Day 63: August 2, 2009 (big tippers, transexual gate guards, and hot air balloons)

Position: Driver

Number of Deliveries: 16

Sales: $983.78

Tips: $109.50

Hours: 4.47

Total Wage: $32.50 per hour

I arrive at work a little early tonight, and it's already busy. We're short a couple of drivers––two guys didn't get their shifts covered and another driver has a family emergency (his brother disappeared in the Columbia River after falling off a boat, and is presumed drowned). Even the night manager is out on delivery while the day manager holds down the fort. I luck out on  my first two deliveries, getting a $124. 34 order that tips me $15.66 and one for $59.23 that tips me $10. 

I'm back within a half hour and off on three more deliveries. The night's rolling along, and at about 7:00 p.m. I get an order for $355.00. I can't believe my luck. It takes me awhile to load up the pizzas, trays of pasta, and large bowls of salad, but I do so with giddy anticipation. When I get to the house, an elderly man is wandering around outside in shorts, a worn out T-shirt, and sandals checking on his sprinklers. He mumbles something about his wife, then walks inside. She has me unload everything and bring it into their kitchen, then I walk back outside and wait for her to bring out the credit card slip. The old man stands close to me and asks how I'm doing. He says something else about not being in charge, then mumbles something about the yard. He reminds me of my step-father, who has Alzheimer's, and his never-ending daily battle to keep his yard leaf-and-dog-poop free. The woman returns and hands me the slip with a $10 tip written in. I'm disappointed but not too upset, since their house isn't that far from the Pizzeria and I've already made good money.

Midway through the night I get an order to Fairbanks Ranch, and when I arrive at the guard house, I encounter the androgynous guard I've only seen once before. Since I've never had any direct interaction, I'm not sure if the guard is a male with a ponytail who likes to wear lipstick or a manly woman, or something in between. I figure hearing his/her voice and reading the name tag will clarify my curiosity, but the name tag says "Bobbie C___," and when the guard speaks it's with a semi-high voice that could easily be male or female. When the guard lets me in, I say, "Thanks, ma . . ." and I trail off before I can add on an "'am" or an "n," for fear of offending him/her. It's interesting, because just the other night my girlfriend and I were talking to some of her friends, while in a gay bar, about the whole phenomenon of transexuals, while a couple transvestites sat at a nearby table. It is America, and people have the right to the pursuit of happiness, so I don't care what expensive surgeries you undergo to correct nature's chromosomal mistakes, but I would like to know whether or not to call Bobbie "ma'am" or "man" or a suitable, gender neutral alternative, so we can both feel comfortable and courteous. Maybe I'll just stick to "thanks, Bobbie."  

Later in the night, as I approach the corner of Via Santa Fe and Apajo, two men with flashlights signal for me and the car in front of me to slow down. When I turn the corner, I see flashing red and blue lights and some silhouettes of cars in the dark. I assume there's been a nasty accident, and when I pass the scene and peer between the cop cars, I see some people seated on the lawn who look like they've been evacuated from the cars. But then I see three guys hustling around a large basket, trying to roll up a flattened hot air balloon. All summer long, people have been taking hot air balloon rides that usually begin in Encinitas and end somewhere around here. The balloons are a sign of summer, and you can see vans with empty trailers waiting in our parking lot or chasing balloons through open fields, trying to predict their landing spots. These guys on Apajo happen to have put one down in the middle of the road at night, which could have turned into a bloody disaster, and now they were being lectured by the cops while their crew hustled to pack everything up. It's a funny scene, something that seems like it could only happen in Rancho, and probably the most excitement the cops will see around here all night.

What I think is my last delivery of the night is a single-bagger up the hill behind us. But I hustle and make it back before the other driver arrives, so I get the final order of $73.93. The delivery gods are with me tonight, and this final order gives me a $12 tip, which brings my total tips to my highest to date: $109.50, and that's including the small $10 tip on the $355.00 order. Though I hate that money can influence my mood, I leave a happy pizza man.