Just say no

Hey, kids: don't do drugs.

Most of the people in our delivery zone, of course, don't heed this advice. Especially on the weekends, we get many, many calls from high people. Some of them can handle it. Some of them....

A Sunday afternoon. A guy we'll refer to as Cheech calls us and orders a pizza, and he's so completely baked one almost gets a contact high just talking to him on the phone. We're a little slammed, so Mini Boss tells the guy it'll take fifty minutes or so to deliver his order. Cheech has no problem with this.

Twenty minutes later, the phone rings. It's Cheech.

"Yo, man," he mumbled, "where my pizza at? It's been, like, two hours."

I calmly explained that it had, in fact, been only twenty minutes. "You sure?" he said. I said I was, and he scoffed. "Whatever, man. Get to work!" And he hung up.

If you've been reading this blog, you know how well Mini Boss responds to directives. He hadn't made the guy's order yet, and he certainly wasn't going to start now.

Twenty minutes later, Cheech calls us again. "It's been, uh, like, an hour and a half," he said. "Where my pizza at?" Nice to see that he could time travel.

Again, if you've been reading this blog, you know how the story ends. Mini Boss + stupid customer phone call = belligerent rant and another name on the Do Not Deliver list.

Our lesson: buy a watch. And don't do drugs.