Brandon ordered a pizza this evening. He didn’t want my chili, evidently.
The delivery person was an elderly gentleman, the second of such delivery guys who have clearly been over the hill for some time to come from the Pizza Hut on Emerson Ave.
My issue with that is that this defies all logic of who I think the pizza guy should be. It should be a pizza boy, not a pizza guy. I’ll be sexist and say I don’t even want females delivering pizza. When that doorbell rings, there had better be a pimply, grotesquely greasy 18-year-old standing there holding something that is allegedly a pizza.
When an old guy answers the door, I immediately assume this man can’t afford his medication or some other vital necessity and he has to deliver pizzas to make up for it. This results in a larger tip from me, which is even more bothersome. Then, I get to watch him saunter down my driveway to his car as he hobbles along. I’m left standing there with a barking dog and wondering if that poor soul is going to fall down and break his hip.
My god, what if that man fought in a war? What if he was the guy who planted a flag in Korea, Kuwait or Vietnam!? The guy that just left could have easily been old enough to have fought in Vietnam.
The result? When I order a pizza, I go pick it up from the store. I’m not paying a guy $3 to deliver a pizza up the street from me (they could throw it out the window of the store and it’d make it halfway to my driveway). Plus, I could drive around I-465 on $3. That, and I’m afraid an old guy is going to deliver it.
So, in conclusion, America is screwed because old people are delivering pizzas.