Number of Deliveries: 10
Sales: $461.52
Tips: $61
Hours: 4.03
Total Wage: $23.14 per hour
In Rancho Santa Fe, there are those who are rich and own mansions in gated compounds, such as Fairbanks, the Crosby, Santa Luz, and Cielo, and then there are those who are rich and propertied. Surrounding downtown Rancho and spreading to its 92067 area code limits are haciendas that vary from a few acres to tens of acres, some encompassing their own citrus or avocado orchards. Considering the value of property around here, these lands denote the ultra-wealthy.
In the middle of my delivery night, I arrive at the gate of one of these propertied families. I'm buzzed in, and, as I slow-ride up the driveway, I gawk at the expanse of the yard sloping off into the surrounding orchards. The Spanish style mansion glows white under its red tile roof, while a group of high school girls sit gossiping on the large, brick patio. The somewhat husky debutante of the house breaks away from the circle of girls and approaches my car in the driveway. Her skimpy tennis outfit exposes much of her skin, which has that perfect, all-over tan reserved for lifeguards and pro tennis players. She asks me if I have change for a $100 bill. Her total is $83.12, so of course I have change (we carry a minimum of $20 in change). I ask her how much she wants back, and she says ten dollars, which leaves me a $6.88 tip, or 8%. My enchanted-with-the-property smile straightens to a tight-lipped scowl as I dig through my change wad for a $10 bill. Why not just toss the poor pizza man the whole Benjamin? It would be such a cool move and would add a sense of music video style to all this property.
I give her the ten, and when I go to leave I realize there's not really anywhere to turn around on the driveway. I look left and notice an Escalade parked on a section of lawn shaped like a parking spot. Behind me, there's another section that looks similar but wide enough for two cars. No way: they park on their lawn! Where I come from that's considered, well, trashy. Here, it's a show of wealth: "we'll lawn coat all our parking spots and let the hired greenskeeper deal with the maintenance." I love that the wealthy do nonsensical things just because they can, like the rap star's refrigerator full of $1,000 bottles of Cristal champagne. I back my car right up onto that lawn and hesitate for a second, thinking it might be fun to peel out, the greenskeeper be damned. But this isn't my lawn, after all, so I'm afforded no such privilege.
A little while later, I deliver to a mansion in the Del Mar Country Club, speed limit 20 mph, and an athletic high school, or post-high school, kid answers the door. His total is $17.03, and he hands me a $20 bill, saying, "Sorry, this is kinda a crummy tip; it's all I got." I tell him not to worry about it, since it's 17%, but I'm impressed by his grasp of basic economic principles––namely, that a few dollars means more to me than him and that "trickle down economics" really depend on the altruism of the wealthy.
On my last run of the night, I'm driving the dark loop of The Farms golf club when I see something that gives me chills. I understand the power of human imagination, so I don't believe ghosts and spirits roam the earth, though I've been in my fair share of places that felt haunted (the entire town of Plymouth, MA, comes to mind). But as I pass a set of trash cans in a darkened driveway, I see a woman dressed in a Del Mar Racetrack-type outfit: wide brimmed black hat with a red and black checkered scarf, complimented by a matching dress. I only get a glimpse, but her smooth face and stiff, bent arm posture look like a mannequin's. Her gaze and body turn to follow my passing car, but her mannequin pose doesn't change. And when I look in my rearview mirror, she's gone. It could be the end of the night fatigue playing tricks, but as I stare out into the darkness of the golf course, my skin bubbles into goosebumps. I want to turn the car around and clear up the whole thing, but I drive on, trying not to break the 25 m.p.h. speed limit but hoping she doesn't catch up. After I finish my delivery, I follow the loop all the way around to the entrance rather than pass by my apparition. I'd hate to change my belief about ghosts.
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