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Professor Poopsnagle
12-05-2008, 07:13 PM
When I was young I started working at a Chinese restaurant when I was a Junior in HS. I've had various other jobs. I've been working since I was 12, but I'll save those stories for another day.

My friend had hooked me up with the delivery boy job. It was easy. They'd hand me the food, I'd take it over to whatever hell hole they'd order from, and I'm another dollar richer. I didn't have a driver's license though. But it really didn't matter. I doubt that a store that had a dozen or so illegal immigrants sweating away in the kitchen would give a rat's rear end about me having only a learner's permit. Not that I was a horrible driver or anything. I just never bothered to get a license since I didn't have a car. But alot of the skills as a driver I learned during those months as I dragged (more often pushed) the 1980 Toyota Corolla from house to house.

A typical night goes something like this: I'd show up for work around 4:30. Orders start to come in around that time. I'd wait patiently around the back, smoking a cigarette or taking tokes of the sticky. Sometimes the owners would put us delivery boys to work cleaning lettuce, peeling carrots, trimming brocolli etc, which he would have gotten hell for from the health department, seeing how most us delivery boys never washed our hands. Not once.

The orders would be boxed up by this girl (the owner's daughter - more on this later) and we'd carry it out to our cars and head out make the rounds. There were three of us: me, my friend Dan, and this crazy guy from vietnam named Nguyen. He must have had a first name but I don't remember it. We could never pronounce it anyway so we always called him Weasel.

Weasel and my friend Dan had their own cars. Dan had a POS CRX and Weasel had a pretty clean 93 Integra GSR. Because they had their own cars, the owners gave them another dollar per hour (a whopping $5/hr). Me on the otherhand, had to settle for the store car. An embarassing POS '80 Corolla. White with the store's logo and number all over it. It had been in many accidents, the paint was patched and sanded in places to reveal primer and the interior was yellow with brownish patches where human hands would frequent. Plus it smelled like a cat died in the radiator (which at one point was probably true) and the windows were almost impossible to roll down due to rust in the lever.

It was a godawful lovely job. But it had its perks. For one there was the sticky icky (thank you Weasel, you crazy sonofabitch). For another, you wouldn't believe the poo poo that delivery boys do when we get bored/angry/annoyed.
On an average night (5pm to 2am) we go out on 2 runs per hour. With around 5 stops on each run. Any given night M-F 1 in 5 runs we run into dicks. On weekends, over half. Of course, when I first started I figured this job was going to be a piece of cake. I was mistaken.

I start out by going to different runs with Dan and Weasel to learn the streets. Whoever was going out, I'd go with. I tried to stick with Dan of course, but I had to go with Weasel a few times.

The first few times, it seemed easy. So straight forward. Dan was pretty laid back guy, he'd let me hang out in the car while he ran up to the door, did the switch and we'd be off to the other one. The real fun started when I was riding with Weasel. Weasel is a paranoid psycho. His brothers, uncles, sisters, hell even his drat dog seemed to belong to a gang, each crazier than the one before. He was twitchy as hell (probably all the ganja he be smoking) and dumber than a pile of broken bricks. As soon as I got into his car he screams at me "Dont loving get dirt into my car bro! I just got this poo poo!" He was working the job to pay for the car. Not by actually delivering food, but by running drugs on the side.

"Now listen up bro (he finishes every sentence with bro and usually starts with drat or dude.) you gotta pay attention because the streets here are loving tricky aite bro? I loving hate LA yo, loving stupid fucks all over the loving road. Ya know bro?" You'd think I'm a little annoyed by his demeanor but Weasel is this tiny little skinny kid. Pale as the moon. He's got a voice like Mickey Mouse. It's hilarious when this guy opens his mouth to say anything.

On one stop with Weasel, we pull into this apartment complex. Its populated mostly by college kids. You know the type. Kinda run down, 2 bedrooms but shared by 8 guys, all of 'em poor. There's usually a party going on in one of the rooms. Weasel flips out. "I loving hate this loving prick! Cheap rear end mofo! You're gonna get alot of these punk rear end college fucks. They always ordering poo poo and giving you the wrong address." (We have no 30minutes or less or its free policy, but I swear to god every other idiot that calls thinks that it's free if its late.)

So Weasel grabs the package, its a pitiful 2 dish with rice. Not more than 12 bucks. (2 orders minimum order - when someone orders minimum you KNOW he's a prick.) For some reason Weasel wants me to come along on this one. Sure, why the hell not - BIG MISTAKE ON MY PART. We go looking for the room. Except there isn't a room. It was some number like 323 or something, but there was no such room number. Weasel is flipping out cursing like a sailor, gently caress this, gently caress that etc etc. The whole time I notice that there are like 2-3 people in different windows watching us, Weasel doesnt even look in their general direction but he turns to me and says "Is the prick in room#(?) looking at us?" I nod that they are. Weasel, w/o another word turns the hell around and screams out "Did you order Chinese?" to this fat white guy looking at us.

