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Day 4: My First Friday

My last delivery of the night – last night being the busiest yet with somewhere around 13 deliveries - was to the Century Link Hilton. I parked behind a pickup truck. It was parked behind a pickup truck. That one was parked behind a Prius. And the Prius, a pickup truck.
Odd, right? Pickups everywhere. And a Democrat in there for kicks.
Receipt for the pizza said to call when I got there. So I did. Three times. No answer.
I got out and asked a bellhop if my parking was acceptable for the delivery of a delicious pizza pie. It was not. I was to park alongside the shuttles. So I did. Cost me thirty feet. No big deal. I got out and ran to the doors, stopping by a nice security guard on the way in who pointed me to the elevators. I passed through the automatic sliding glass doors on the North side of the building.
It was loud. There was a par-tay going on of epic rodeo proportions. There were cowboy hats, belt buckles, boots, beer and big hair coming out of everywhere. They walked and drank, sat and drank, and went to the elevators and drank.
I missed a semi-full elevator. That’s ok. I would have had to duck below the hat brims, or wedge it somewhere between two Cat mesh big-bill trucker’s hats. Not my idea of effective upward transit.
A new one arrived in short order and I followed a young couple – no hats, but definitely boots – and parked my butt in the back-right corner. Three more people followed. Two big-haired, tall-hatted women approached just as the elevator was closing. I threw my hand forward just as the door was closing and caught it. They laughed and said, “Thank you!” Another gentleman followed them, mesh hat and beer accounted for, and said, “I definitely want to ride with the pizza guy.”
“Oh, and not with the Rodeo Queens? Thanks a lot!” said one of the regal pair. That caused a good laugh.
“That really does smell awesome!” man-with-beer said.
“How much for your pizza?” the old man by the buttons said. He had jowls. Can’t be old and a cowboy without jowls.
“If it were mine to sell, I’d give it to you for free!” I responded.
“Oh ok. Well, we won’t rob ya,” the man said. People chuckled.
“You are going to our same floor,” one of the Highnesses commented.
“Yeah. You know, I bet the customer is a nice guy. You can get to know him and ask him for a piece,” I suggested. They laughed. It was our stop, so four of us got off.
I found the room. I knocked once. Counted to fifteen-one-thousand and knocked again. Then I called again.
Next call was to the restaurant.
“Thank you for calling that one pizza restaurant, can you please hold-“
“Shiftmanager, it’s me, RI, the new driver.”
“Oh, what’s up?”
I explained the dilemma.
“Okay, let me call the customer. Give me a minute.”
Hold music. She came back.
“Wait five more minutes and if he doesn't answer, come back to the store.”
I complied. I set a clock on my phone for five minutes, folded my hands and waited. People came here and there. I saw a few hopefuls, but no dice. Then…
“Heyyyyy, our pizzas shear!”
Who was it? You guessed it! A middle-aged, overweight gentlemen with jeans and probably boots, I don’t remember. He had an alcoholic beverage in one hand and some alcohol in his blood already judging by the slur in his excited shout. There were three people in tow.
“You must be the Customer!” I said.
“Me, nahhhh, the Customer is that guy,” the older man said. He pointed his bottle of bubbles to a young man walking crooked at the back of the group.
We explained comical pleasantries and anecdotes. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not funny. They were drunk. That made it comical. They apologized that I had to wait. The older man settled the bill and gave me a nice tip. I thanked them and wished them a good evening.
The old man said, “Thank you, Jeezush,” and stepped/fell towards the door.
Now, I don’t know why that was funny. In that man’s inebriation, he was expressing gratitude. Did the alcohol short-circuit something and bring out something like last Sunday’s sermon? Was I a savior to him at that moment? Or was he, in a very literal way, thanking the Lord for this morsel of beer-absorbing cheese mass?
I couldn’t help but bow my own head as I pondered the exchange and say, “Thank you, Jesus.”
Another day, another dollar, and by His will, still running.
Roe intense!

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