… because I can’t drive in the snow.

Actually, I did get out to Home Depot for spackle as flurries were coming down. Traffic was already a nightmare. It’s like a mile from my apartment and I almost died five hundred times because people are just nuts and it’s like, “Risk death for tips? No thank you!”

My apartment apparently has the dubious distinction of being selected for a random inspection by my landlord’s financing company. The regional manager and a representative are going to be coming through. I think it was the regional manager who just walked through my apartment about two minutes ago asking me to “straighten it up.”

So much for doing other stuff today, and thank goodness I’m working tomorrow when they’re coming through.

Tippy apparently has baby radar capable of picking up on, “I want nothing more than to grab your tail and use it as a swing” as she demonstrated to me, the baby in question, and the baby’s parents on Saturday.

Usually she’s so cute and “Oh, play with me please” when people come over.

P. didn’t show for his shift last night. As it turns out, this was a good thing. If he had shown, I would’ve been out by six and probably would’ve made considerably less in tips. Yesterday was weird: people tipped like shit until about five, then everyone whose order was really late took really good care of me. (”Oh, I don’t care my pizza is over an hour old, I understand you’re short handed - here’s $10 for the pie and, ah, what the hell, $10 for you, too.”)

We were short handed on Friday, too — A.’s transmission went up. Four drivers that night, and it was a nightmare. At one point I took four deliveries all going north all over an hour old. Thankfully, last night wasn’t like that — yes, it was a bit busier than for what two drivers can usually handle, but thankfully most of the runs were going in roughly two different directions which made it easy for Ross and I to split ‘em up, get ‘em out the door, and not be gone forever.

I hope P. is okay, that he just misread the schedule. It’s not like him to a. not show, and b. not to call to say he can’t make it.

All I know is, at some point, I’m probably going to call out this winter — I hate driving in the snow — and all I want to hear from whoever is on the phone is, “Thanks for telling us!”

Damn skippy.