Pizza To Go

Why I ALWAYS Tip the Pizza Delivery Guy AT LEAST $5
By: Terry D. Roehrig II

It was the summer of 1996. Things were going great for me working at the local Papa John’s. I was the Assistant Manager. Things could have been going better for our small town, however. We had the most severe weather that summer. Nothing but rain, rain and oh, yeah, more rain. Flooding like you just couldn’t imagine. Boy, was I glad to be working INSIDE. One particular night will ALWAYS stick with me. We were SLAMMED. Drivers were calling in sick left and right. You would have thought that there was an epidemic going around or something. Two cases of "Fakee-sickee-itis, three cases of "Me-no-wanna-work-a-tosis" and one case of the "Mumps". Manager was freaking out!
"Terry, I need YOU to deliver those pies!" she screamed. Oh, joy. "NOW!"
I flew out of there like I was fleeing a Barbra Streisand concert. Rain was coming down in buckets. I could hardly see my 1993 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera and it was WHITE. I flung open the passenger side door, threw my FOUR deliveries onto the seat, SLAMMED a magnetic sign on my roof and plugged ’er in. How humiliating. I ran to the other side and plopped my soggy body down behind the wheel. Considering the weather, I should have borrowed my neighbor’s BOAT to go to work that day. I was off and.....treading.

I had mapped out all of the stops in my head. Devised the perfect plan of attack, the ultimate pizza delivering machine, that’s what I was. Or at least that’s what I THOUGHT I was. See, I had four stops and if I finished them on time, my Manager would let me go since I opened that morning and I had plans to go to the movies with my friends. We were catching the Midnight Movie at the cinema. I think the title of the movie was "Mission: Impossible"? I don’t know.....anyway, the first delivery - it was already 10 minutes late. Wonderful. Not only do I have to be out in this nastiness, I get to have some person yell at me for delivering them a cold pizza....all with a smile. Now, I knew where I was going. The person’s address? FAMILIAR is a better term to use. I knew of the general AREA. My "plan" was to drive down this road and SEARCH for the connecting road. Yeah, not really that great a plan. I see that NOW. The rain was coming down SO HARD, it was like I was driving through a constant car wash. I swear as I was traveling down the road, I think that I was passed by "FLIPPER". Needless to say, I missed the road. I just kept on driving. That’s when the road narrowed. Trees on both side of me - close, even. Kind of like some cheesy B-rated horror movie that you would catch on real late at night on cable.
"Duh-Dahl" "Dum-Dum" "Dah-Dah" "Dum-Dum" "Duh-Da-DUM!"
So, I took my "JAWS" soundtrack out of my CD player - it was bothering me.
The pizza delivery ticket stated "Hard to find, road almost like a PATH". Ok. So, maybe I’m not so wrong after all. Maybe this is where I should be. The path wound and curved, twisted and turned and trees were scraping up my roof. The entire time the only thing on my mind - "Oh my God, I hope the police can find my body." When suddenly...EUREKA, a clearing! Black asphalt, a house on top of the hill just beyond it. I hit that gas pedal so hard, Jeff Gordon would have been proud. And in second.

