I think I realized that one of the best jobs I ever had was delivering pizza. Really, the schedule was set in stone, I had 2 days off a week, and on alternate Friday or Saturday night I was done by 9pm. It was great. And there was so much shit that happened that's worth talking about. (like the dead guy who watched wheel of fortune)
There was one Friday night that I had to work late, and I got a delivery for just up the street. I headed to the deliver address and knocked on the screen door. Some guy was sitting, visible to me, on a chair watching ESPN or some such shit, and it was loud so I figured he just hadn't heard me. I knocked again, louder. I shouted, "Hello!" Finally, he moved. Or more appropriately: jerked to life and spilled the beer he had in his hand all over the floor. The guy was not just drunk, he was unable to actually stand up.
So I watched this guy try to stand, fall sideways onto the floor. He crawled on his stomach to get to the door, and finally leaned himself in the open doorway. He muttered something and I figured he was asking how much. I told him, once, twice and perhaps up to five times before he finally just opened his wallet, handed me a five and a ten. I took the money, handed him the bag with the sub and fries, and left him there in the door. I was pretty sure he probably spent the night there and doubted he would touch the food since he seemed barely able to stay conscious.
Best part was, it was a slower night, and the order was out in less that 20 minutes, so I could only imagine how he managed to even order the food.
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