Writing’s on the Cartop Sign

I’ve written about superstition. 

Writing superstition.
Trying to conceive superstition.
Vehicular superstition.
Weather superstition.

I thought I’d written about pizza delivery superstition, but it would seem that I have not.

So I will. 

See, there’s a big difference between the facts of pizza delivery and the superstition of pizza delivery, although many of them are easily conflated. 

It’s a fact that American pizza drivers depend on tips–just ask the IRS. The government wants its cut of those tips as well, so you’d better claim some, or face an audit. 

It’s superstition that a dollar is a fair tip. While drivers must be compensated for mileage, the amount paid by most, if not all, pizza chains doesn’t even cover half of the drivers’ operating costs. It’s not just gas; it’s tires and oil changes and wiper blades and maybe even a window every now and then. 

What’s that? Everyone who drives has to purchase those things? You’re right, that’s true, but how often do you buy tires? If you’re not buying one or two a month, it doesn’t really compare. And oil changes every three months? When I was delivering, I was overdue after three weeks.

It’s superstition that the company provides a cell phone or GPS. That’s far too much money that could be lining the owners’ pockets instead. 

It’s superstition (now) that if you don’t get your pizza in less than thirty minutes it’s free. It’s a fact that if a driver is in an accident they’re trained to first remove their cartop sign so no one knows a professional was involved. 

The biggest superstition that plagues poor pizza delivery drivers, however, is that they can do anything at all at the door if you check your pizza and it’s wrong. Pizza drivers do not have an oven in their car. They do not have spare pizzas. If it’s wrong, the one and only thing they can do is the same thing you can do: call and complain. So don’t hold them up. Just check it inside and make that phone call yourself. The pizza drivers will appreciate that. They’ll appreciate it more if you tip them for a second trip with the correct order, but they’ll still appreciate not having to stand around while you try to open and close the pizza boxes while inexperiencedly juggling them. 


How about some driver facts and superstitions?

  • Lucky cartop signs are a thing. I have witnessed physical fights break out over who gets which sign. 
  • If the first run of the shift tips well, it’ll be a bad night for tips. If the first run stiffs you, you’re gonna make a killing. 
  • Lucky socks are also a thing. 
  • Female pizza drivers make more tips than male pizza drivers. 
  • Obviously-pregnant pizza drivers make more tips than anyone. 
  • If you tip well, good pizza drivers remember you. They will go out of their way to make sure you get your order first. 

Tues Truthiness at TBP

Today’s Update, et al

I did have a good time last night, catching up on blogs, watching a movie, that kind of good stuff, until about eight o’clock. That’s when the nausea started. The nausea that lasted until just a couple of hours ago. Ugh.

I’ll interject for a second here. I’m posting all these blow-by-blows out of superstition, mostly. See, I know it’s going to work this time, so I’m keeping track of all the details for posterity.

Some may call it mental illness, but I say I’m simply a creature of habit. You’ve seen assembly line workers performing the same actions day in and day out. I just like my whole life to be that orderly. You should see me shuffle cards, hubby thinks it’s hysterical.

So anyway, pretty crappy night after bedtime, not a lot of sleep, not a lot of comfort, not a lot of consideration for the sexy man next to me trying to get some sleep before work in the morning. Sorry honey!

My BBT was way up this morning, but since my temp’s now half a degree lower than it was it may have just been a touch of fever.

I told myself yesterday that since I wasn’t crying my eyes out anymore I was going to spend the weekend writing about current events, like, oh, Mississippi Initiative 26. I’d rather do those sitting at the computer instead of on my iPhone though, stupid home button is finally giving out. Maybe I can do some of that tomorrow.

What else, what else, let’s see…

I know, I’m all over the place today.

I’m tired of feeling guilty because my body doesn’t do what it’s supposed to by itself. How do you deal with that?