"One more weekend..."

Maybe all of my titles will be quotes from Dylan from now on, who can say?

Wow. My last weekend at Roadrunners. Looking back, I see years and years of Friday and Saturday nights in servitude to the man, eschewing any ambition of a normal-time social-life for the hit-and-miss life of the pizza tip, looking forward, I see a murky somethingness across the seas in Incheon which despite its ambiguity seems certain not to involve working till midnight on the weekends. What will I do with all my free time, what will it be like to have an actual weekend? Christ, I dunno...

Friday night was pretty busy but I got caught in a rut and kept getting the crappy runs. It started off reasonably well, my first delivery was to this gremlin sized guy at 410 Ranch Farm (why bother blacking out the street names? it's not like this guy reads blogs...). He always tips, and sometimes he tips well (when he's drunk) but it was still too early in the day when I got there so he only gave me 2 bucks. What was remarkable about the trip was that he had two of his buddies over with him, and one of them was this guy I'd encountered before.

I can't remember if I saw this guy at the same address, or if I saw him at his own home or somewhere else, but I'd definitely seen him before. I didn't recognize him when I looked at him, but my memory was jogged when he said to me what he'd said before:

"You got any red pepper in yow car there, boy?"

Like I said I can't remember where I've seen him, but I remember being asked this question several times over the last year or so, and it was always this jackass doing the questioning. Now, you may be thinking that that's a reasonable enough question (even though it isn't - c'mon, it's not like we delivery drivers carry around gobs of pepper and parmesan just in case someone asks for it, it's not prudent) but what makes this guy a "major league asshole," to quote the president I believe, is that he's asked me several times before and every time I respond in the negative, and when I do so he gets downright indignant with me.

On Friday he asked about the pepper and I said no, then he asks: "you got any parmesan cheese in dere?"

Seeing that this could be the beginning of an endless sequence of questions about what I do or do not carry around in my Corolla I cut him off and said "no, I've got nothing in there."

He grunted in disgust and walked away while his height-challenged friend paid me. But as I was leaving I had to pass by him and the 3rd friend and he half-grunted/half-articulated some sort of sentence that was ostensibly directed at his pal but was really directed towards me, something like "Grunt dang dern peppers in dang ol car dere, parmesan grunt grunt in the car grunt grunt dang grunt."

I just ignored him until I reached my car, but by the end there it was obvious he was trying to get a response from me because his tone kept on elevating as he approached the end of the sentence like you do when you're not sure if you want to mumble something or scream it, and then you decide halfway through...I opened the door, stood in the partition between it and the opening it created, and sized him up.

I knew I could take him if it came to that, and though a physical confrontation wasn't really something on the ol conscious-radar when guys get into confrontations that's the first thing we consider, whether we realize it or not. I also knew that it was one of my last days at work, and fuck it, I could be disrespectful to this fucking prick if I wanted to be. And maybe waynepast would have been, waynepast might have said something like "Dude if you don't shut the fuck up about the fucking red pepper I'm gonna rip that goddamn hick mustache off your face and feed it to you," but waynepresent, or, to be more accurate, wayne near-past is more mature than that, and he said only (with just a hint of sarcasm) "thanks for the advice, I'll take it under advisement" and drove away.

Another interesting delivery that night was when I went to this mailb0x-less trailer park where it's always hard to figure out which house is which. A lot of times in places like this you just have to do your best and guess, and pull in and out of driveways with your brights on until you spot the numbers on the door...and sometimes when there are no numbers you just pick one and knock on the door. Anyway on Friday I get there and I was actually talking on my cell as I pulled onto the street, and so I drove up and down it one time looking for the number, but I didn't see anything. As I was coming back up the street again I notice that there's a guy outside and he seems to be looking at me. I ended my call and stopped in front of his yard, rolled down my window, and asked him if he ordered the pizza.

He considered it for a moment and then said that no, he had not. "Oh," I said, "well then are you number 9? I'm looking for number 11 and maybe that's your neighbor." The guy considered that question for another moment and then said "I don't know...I had a stroke."

"Oh, OK," I said and got back in the car. Now, I'm not one to make fun of stroke victims...my dad had a stroke about 10 years ago and I know how difficult they can be. But for whatever reason his answer amused me...I guess it's what he says whenever he gets befuddled...but seriously dude, you need to re-learn what your address is.