What my car did next really surprised me. I steered right, it went left. I turned left, it went right. So, I did what any other normal pizza-delivering machine would do and I pumped my brakes because my poor car was possessed. Perhaps I was driving over an old Indian burial ground? Before I knew it, the BACK end of my car was trying to PASS the front end of my car. When I was a kid growing up back in Ohio, winters were cool because my brother and I used to get out our sleds and push each other down a really steep hill. Because we were stupid. Kids don’t think about danger, they think about FUN. What’s more fun than careening down a steep hill at 50 miles per hour with nothing to stop you at the end? I am here to tell you now, sliding in my automobile (which is a little heavier than my sled, I think) - I finally got to understand DANGER. My car finally came to a halt. Whew! Back to work. Give ‘er a little gas. Nothing. Little more gas....still...nothing. Uh-oh. There I was, out in the middle of nowhere, ABSOLUTELY no signal on the cell phone, pouring down rain, now 20 minutes late for my FIRST delivery, the inside of the car was starting to smell like a pizza parlor crossed with a man odor and just a hint of wet musky rain. Can‘t wait to see THAT perfume on the market. The only thing IN my favor was that I had plenty of food to survive out there in the wild. "Don’t panic, don’t panic, just put the car in reverse." Yeah, right. Why do people always think they can just undo the events of time and space by simply putting the car in reverse? Like it’s a time machine or something. "Oh, please, baby, please take me back in time, and get me out of this freaky place!" I heard a sound that was not too unlike the sound of a car that was stuck. That’s because I was. No time to lose, I grabbed the first delivery, flung open my door and stuck my foot out to stand up. Huh...whaddya know. It wasn’t asphalt. Let’s just say I now know the feeling if you happened to be on a construction site and you place your foot in wet cement. I looked down. There was no foot. There was no shoe. Just mud. Deep, thick, sloppy mud. People pay to be in this stuff? As I tugged and tugged, my foot finally came free from the mud. My FOOT. I looked down...there was still no shoe. The mud...had eaten...my shoe. You know that you have officially "lost it" when you start yelling at mud.
"Stupid mud! I hate you! That was an Adidas! When I get through with you, your name’s gonna be...yeah, well...you know."
I pried my poor shoe out of the treacherous mud and threw it down on my car floor. It looked like it had been doing some off-roading. I took off my other shoe so I wouldn’t look like an idiot. A pizza guy coming to your house with only one shoe, what a dork, eh? But a pizza guy coming to your house with NO shoes...now, THAT guy has got it together.

About that time, the rain was starting to let up a little. It went from raining buckets to raining cats and dogs. Finally, somewhat of a break. I took one long look at the house on the hill that I was about to go "deliver" to. Two stories, nice beat-up exterior, scattered lights on within the house. Lightning struck. KRACK-A-KA-BOOM. Nice touch. I’m thinking - "Since when does Norman Bates eat pizza?" I ran up to the house, soaking wet, no shoes, completely out of breath (yeah, I don’t get much exercise, sue me), a little disoriented and I knock on the door. I start practicing my "speech". You know, what excuse I’m going to tell these yahoos. Who lives way the heck out there like that anyway? Hemingway? The door opened and out stepped, I swear to God, the World’s Oldest Living Man. He smiled at me....and oh, I wish he hadn’t have done that. When he did, he showed me the World’s Oldest Living Case of Gum Disease.
"How you doin’, sonny? I didn’t order no pizza...haven’t eaten pizza since 1956."
My face of disgust went to another form of disgust.
"What? You’re not Mr. Jenkins?" I asked.
He then proceeded to tell me that this Mr. Jenkins that I spoke of lives over in "that there little trailer park" and points down his DRIVEWAY - the opposite direction in which I walked up his hill.
"Do you think I could use your phone?" I asked him politely.
The man let out sort of a snort/chuckle along with a little bit of drool.
"Sonny, I ain’ts had no phone since 1978."
Oh, dear God. Why me? "Hey, thanks, I would love to stay here and talk with ya but you’re not....from around....Earth. Bye." And just like that, I was off again.

