October 2005

Now Declared “I Am A Blog Whore” Month.

No, really, I totally whored myself out. One hundred and sixty-three pointless posts. Holy crap.

(…but I’ve still got an hour and twenty-seven minutes to go!!!!)


Generally, because I find memes to be, uh, stupid, I don’t do them. This one on ACW’s blog looked interesting so I figured I’d do some of them, note: not all. I’m paraphrasing (okay, stealing outright) the rules from ACW’s blog now:

Go to Google Image Search and type in the city and state/province of the town where you grew up, no quotation marks. Then select the picture you like best from the first page of results and post it on your blog. Here’s mine:

Town Where I Grew Up (no quotes):


Town Where I Reside (no quotes):


First and Last Name (no quotes):


Favorite Song (no quotes):



We were busy at the Indy. The phone started ringing as I walked in and I grabbed it – lady wanted twenty large pizzas delivered in forty-five minutes. Somehow, we managed it about ten minutes later, and a big gorrilla led me to the back of the complex. As I was about to head back to the car to make my second trip, the woman who ordered intercepted me, handed me a check (I nearly fainted when I saw the tip), and asked if ‘John’ had shown me back. I replied that I didn’t know, but he was wearing a big gorrilla suit. “John, then.” she said. I thought about replying, “I dunno who John is and he wasn’t wearing a nametag on his gorrilla suit” but I didn’t because, well, big tip.


Driving home, it seems a majority of the local high school’s student population decided to dress as hookers (the male students, too). Since they’re all underage and wearing just about nothing, I wasn’t sure if I could be arrested for viewing child porn just in trying to make my way home. I decided not to drive home with my eyes closed because I only like to wreck one car a month, maximum, so I’ll risk the pedophile charge. But, like, seriously, it’s almost November, can’tcha at least wear a jacket? And, y’know, pants?


I got roped into closing at the franchise. Fuckers.


Halloween is one of the busiest days of the year at a pizza shop. It generally trails Superbowl Sunday and the busiest day of the year: the day before Thanksgiving.

Today (er, tonight) is going to suck.

(Actually, today might kick ass – all the businesses ordering pizza for their company Halloween party and what not).

Tonight is going to suck.

We’re going to be super busy. Not just because it’s Halloween, but also because the Ravens are playing tonight. So we’ll get the “Let’s order pizza because we can’t go out to get food because we’ll miss the trick or treaters” crowd plus the “I can’t watch football without thirty hot wings!” crowd.

At some point I will be tempted to run over a goddamn collection of carved pumpkins on someone’s yard.

We have only three insiders (Steve, E.G., and Zebulon) to handle the phones, the makeline, the oven, and the customers.

We have only four drivers to handle the Halloween crowd and the football crowd, and somehow P. expects to be out by 7:00.

I have the strong feeling I’m going to be roped into working the closing shift to cover for P. (this despite the fact I requested tonight off back in August. I’m such a pushover).

P. has his anger management class tonight, so I’m not entirely opposed to covering his shift if it means he doesn’t pound my face into the floor when he’s dissapointed.

Speeding and what some may describe as “reckless” driving is impossible tonight because of all the little kids on the road, which will interfere with how fast orders can be delivered.

At least one in three customers will answer the door and question if I’m actually “the pizza guy”. “Or are you just dressed up like him?” I will be very patient with the first few people who ask this but eventually I’ll just threaten to walk away with their food and not come back if they don’t shell out some cash.

I thought about buying a company uniform from the 1970’s over eBay because Greg said we couldn’t dress up in a competitor’s uniform for Halloween, but he never said we couldn’t wear outdated uniforms. But then I thought, “Spend my own money for work?” And didn’t.

Too many people will think candy is an appropriate tip.

Some retarted teenage who thinks he or she is cool will throw an egg at my car. Since its a rental, I’ll probably just swerve into them as opposed to chasing them down and bludgeoning the shit out of them with my maglite, as I would if I was driving my car.