Saturday night was slow and dull and I can't think of any stories that could even be slightly interesting...of course if you've read to this point you may think that was true of Friday night, as well...all that's left is Sunday to complete the final weekend trifecta for me at Roadrunner's, and though I can't know for certain I'm gonna go out on a limb and predict more tedium. To quote another musician: "I could be wrong, but I'm not."

To Quote Dylan: "Things Have Changed..."

Wow, a lot has happened in the last few days.

On Friday I finally got my diploma from UNC, which for whatever reason does not have them ready for the December grads when they graduate.

I emailed the Korean recruiter I'd been working with and let her know I now actually had my physical diploma and could prove that I had my degree with more than just a transcript...I did this on Sunday I believe.

Monday, last night, she calls me and says she has a position lined up for me in Incheon, which is a large city (mid-sized, by their standards) just to the South of Seoul. Think Philadelphia:New York::Incheon:Seoul. She says all I need to do is speak briefly with the principal at the school and with this guy named Joey, who is another English teacher and who's been in Korea for a few months after likewise being recruited by the same person. I did so, liked what I heard, and accepted the position.

Today, this morning, I received the contract via email, looked over it and talked about it with my recruiter, and signed it. Tomorrow or the next day, after I've got all my shit squared away, I'll send it off to Incheon.

Next Friday, the 24th of February, if all goes as planned, I'll board a plane and head off to the other side of the world...where I'll land in the famous and architecturally interesting Incheon airport, featured above.

Holy Shit I Can't Wait For This

Bob Dylan's back in the studio; album will be released in the next few months

I am really, really excited about this. It's been a long time since 2001's Love & Theft, but if the new album is anything like that one then it will have been worth it. Dylan seems to be taking his time with new releases in his old age, 1997's Time Out of Mind jump-started the whole Dylan-revival that got me interested in his music, and then Love & Theft confirmed that the old man still has it, in spades, but it took four long years for the sequel to come out. I've heard rumors that this could be it, that he may release this album in May and then walk away from music for good...I don't believe that, he's been doing the Never Ending Tour for almost 20 years so why stop now? But I don't know what it's like to be 65 anymore than the next 23-year old, so who can say?

Whatever happens, I'm just glad to have one more new album from the master, even if this is it. Now if we can just get a NET bootleg series going, then we'll have something...

The Superbowl

Sorry for the generic image, but until I get myself a digital camera these pictures that have been culled from the internet will have to do.

Everything went surprisingly well yesterday, much to my surprise. Charley didn't break down into tears because of the enormity of it all, he didn't call James in on his birthday, Leah and Charley didn't start cussing each other out over who was the laziest, and Abdul and I didn't threaten each other with violence b/c someone took the wrong run.

As in Superbowls past, James overscheduled a bit and we weren't quite as busy as we expected to be. It shouldn't come as a surprise, part of the reason the big pizza stores are so busy on this day is b/c they advertise like mad before and during the game...and of course my little store doesn't do TV advertising. But there was still something of a bump as compared to normal Sundays, that's for sure.

People were tipping well, for the most part, although I did get stiffed at one house. I should've expected it but for whatever reason my mind was elsewhere and I wasn't anticipating a no-tip as I drove to 2328 _____ St. If you know it's coming then you can deal, but when you pull up to the driveway and then realize who the asshole is that you're about to meet then sometimes you don't put your best face forward. I'd been to this house several times, usually in the early afternoon and usually to deliver to a few kids who order a sub or two and a dozen wings as an afternoon snack, I guess. Being teenagers, of course they never tip. But when I pulled up last night there were a few more cars in the yard and they had a relatively large order coming their way, so I thought maybe, just maybe, the kids' mother/father/guardian would be more generous.

This older black lady comes to the door, I smile, still thinking I might get tipped, and tell her the price (22 something). She takes the pizzas and hands me a twenty, then says hold on a second. She calls to her friend/child/miserly companion, who dumps something into her hands just beyond my scope, then she returns. "Here ya go," she says kindly, all smiles, and she holds out her hands which're cupped together. I extend mine in the same way, and she dumps a sweaty glob of change into hands.