The delivery was now approximately 30 minutes late. I had no car, no shoes, I could have fallen into a pool and gotten less wet than I was. I was tired, hungry and cold, to say I was "a little peeved" is one huge understatement. So, there I was. Running down the road in my pizza-guy uniform, pizza-guy hat, pizza in my outstretched arms, rain pouring down on top of me. I could just imagine what the neighbors thought - "Boy, business must be bad - they can’t even afford cars for their drivers!" I high-tailed it over to Mr. Jenkin’s trailer. Great, no porch. I knock on the door and a few seconds later, Mr. Jenkins appears and asks me to come in out of the rain. The man takes one look at me from head to toe - kind of like how they "size" you up in prison. He takes a look out his screen door and then.....back to me. I started to go through my "story" and apologize, but he stopped me mid-sentence. And then he fired questions at me like a mad drill sergeant. "Are you okay? What happened? Where’s your car?" What was this?? Actual genuine concern? Oh my, thank God. I was starting to hate these things called "people". I spilled my guts - told him everything - I would have made a horrible spy. I handed him the pizza and he just put it on the table. He then let me know that he had already called my boss and was told that I left about half an hour ago. He said that he was starting to get worried about me and was about to go out looking. Wow...can you imagine? A search party...for me. Either this was one of America’s Nicest Men or he was just reaaaaaally hungry. I asked to use his phone so that I could call my boss and a tow truck.
"Tow truck? What in tarnation for?" he asked me.
I looked at him in disbelief. Did he NOT hear my story? Did he NOT listen to the part where my car is being swallowed by the biggest freakin’ mud hole I‘ve ever seen in this lifetime?
"Oh, no son - we’ll get her out with Betsy," was his only response.
I was only hoping that "Betsy" was the name of his 500-pound daughter who likes to lift cars in her spare time. Alas, it was not. "Betsy", apparently, was his truck. If you don’t know Southern folk, I will tell you a little bit about them right now. They live with their family, they LOVE their truck. They like the Super Bowl of Motor Sports, they LOVE their truck. Catching my drift here? Mr. Jenkins puts his arm around me like I was his son and walks me outside to get a gander at "Betsy".
"Oh, yeah, Betsy and me have saved plenty of people. Pulled a school bus full of nuns outta the ditch just last week. There ain’t nothin’ Betsy can’t pull."
It sounded like a really bad pitch for the new Southern TV show, "The Superhick and Betsy Variety Hour". One problem. "Betsy" looked like the World’s Oldest (Living?) Truck. It didn’t look like "Betsy" could pull a stroller out of a mud puddle. I reluctantly hopped in Betsy’s cab and off we went....back to the scene of the crime.

That was probably the most embarrassing ride of my life. To actually take this nice Mr. Jenkins down the same path - showing him where I stupidly got my car stuck in the mud. "Betsy" was tearing them trees down mercilessly. It was almost as if they were jumping out of her way, like they were scared of that truck.
"You actually thought I lived BACK HERE?” exclaimed Mr. Jenkins.
Yeah, like I needed to hear that right now. The fact that I was drenched, had no shoes, covered in mud - and now....I had no common sense. Thanks there, Mr. Jenkins. Way to ego boost me there. We finally arrived at our destination. I like to remember it as "Field of Mud" (drive there and the more stupid you will feel). There was my car, sitting completely alone way out in the middle of that clearing. It had gotten dark fast, but you could easily spot my car. It was the one with the huge, lighted, magnetic sign on the top. Mr. Jenkins looked at me and then took his hand and rubbed "Betsy’s" dashboard. "Alright, Betsy, let’s work your magic."
This is what I had been reduced to - a powerful, magical truck, which liked to be "petted" incidentally....to rescue my poor car from "Mudgate". He turned "Betsy" around and proceeded to BACK UP to my car so that we could tie a rope to "Betsy" and then he would drag me out. Now....let me digress here for a second. I like Mr. Jenkins. Hell, I like "Betsy". Mr. Jenkins was SO into this - I mean, a man who would rather pull crap out of the World’s Largest Mud hole, then eat pizza. I watched him as he was backing up - the concentration in his eyes as he was looking through that rear-view mirror. His jaw clenched, his hands tight on that wheel, he looked like a true professional, a genius in his own rite. I was in awe. Suddenly, we stopped.
"Yep...that oughta do it!"
I was excited.
"Are we ready to hook up that rope now?" I beamed.
"Nope."
"What....why not?" I asked.
"We’re stuck."
My eyes blinked like a million times as I just stared at Mr. Jenkins.
"What? No....no....come on, Betsy, come on girl!"
I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was frantically rubbing my hand over "Betsy’s" dash - I was petting her harder than I have any dog in my entire life. Mud, 2 - Terry, 0.