At some point I will run over a goddamn collection of carved pumpkins on someone’s yard.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

The Good:

Boy damn did I need that extra hour of sleep. Actually, only the extra 20 minutes. But now I don’t have to scramble around in a frantic search to shower, get dressed, and get to work.

The Bad:

The muscle pull declined to heal itself overnight. Fucker.

The Ugly:

Not so ugly now that I know there’s no football game today. Ross is on vacation, and he won’t be back until the Monday after next Sunday. Long story short, I’ve got P. and F. as late and closing drivers tonight. Thank god there’s no game because it could have gotten hairy — F. knows the area but is a relatively slow driver. P. is still new and both doesn’t know the area and is a slow driver. This would be a problem because Zebulon has not yet reached the stage of being an accomplished router so I was having nightmares of coming in and finding thirty hour-old deliveries waiting to be taken. Eeeeep!

The Evil Dead

Okay, so describing this is a “crick in my neck” is probably incorrect. Really, the pain stretches from the rear left of my neck down my back to roughly the armpit. Turning my head to the left hurts. Standing up or moving around hurts. Laughing really hurts. I’m hoping it’ll be cleared up when I wake up later this morning because I don’t want to ache all day tomorrow.

So, despite the pain, I decided to keep my plans to see the midnight showing of “Army of Darkness” at the Charles Theater. For those of you interested, future midnight shows include “Napolean Dynamite” (no thanks) and “Bubba Ho-Tep.” Anyone interested in going to see “Bubba Ho-Tep” with me, drop me an e-mail (I’m going to go see it despite the fact that the DVD is in the other room).

Unlike the April 20th Baltimore Blogger Happy Hour where I got super lost getting to the Club Charles, I found it quite easily this time around by taking advantage of my “Remington” rule, which is “When going anywhere in Baltimore, go through Remington.” So I took the 28th street exit, drove straight until I passed Charles, hooked the next right, then drove to Lavale, hooked two rights, and pulled into the garage across from the Charles Theater. $2 parking and I did a sweeeeet (if crooked) reverse parking job between two big cars in a very narrow space. I was trying to call Side of Gravy to find out if he and his Better Half had arrived at the bar when I saw a parking job that put mine to shame — he parked right out front. Bastard.

Surprises inside both Club Charles and the Charles Theater. ACW dragged his whole family to see the movie: ACWF, MokieJovis, and Mail Order Bride. Jason arrived about ten minutes after I did, and once we moved over to the Charles Theater, we bumped briefly into Extra Heavy Marcellus (who promised to show at Molly’s for November’s gathering).

I was hoping to do links to other blogs and posts where neccessary but I’m really enjoying the thought of jumping into bed so I’m going to pass on all that detail shit amd finish this post real quick. There’s a blogroll and a search function – knock yourself out.

There was a very inconsiderate woman in front of me in the theater. She was perfectly quiet until the movie started, then began talking in a normal voice to her boyfriend, and asking people around her for a cell phone. She then called someone and had a conversation. She made out with her boyfriend. Seriously, sit in the fucking back of the theater. Finally, about ten minutes into the film, she moved, saddly, by that point, I’d already moved which just caused a huge pain in the ass for all involved because I think I wound up blocking ACWF’s viewing angle, and she’d already moved. Sorry, ACWF.

After the film, I gave Jason a ride back to Federal Hill. On my way to 83 (I got moderately lost, dude, no fault of yours and I got myself fixed up right away), some drunk shit in a gay ass costume with silver paint all over his face stumbled out across Cross St. and I stopped to avoid hitting him. He said thank you by giving my car a lap dance and grinding his fat ass into my rental’s hood. Thanks shitbird. If I could do the night over again, I’d shift into reverse and let him crack his head on the pavement.

I think that’s all I’ve got. Bed for me.

