Greg hired a new driver.
He’s not going to last long.
Greg asked why I thought that. First, let me explain the new guy drives a Ford Explorer. It gets a whopping fifteen miles to the gallon.
The franchise’s delivery area, as I’ve explained before, isn’t a compact area of apartments, town-homes, and strip-malls. It’s larger than Baltimore City, boasts three gas stations, and four traffic lights. It’s made up of trailer trash, farms, bigger farms and McMansions.
I’m paid $1 in mileage per delivery. I make this much because Greg will give out mileage increases in lieu of pay raises. Newbies start at, I believe, seventy- or eighty- cents compensation.
Long story short, this new guy looks half-brain-dead already, but it’s probably not going to take him long to realize he’s pissing all his tip money right back into the gas tank. And once that lightbulb clicks, he’s gone.
Another reason I know he won’t last long?
Last night, I told him where he’d be going on his delivery. Like a good little boy, he checked the map and figured out where he was headed. Came back over, looked at the oven, looked at the boxes waiting for pizzas, then looked at the heat rack. “So … should I go now?”
“Well, sure …” I said. “But you’ll notice the pizza isn’t out of the oven yet so I don’t know what the point would be.”
He gave me this blank look. Not quite an Ogre-blank look, but close enough.
(Guess who I get to work with tonight? Greg’s drafted Ogre to drive Friday rush.)