I am a spineless mess. I have failed my poor little blog because I have too much shit o do. But I have a pot of freshly-brewed joe, a brand-spankin’ new laptop (later!) and some hellacious ’80’s music blaring courtesy of Spotify. Well, not really hallaacious. Right now is Madonna’s “Crazy for You” because, face it, folks, I am getting old as shit. So I am sitting here with the intention of catching you up on my shizz. Right now. Right here.
It was last Wednesday. We ordered pizza, because that’s what fatasses do. We used to order it all the time, but now we limit ourselves to twice a month. But it was pizza night here in the Bitchypantys household, so I placed the order online. And I was waiting. Evan was outside playing, as it wasn’t dark yet. he came running into the house, all breathless and excited, and asked if I heard that loud CRASH! I had not, as a matter of fact. But I did immediately think of John’s Harley at the end of the sloping driveway, which is parked next to my car. With neighbor children out playing.
“WHAT crash, Evan?!?!”, I shrieked.
“Mommy, the pizza man wrecked his truck!”
Okay, call me a horrible person. Call me nosy. But I had to check that crap out. Pffft. There I saw, about three doors down, an old full-size Dodge truck rammed, ass-first, into my neighbor’s house. But there wasn’t one of those thingies on top of the truck to say it was the pizza place, so it wasn’t him. But I was curious. This was too entertaining to pass up. And I sat on my front porch and watched.
Hey…wait a …..Is that a Papa John’s shirt the guy is wearing? It looked like one from my perch. Surely not. How in the hell would he end up backed into the neighbor’s house? No way. That isn’t the pizza guy. But where is the Pizza Guy? So I grilled Ev for the details. Evan said the guy pulled up in front of our house, not the driveway, and got out of the truck. Apparently, he failed to put his truck into park or activate the parking brake or something. And just as he got out, the truck started to roll backward down our hill. And he chased it.
“He had to TUCK AND ROLL, Mommy!”, Evan gasped. John about died at that one. So not only did the guy wreck the damned truck into a house, but he ran over himself in the process of trying to stop it. Really. I cannot make this shit up, I swear. And the whole time, I am thinking to myself, “You have gotta be shittin’ me!”
I waited. I watched. I didn’t know what to do, so I called Papa John’s. I told them I wasn’t calling to complain, but perhaps they could send another driver out to check on him or something. And by he way, we’re starving. Can you just re-make our order and we’ll come pick it up and pay? Oh holy crap.
The man asked me if I was able-bodied. Ummmm. Yes? Well, would I mind just being a doll and getting our pizza from the driver who is having the worst night of his pizza-delivery career and possibly his life? And tell him it’s free. Yeah, okay. So I go back onto the front porch while I am on the phone.
“Nuh-unh”, I say. “The police are down there now. And here comes an ambulance. What am I supposed to say? ‘Sorry ’bout your luck–can I have my pizza?’ No.”
By this time, the guy on the phone is cracking up laughing, and tells me to go and get it, that it’s fine, that the guy is new and they don’t even have his cell number yet. I had to have had the worst lapse in judgement ever. Because I went and got the pizza. The free pizza. By this point, my neighbors were huddled around in a circle. They asked me if it was my dinner, to which I sheepishly nodded. “Dude, that sucks!” Yeah. Yeah, it does, buddy.
But the worst part? I told the guy who I was, that I had called the store, not to complain, but out of concern for him. And he started crying. Big fat fucking tears. And ugly sort of cry, too. With runny nose and everything. He told me he had been out of work for 2 months, this was his first night back, and now he was going to get fired. Shit.
I felt awful. I really did. The pizza wasn’t even good at that point. I felt like the lowest of the low. And also, holy crap, can I not even order dinner without drama???? And then John made me feel totally better about myself. And made me realize that, while I love my husband, he can be a dick sometimes.
“Call them and tell them to send us more pizza. This crap’s cold!” Really.
PS–We’ve moved on from Madonna to the John Cougar/ John Mellencamp/ John Cougar Mellencamp part of the playlist. “Pink Houses”, “Jack and Diane”, “Hurt So Good”. Awwww hell. I’m on a roll now, baby!