Fucking Ow

So somewhere along the line last night I strained a muscle in my back. Long story short, it hurts, like a fuckin’ bitch. It didn’t hurt so much earlier today, but then I was in a car with Zenchick driving and … I don’t quite know how to describe it. Baltimore is very pothole-icious so there we are heading into Hampden then out of Hampden, and there she is, talking on the cell phone, fiddling with a pen or these ridiculously oversized sunglasses she bought to complement her Halloween costume, steering with various appendeges that were not her hands, skidding around corners, running over little children, and going at potholes like she was trying to ram them. Long story short (again) none of her very acrobatic car tricks helped relieve the pain of my aching shoulder. On the bright side, she didn’t get me killed, so hoorah!

I took some aspirin and a long hot shower upon finding my way home through the various backstreets of Baltimore City and County. I’m going to try to nap – (well, tomorrow morning) tonight is Army of Darkness at The Charles Theater, and since I’m working all day Halloween, I should do something celebratory for the holiday.

Off to bed I go.

The Killer Dog who Bit Me

So last night, during my stellar night, I almost died.

I took a delivery waaaaay up into Harford County. One of the rare occasions when I’d never been to the house before. Bounced down the not-entirely-paved road in the Neon because, well, let’s be honest – it’s a rental and I hate it. This is an awful attitude to have to property that I’m fortunate enough to be able to “borrow”, but, whatever. No CD player? Bullshit. Anyway, so down this not-quite-paved road I go to this decent sized house.

I park by the garage and walk to the front door. The order’s a little over thirty-bucks. Four pizzas and a two-liter soda. Getting to the front door, I realize I’ve got a problem — some yahoo strung a fake spiderweb between the trees framing the landing, so I can’t actually get to the door. No problem, I reach out with the 2-liter and hit the doorbell, violating my “knock” rule. A few seconds later, a kid answers the door (kid! teen) and at the same time, a loud barking started from the direction of the garage.

The biggest. Blackest. Evilist looking dog ever was slowly advancing. And his barks weren’t of the “Who are you?” variety, but of the “Look buddy, I’m about to be getting all medieval on your fat ass with my sharp teeth.”

So the teen takes the food, tells me not to worry about the dog, pays me (very generous tip – he probably artificially inflated my tip average), and calls to the animal, “Shaddup!”

So he’s yelling at the dog as I walk back towards the Neon, and thusly, past this barking devil creature. As I get closer, the dog starts barking, then gets in my path and sniffs the pizza hot back that we use to keep food warm. I take a gamble and pet this big thing on the head. And he pushed his head up and I scratched him a bit as I continued to move towards my car which is when it happened.

My big left foot, clad in a big ungangly not-quite-a-shoe not-quite-a-boot came right down on one of his paws as we both moved about each other. I didn’t stomp his paw, that implies deliberate aforethought. But I certainly stepped on it, hard. And this animal, I swear, throat ripping distance, and I nearly peed myself as his jaw opened and he …

… licked my hand.

I had to look at my hand to make sure I hadn’t been bitten. Seriously, I thought he was going to bite me. Then I almost peed my pants in relief.

I gave him a good scratching behind his ears. He followed me back to my car and propped himself on the door as I turned the vehicle on. I scratched him some more, then he figured I had to go, jumped down from the door frame, and he was gone and so was I.

Best. Dog. Ever.


Earlier that night, I took a delivery way south in the delivery area. Get to the house and I’m met by the friendliest golden retriever. She walks halfway to the door with me, then stops. She waits until the home owners open their door, then comes running up barking at me. The wife rolls her eyes. “She’s trying to convince us she’s a guard dog.”

Clever furball! She was quite friendly again on the way back out to the car. I admit it – I gave her some scratchin’.

Fraaaadaaaaay night

The conventional wisdom used to be that it sucked to work Friday nights — busiest night of the week so stores stock up on drivers. What that usually translates into, however, is low earning nights — even though the store has more orders to be delivered, it also staffs so many people that generally the average driver earns nada. For awhile, this was the reason I didn’t work Friday nights. It just didn’t make any sense, particularly over the summer where even the franchise (a “summer” store if I ever saw one) suffered slow Friday nights.

