Number of Deliveries: 14
Sales: $412.59
Tips: $60
Hours: 4.75
Total Wage: $20.63 per hour
I can't say I know right away this is going to be bad, but I have an order with a wrong credit card number and the woman won't answer her phone. The manager says the woman was driving when she told her the number and didn't pay attention when she read it back to her. I can either wait for the woman to return my call or phone the Pizzeria with the correct number when I'm at the door. To save time, I opt for the latter.
When I get to the house, it takes a few minutes for anyone to answer the door. An older Mexican woman wearing an apron takes the food and says thank you. I tell her the credit card number didn't work, and she looks confused. Why I don't try out the Spanish I'm learning in my class right now, escapes me. With the woman standing there, I call the Pizzeria. While I'm waiting for the manager, an Asian-American woman about my age walks by and sets up her computer on the long, wooden dining table that looks like it belongs in Hearst Castle. I tell the manager what's going on, and she asks who is there. I hesitate, then say, "It appears to only be . . . employees." I almost said servants. I assume the Asian-American woman is a tutor. A young blonde boy walks by dialing a cell phone, saying something about his mother. I tell the manager that the kid's calling his mom, I think.
I stand around waiting, shifting, while the Mexican woman stands next to me, also shifting but not speaking. We smile at each other. She asks me how much the order costs. "$31.33," I say. When the kid comes back and says he can't reach his mother, the maid, in heavily accented but not broken English, says, "I'll just pay, then she can pay me back." She walks across the room and pulls crisp bills out of her purse, then hands me $32. Even though the ticket said "add a $5 tip," I don't mention anything about a propiña to the woman. I thank her, and walk away with my head down, feeling like I just lost five dollars and precious delivery time.
Side note: the woman who placed the order calls later and yells at the manager about being double charged. When she's told her credit card wasn't charged because we had the wrong number, she moans about the inconvenience of having to pay back her maid. I wish I would have received that call.
On my next delivery run, I arrive at the house of a locally famous car dealership owner. Actually, the family owns multiple car dealerships all over town, and I recognize the woman at the door from their TV commercials. She shows up with her checkbook. We had stopped accepting checks several months ago, because of the number of bounced checks we received, but we recently started taking them again.
My friend and fellow driver, Mike, had a customer lose his cool on him a few weeks ago when Mike said we no longer accepted checks. When he told him that, yes, even in Rancho people bounce checks, the man said, "Can I just pay you tomorrow?" like some kind of Wimpy from the old Popeye cartoons ("I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today"). When Mike said that, too, was not possible, the man said, "Listen, my house is worth over five million dollars; I think I'm good for it." Nope.
I'm disappointed to see Mrs. Car Dealership hasn't filled out her check, even though we told her the total on the phone. Once she fills it out, I have to ask her to put her driver's license number on it, and she looks inconvenienced. Trust me, it's a bigger inconvenience for me, as the time ticks by. She tells Azucar, the yellow lab barking at me, to stay inside, then she disappears to hunt down her license.
While I'm standing there, I have plenty of time to consider why people still pay with checks. The answer: I have no idea why people still pay for anything with checks, except rent or bills. One woman recently tried to pay at the Pizzeria counter for a $4.35 order with a check from Lakeside, CA, which is outside of our delivery zone and another no-no. I commented to my co-workers that her attempt reminded me of the Dude in The Big Lebowski paying for a carton of milk with a $.69 check. Mrs. Car Dealership returns with her properly filled out check and a smile, matched by mine when I see the 20% tip.
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