It had been a long day. It was unusually hot for October. I was ready for the leaves to turn maroon, gold, and all shades of rust, but the weather wasn't ready. So I wore khaki shorts and a black band t-shirt.
I'd been delivering food all day. The lunch rush was busy. I didn't know why — maybe the capitalists were feeling lazy or just didn't have time to go out. All the better for me. More deliveries means more tips.
I stopped at the same gas station in the worst part of town for a break. It had been six months since I got food poisoning from this location. All the clerks had turned over since then. Whoever forgot to change out the taquitos couldn't still be there. Now seemed as good a time as any to roll the dice.
I went inside and passed the slot machines on my way to the 2 for $3 deal. An old woman with an oxygen mask was feeding her Social Security check into a machine, trying to change her fortune. A homeless man beside her was doing the same thing with whatever he had left. Sometimes the sensible thing to do seems senseless.
Before I could get my food, I got a notification: a $20 order. Can't pass that up. Two pizzas, less than five miles. Easy money.
I walked past the old lady, the beggar, and three shoeless kids with dirty feet outside the convenience store, got in my old car, and cranked the ignition three times. I was on my way.
I pulled into the parking lot of the pizza place and ignored a phone call. One way you can tell it's still hot is that the maze of spiders under the overhang is still thick. Moths, flies, and other bugs are stuck in a life they don't want — just like the rest of us.
No wait. The food was ready when I got there. Within five minutes I was on my way again. Another call from the same number. I ignored it again, but this time it left a voicemail. I wondered if it was the extended warranty thing again.
I pulled into the apartment complex for my delivery. I tried not to peek at the voicemail, but couldn't help myself. I have that text generator on my phone that transcribes messages. I saw the first line and my heart sank.
Then the call came a third time. I hit ignore again. Why answer now? I know all is lost. All is hopeless. What use do I have for additional confirmation?
The only question that remains is: do I head to the hospital or deliver this pizza? I'm already here. Might as well walk it to the front door and make $20. It won't change my situation, but I can't think of a reason not to deliver it.