I take a quick glance, see that it's about $2, and turn and walk away without any sort of parting phrase or gesture. I normally say to the tippers "Thank you, have a good night" and sometime I'll even extend the courtesy of the latter half of that phrase to no-tippers, just as a reflex, but when someone really pisses me off I say nothing and just walk away, doing my best to scowl. I've been tempted in the past to say "Thanks a lot" but I could never quite bring myself to be that rude to a customer.

Well, this behavior just stunned this old woman, and she calls out to my back: "aincha gowna count it?!" I said nothing and walked to my car, she mumbled something about "dat boy" and went back into her house. Fuck her.

Old bitch at 2328, you now join Eric Bana on my shit list.

Thursday 2/2

Except for the last hour, last night was just another really slow weekday. I did 8 runs in 5 hours, which is...not good. But the tips were excellent, for the most part, and this weekend should be busy, especially Sunday with the Superbowl and all.

We did have a late night rush in the last hour, right as the rain was picking up, of course. I had taken a close run and returned to the store as Mo was leaving with another. There were two deliveries, neither of them that far away but in opposite directions, and the first one, which would belong to me, was the better of the two. So I was looking forward to taking that one and leaving the shitty one for Mo. Naturally, James asks me: "you want to take both?"

Of course the subtext here is: "please take both. I can't trust Mo yet with an after-hours delivery like that one." You see it was getting close to closing time and whoever took the second run would have to deliver it some time after 10. Neither James nor Charlie ever stay a second past closing time, unlike managers at, you know, real stores, and so when a late delivery is taken what happens is the driver has to pay for it in advance and then he pockets what he collects from the customer. A whole helluva a lot of time something goes wrong on these, and why we still do it I don't know (it seems like hundreds of times I've done it and people have called the store b/c they think their delivery's late, and there was no answer, so when I get there they say something like "I ain't payin fo dis! I dun called de stow an dun noone ansaad!" and I'm out there without a lifeline) but anyway the point is Mo is still inexperienced with that sort of thing and to top it off he is cell-phone-less, so it wouldn't be a great idea for him to take it.

I said yes, and then b/c another call came in I had to wait until practically 10 before I left with both deliveries. Both were a hassle - there's just something about these late night deliveries after closing time, it's like the customers know they can give me a hard time - but they weren't as bad as they could be.

At the first one the total was ~25 or so, and the asshole comes out (after I have to knock three separate times, by the final knocking my hand hurt coz I banged the door so much) and wants to pay with two twenties. I had a five and five ones for change, normally I would have more but 1)I had no cash in my wallet and 2)I had to borrow the ten for the bank from the store in the first place, and for some reason I didn't take the usual 15, which would have sufficed in this instance.

"Do you have a ten?" I asked. "You see I only have 10 in change."

The guy snorts and then says no. He leaves me with one of the twenties and heads back into his trailer to "look for some change." Meanswhile I stand outside for 3-4 minutes while he looks...when he comes back he says "just give me the ten and we'll call it even."

That's not the way I usually get a $5 tip, but I'll take it. Of course, now I had no change for my next stop, so I had to swing by a gas station and make change.

When I finally arrive at my second stop, a full 45 minutes after they'd ordered, I was sure they'd called the store by then. You see we tell everyone when we take the orders "it'll be there in about 45 minutes" which is a safe time to give b/c it's usually pretty accurate and gives us a good plus/minus range. But nobody listens anymore, we all just wait for our chance to speak, and pizza patrons are just like everyone else, only worse.

It had been drizzling, but as I pulled up onto this guy's street the bottom fell out and the rain really started to come down. I know (b/c I took the order over the phone) that this guy ain't gonna tip, but I do the honorable thing and keep his stuff in the bag so it won't get wet, and I rush up to his door like I give a damn. He sees me and opens it, but of course he doesn't invite me in, and since he lives in a fucking trailer there isn't any covering on the porch. So I'm standing there getting drenched, handing him his pizza, and he gives me a twenty for his $18.77 order. For a quarter of a second I thought he might pity me and let me keep the $1.23, but well, I could take one look at him and tell he was much closer to the ideal no-tipper than he was to the ideal great-tipper. I guess I'll go into pizza delivery profiling later, but he was a young, semi-poor, black man. That does not translate into good tippage.

As I pulled away the rain abated. Another of God's little jokes.