Mr. Jenkins got out, came over to my side.
"I’m gonna go call a tow truck, you wanna come?"
More running around in the mud with no shoes? Who doesn’t want to do that? I haven’t run around this much since they had my two favorite TV shows on at the same time.
"I think I’ll stay here, thanks. Besides.....Betsy needs company."
So there I was. Alone again. Just me and "Betsy". I gave her a reassuring pat on the dash.
"It’s okay, girl, you’ll get the next one out, huh?"
"Betsy" and I had a real good conversation. She is an excellent listener. I bared my soul to her that night, told her some of my deepest, darkest secrets....because I knew that she would take those secrets to the grave with her. I made a vow right then and there that this would positively be the LAST day that I ever spoke to a car or truck again. It would be like cheating. As I wiped a tear away from my eye, I heard this incredible sound. Not too unlike the sound of a Sasquatch belching. No, there wasn’t a Bigfoot out there, it was just Mr. Jenkins and the tow truck. Finally. Mr. Jenkins and the tow truck driver got out. Tim, the tow truck driver, evaluated the situation. He looked at "Betsy". He then looked all the way over to look at "Ciera". He turned to speak to Mr. Jenkins.
"YOU, I can get out. You’re only two feet in."
He then turned to me.
"YOU, on the other hand....WOW, now THAT is impressive! How’d you get it in that far?"
Great, I’m getting compliments on my worst driving ever. I guess that’s when you know you’ve got real problems. When the tow truck driver says - "I ain’t going in there and my cable won’t reach ya."
"Then what should I do?" I asked.
"Make some mud pies!"
A tow truck driver by day, stand up comedian by night. I was not amused. If Mr. Jenkins didn’t need him right then and there, I promise you that the police wouldn’t have found HIS body. Tim hooked up his equipment and snared "Betsy" outta the mud hole. Since he couldn’t do anything for me, he didn’t charge me anything. He did, however, charge Mr. Jenkins fifty bucks. I felt awful. Here was this nice man who tried to help me, didn’t get to eat his pizza, got stuck himself, now he’s out fifty bucks. I fished a twenty out of my pocket and handed it to Mr. Jenkins. He wouldn’t take it. I felt worse. Looks like "Betsy" and I needed to have another session.

Before I knew it, they were all gone. Tim, Mr. Jenkins and "Betsy". They all left. I trudged over to "Ciera" and plopped my butt down on her trunk. I was seriously considering changing careers. I knew I should have taken that job at Burger King. God, a Whopper sounded so good right then. Oh, yeah, that’s right, they don’t deliver. Stupid Burger King. That’s when it happened. The brightest lights I have ever seen shone on me from the distance. I had to shield my eyes, they were so bright. This strange humming noise along with the lights. Oh, my God....could it be? Visitors? Here? Now? Me? I was having an encounter! It came through the trees, getting closer and closer. I was like a deer in headlights. And that’s when I heard his voice:
"Hey Sonny!"
It was the World’s Oldest Living Man riding his spaceship.....er, tractor.
"Looks like you’re stuck! Can I pull you out?"
Could he pull me out? Was he kidding? I would have done anything he asked if he could get me out. I have never been so desperate. I was thinking about just leaving the car there, burying it and buying a new one. I let him know that the tow truck driver couldn’t even do it, but I would love all the help I could get.
"Tow truck? Sissy stuff. This here tractor will get your car out in a jiff."
God bless Mr. Jenkins for all that he did, but Elmer (the old man), hopped off that tractor, grabbed some rope, dived under my car, hooked it up, crawled back on top of that tractor and as easy as 1, 2, 3...."Ciera" was safe and sound back up on non-sinky ground. She needed a good bath, that’s for sure, but so did I. Talk about amazing. Elmer was fantastic.
"How did you find me out here, Elmer?"
"Yer light on top of the car, it was like a beacon!"
I dug fifty bucks out of my pocket and handed it to Elmer.
"Oh, no...I can’t charge ya! Wouldn’t be friendly-like. Maybe some time when I’m stuck, I might need someone to help me and I might not have fifty bucks."
What a great guy. I gave him all the pizza I had in my car because his wife and grandkids ate pizza. He appreciated that. It was the absolute LEAST I could do for what he did.

I drove back to the store; I was gone approximately four hours. I looked like a cross between a drowned rat and a Swiss Spa Treatment experiment gone horribly wrong. I guess the moral of my story is: I hate mud. No, wait. That night I learned that there still are good people out there. There’s a little bit of a hero in all of us. Needless to say, I am not in the pizza business anymore. So now whenever I go to Mr. Jenkin’s place - I’m not delivering. I do however, supply the Big Macs. And when I visit Elmer and his grandkids, I bring the soup.