motive.
So, this douchebag tries to blame his daughter? I mean, look, I can understand, the FBI is all like, “Oh, who did this, we need to take them out back and beat ‘em the fuck up.” Okay, cool. But wouldn’t most people, if they were going to, y’know, lie to the Feds, say, “Oh, it was that evil Goth kid down the block”, or maybe, “Hey, y’know, I saw this pizza dude in his car with a big laser thingy-in his hand muttering ‘beam me up, Scotty.’” But blaming your own kid? I wonder how old the father is — maybe he should’ve gotten out of the ‘I’m going to go hide under the bed and blame it on somone else’ phase before he started getting girls pregnant.
What a fucking douche.
Pizza delivery is, let’s face it, not a difficult job. You put a pizza in your car. You drive your car, drinking soda and listening to music to a house, business, or apartment, where you hand over the pizza in return for a cash — often, this includes a tip. Yay, tips.
The best pizza drivers know their delivery area like the backside of our hand, and we can pull up three or four alternating routes to take to any address factoring in for rush hour, other traffic delays, or inclement weather. We can take deliveries to Hunter’s Run, Loveton, and Falls Road and still beat back the newbie who just took a single to the Hampton Inn across the street.
The point I’m trying to make is that it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to do the job. It’s pretty easy.
Unless you’ve done hard drugs for many years of your life, as would seem to be the case with a new employee named Ackbar.
Saturday night he had trouble reading the guest slip, so I told him, “Okay, you need those two pizzas ontop of the oven, and a six pack of coke.”
He bags up the pizzas, then starts pulling out twenty ounce bottles of coke. “No,” I said, “You need the six-pack, the cans.”
“Oh,” he says, staring at the cooler. It’s like what you see in any pizza shop - a coke cooler stacked with 2-liters, and 20oz, and cans. Well, after watching him just gaze blankly at the cooler, I tell him, “On the right, the bottom.”
Not the actual bottom bottom, mind you, but the shelf above the 2-liters. What does he do? He opens the door and starts moving the 2-liters, looking behind them. “No, the shelf above,” I tell him, and I’m getting a little angry, because before he pulled this stunt, he spent literally ten minutes looking at the map trying to figure out what street he was delivering too, then I literally pointed it out to him four times. “Yes, it’s right here, off Mays Chapel Road. See it? Yes. Yes, it’s right here. Right where I’m pointing. Look, do you see it?, because you said you saw it the last three times, too…”
New Years Eve he took two deliveries. The first to Hunter’s Run Road, the second to Cranbrook Road. This is a four miles round trip that should take only twenty minutes, even in heavy traffic. He was gone for two hours, and took a detour through Monkton, which is sort of like taking a road trip from Maryland to Florida and detouring through Colorado, then calling up from Boulder and saying, “I can’t find Boca Raton!”
I don’t know how much longer Ackbar is going to last, but I certainly think he’s one guy we’re all going to remember, even longer than Yellow Boxers Dude.
It’s all good and fun until you’re so busy yelling at the taxi driver, “Hey, you left your coffee on the roof!” that you fail to notice the huge dumptruck you’re headed towards at sixty miles-per-hour. But, hey, advertising, right?