White guy shouts back "You're late. Its been like an hour."
(We're not late.)

Weasel yells back "You ordered this at 10:20, its still 10:45."

Fatguy: "No, I ordered at 9:45." The fat guy has a big smile on his face. But Viet isn't the kind of guy that likes gettting hosed with.

"Whatever dude, you want the food or not bro?"

Fatguy: "Its late. I want to talk to your manager."

Mind you, this is still taking place with us on the third floor, and this guy on the otherside of the complex, we're yelling at each other across the building. There are other college kids just staring at us. I'm getting a little self-conscious.

Weasel just walks over to the other side where the fat guy is still watching, this time holding a phone in his hand, I follow Weasel. By the time we make it to the otherside Fat boy is waiting for us in his door way. We can see there are like 8 other guys in that tiny rear end apartment.

Fat boy says, "You're late. I've called your manager. We get the food for free." This of course is total bullshit, our manager/owner is a friggin dick, he wouldn't give free food to his own dying mother.

Weasel gets this crazy look in his eyes and I know he's about to do something stupid so I jumped in front of him.

"You talked to our manager? Who'd you talk to?"

"I dont know, some lady, she said we get it for free." (Snickers from fat guys friends.)

"We dont have a 30minutes or less policy."

"I just talked to your manager. I think thats what she said. Is it even what I ordered? Let me see that." Without another word one of the fat buys friends comes up to us and grabs the food, opening it as if he's examining it. "This poo poo smells nasty. What the gently caress is this?" (Its beef w/brocoli and orange chicken you jackass.) Then all the guys crowd around making stupid remarks, next thing you know the food is out of our sight.

Weasel: "That's 12 bucks."

Fatguy: "I told you, we get the food for free. Go talk to your manager."

(I'd like to remind people that this was back in the days, and most people didn't carry cell phones. We had pagers back then. So talking to the manager would entail driving back to work, or finding a pay phone which is out of the question.)

Weasel: "Ok fine. Give the food back."

Fatguy: "We're already eating it. You still want it back?"

Weasel: "You can't eat the food without paying for it."

Fatguy: "Ok, how about I give you $5 now, you talk to your manager. When she confirms its free, you come back and give me my money back."

Weasel: "I can't do that. Give me the food back."

Fatguy: "We're already eating it. Here's the $5. Now I want that back later."

Weasel: "It $12. Now give us the food back."

Fatguy: "Man you are rude, what is your name? I'm going to complain to your manager. Here's the $5. Now goodbye."

At this point the Fatguy closes the door and we hear huge laughter from behind it. Weasel is pretty pissed. He mumbles something and starts banging on the door. Of course the pricks ignore us.

I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. I'm not even sure what just happened. Weasel on the other hand, is a true veteran delivery boy. He walks calmly over to the car. I thought that we're giving up and going to talk to the manager. Haha, what an idiot am I?

Weasel reaches into the backseats where there are a few empty take out boxes. He grabs a couple, and he ducks behind the car. Next thing I know he pulls down his pants and shits right into the loving box. It was disgusting. The first time I've seen another man take a poo poo, but then again Weasel was pretty crazy. Weasel by now is laughing like a friggin lunatic, all giddy like he got laid for the first time. He wipes his rear end with some grass and dumps the grass on top of the poo poo, covering it up pretty good. He's beside himself with giddy and keeps repeating "I'm gonna get those fuckers bro, you watch. This is going to be great. Some real funny poo poo."

He pulls out one of the remaining packages for delivery. Picks out some pungent noodle thingy. I think it might have been shrimp or something, it had a strong smell. Weasel just dumped about a third of the food onto the poo poo/grass combo, filling it up to the brim. He then packaged it all up just like another delivery, chopstick and all. I didn't know what he was doing. I thought perhaps he might throw it into their room or something. I was hoping it wasn't "something."

Weasel calmly walked back to the apartment. Now with most apartments, there are managers on the premise. This one was no exception. Most buildings, the managers stayed in room 101. Weasel walked straight to the manager's room and knocked.

Manager: "Yeah?"

Weasel: "Hi, I'm from room#(Fatguy'sRoom). They ordered Chinese food, but they say they didn't order it. But they paid for it. And told me to give it to you. Says its for making too much noise earlier."

Manager: "Ok thanks."

Now I didn't know that he'd fall for it, but apparently Weasel had done this before and was pretty convincing.

As soon as the manager took it and closed the door, Weasel and I ran like hell.
I don't know what happened after that.
I don't know if the manager actually ate the food.
I don't know what he did to the fatboy's apartment full of those jackasses.

All i know is that I had to deliver food to that apartment complex not very long after that and there was a vacancy sign out front and fatboy's room was vacant. They were 1 month into the new semester.

MsRzaRecTaH
12-05-2008, 07:15 PM
wow, youre that bored huh? you need your own damn forum.