And not as in, “Ritz” cracker, mind you?

So there’s this house, on this hill, on the western end of the Franchise’s delivery area. It’s a hill I often take to get to and from work, connecting two moderately busy thoroughfares running from Cockeysville to Jacksonville. Whichever way you come from, you drive up the hill, crest, then go back down the hill. The road is steep and winds between and around other hills and slopes and trees. If you’re heading north, just after you crest the hill, there’s a house. I might be laughingly describing it that way, so I’ll just describe it farther: the most white trash house you could imagine. Broken down RV along the road, black “MIA” flag waving, mold-stained yellow paint … you can picture it.

Shortly before Christmas, I was driving in to work at the Franchise on a Monday morning. A FedEx truck was parked on the side of the road just past the house. The FedEx driver, a black man, was standing on the road with a package in hand, trying to get one of the occupants of the white trash house to sign for it, I presume. The occupant of the house in question looks to be in his mid-forties, with a beer gut that would make the fattest fat man look slim and slender. Of course, the occupant was shirtless, and the FedEx guy — did I mention he was black? — had this expression on his face that seemed to indicate that he was wondering when he’d left Maryland and entered the back woods of banjo-playing West Virginia.

Years ago, I was working at the Indy when a delivery came in to this address. I was heading out to Falls Road — the other direction — and Fingerless Noah was going to be taking it. He asked me where it was, and I told him the best directions I could. I also added, “It’s the house that looks like people are going to be saying ‘The pizza guy is an Asian’ when you get there.” Apparently, not only were my directions good, my prediction was spot on: “Yep,” Noah told me later, “I got there and a woman from inside screamed ‘there’s a Chinese boy at the door!’”

So imagine my lovely surprise when the last delivery of the night turned out to be to this house. The thought through my mind? Fuck me, and I’m only ten minutes from getting out of here … Well, nothing to do about it, and of course I’ll get mileage for it if nothing else. Missed the place on the first time past (not much parking, didn’t want to stop on the side of the road if I can help it), turned around at the cemetary, came back. White trash dude — never seen him before, younger guy — had seen me pass and was waiting outside for me. I stopped on the road, blinkers on, handed over the pie and got a — wait for it — five-buck tip.

Shocking!

I guess he thought that since I look like such a cracker, I must have a Camaro up on cinderblocks in front of my home, too.