(I’ve been accused of not wanting to work nights where I don’t make any money. Um. Yeah. Who wants to work if they’re not going to make money?)

So lately I’ve been working more Friday nights. The franchise on these nights hasn’t been as bad — people are taking off work more often, and so the ratio of drivers to deliveries has improved. Anyway, I had tonight (well, last night) would could be described as “the perfect night.”

I think I only had two doubles (i.e., taking two deliveries or at a time). I don’t know if Steve was trying to screw me on deliveries (a few times I was in the store I noticed A. was getting doubles and triples, but I wasn’t really paying attention to the routing computer), but if he was, boy did he mess up — yeah, I took a bunch of long runs, but with one exception (when an old lady tried to short me three bucks then only tipped a buck when I caught her “mistake”) tips were fuckin’ amazing. I took twelve deliveries and left with eight-four bucks. Taking out the store’s mileage compensation, my average tip was $6, which is good for, say, a Superbowl Sunday where the Ravens win, but for a busy Friday is absolutely mind-blowingly incredible.

See, the other conventional wisdom is that busy (i.e., Fridays) or promotional (two for Tuesday, school nights) days of the week generally suffer from lower tips because that’s when the cheap asses all order.

Long story short, thank you, Steve. You made my fucking weekend. I was half tempted to give you a giant hug and a kiss on the cheek when I left, but, uh, I thought you might take it wrong.

Tommorow (er) tonight, er, no wait, tomorrow is right:Army of Darkness. “Trapped in time. Surrounded by evil. Low on gas.” Best. B-Movie. Of all Time.

N.O. Polices its Police Force

Actions have consequences:

Fifty-one members of the New Orleans Police Department — 45 officers and six civilian employees — were fired Friday for abandoning their posts before or after Hurricane Katrina.

“They were terminated due to them abandoning the department prior to the storm,” acting superintendent Warren Riley said. “They either left before the hurricane or 10 to 12 days after the storm and we have never heard from them.”

Police were unable to account for 240 officers on the 1,450-member force following Katrina. The force has been investigating them to see if they left their posts during the storm.

The mass firing was the first action taken against the missing officers. Another 15 officers resigned when placed under investigation for abandonment.

I remember a police officer once telling me that the New Orleans Police Department was the most corrupt “big city” law enforcement agency in the United States due in large part to its ridiculous low pay ($18k, I think he said, starting rate for patrol-officers). Hopefully, as the city is rebuilt, the local government will take steps to build a stronger, honest police department. I think the officers who stayed to help their city through the disaster of Katrina have demonstrated at least the basic requirements of a police officer, and those who fled should never be permitted to serve in a capacity where their unwillingness to serve could hurt those who depend on them the most, ever again.

Talk About Ignored

State police spokesman Cpl. Jeff Oldham and neighbors said people noticed the body at breakfast time Wednesday but dismissed it as a holiday prank. Authorities were called to the scene more than three hours later.

“They thought it was a Halloween decoration,” Fay Glanden, wife of Mayor William Glanden, told The (Wilmington) News Journal.

I wonder if she hanged herself because she felt ignored? Because if so, clearly, that trend continued to, uh, “haunt” her.


Yesterday I was sick but I worked both jobs. I felt bad for all the people I was probably getting sick, but when I looked at how much they were tipping me, I felt considerably less bad. Except for the few people who tipped me well. I felt very bad for them, but did my best to minimize contact, as I’ve delivered to them before and sort of had a feeling they’d treat me okay. Sorry if I got you sick!

Also: had a conversation last night with the lady at the gun/cat house. They’re into black powder firearms. They’ve also got a dozen kittens running around the property. I was there late, the wife told me a) her son had cleaned his black-powder rifle inside that night and the place stunk so all the windows were open and b) she’d locked the cats in the garage for the night — what a difference country living makes, seems the local foxes come all the way up to the porch and are quite the danger for felines. And I’d always wondered why everytime I went to my grandfather’s farm there were fewer and fewer cats.