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Windy Wednesday

Wednesday night was windy. But whatever. Wind works wonders at whisking away  woes and worries.

Sorry. Got a little carried away. (tee hee.)

We have a little less than 16,000 woes and worries left. It’s official. Amazewife and I dropped below $16,000 on the student debt this month. It’s our final debt to pay.

I was on my way to a delivery at a familiar block of apartments in front of Omaha Central High School. I was about five minutes out, so I thought I’d call and let the customer know. Wanted to minimize time outside my Taurus.

“Hello?” a woman said. She didn’t sound like a Roberto, or whatever the customer’s name was.

“Hi, my name is RI from that one pizza place. I have a delivery for Ignacio?” Or whatever his name was.

“He’s not available at the moment, may I ask who’s calling?”

I paused.

“My name is RI, I’m calling from that pizza restaurant, you know, that one. I have a delivery for Ignacio,” or whatev, you get the point, “and wanted to let him know I’m on the way.”

“Oh.” She paused. “He doesn’t live here in Miami, he lives in Omaha, Nebraska,” she said.

I looked out my window. First National Tower loomed in the distance. The Park View projects sign lit up the sky. UP railroad ran under 24th street. Definitely Omaha.

“Oh, I’m sorry ma’am. The number he gave us is this one that I’ve called,” I said.

“Oh! He must have ordered online?”

I agreed.

“Let me get you his number, it’s—“

I jotted down the number, thanked her bunches and hung up.

I dialed the new number. This time a male answered and responded to Julio – or whatever his name was – like he owned it. He let me know he would be outside soon.

I pulled up, counted to ten, then got out of my car.

Lift happened.

That’s how I would describe it. The wind speed under the pizza bag was greater than the wind speed over the top of the bag. It bucked and tried to climb hard. I halted it with the strap and backed my adrenaline off a few notches. I noted in my mind that I did not feel the pizza shuffle or fold itself in half. I balked at the wind.

It may take my body heat, miscellaneous papers and most receipts, but it will never take my pizza.

There was a small outcropping of pretty tile nearby. I huddled near it and held on. The customer came out, apologized about the phone number mix-up and we parted ways.

Later that night, I was informed that we had a Bitter Betty on the team. The Post Office had ordered something like a million pizzas the other day and someone didn’t get a cut on the tip. That person was taken a victimized stance, saying he saw favoritism in others and racism towards him since he’s the only non-Mexican in the store. The latter is the furthest from the truth, of course. I might speak Spanish, but I look like this guy:

Although, given the love and respect I have for Hispanic culture, it’s an honor to be profiled as such.

That whole mess reminded me how grateful I am to have chosen less emotional dependence on tips.

Another day, another windy dollar. As always:



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