Delivery Tales: And This One Belongs To…

While delivering tonight I was given a double. For those of you who can’t figure it out, I had two deliveries going out together in one run. The first was going to this shitty no-tell motel we deliver to all the time. Despite it being the bottom of the barrel as far as my delivery area is concerned, we actually get pretty decent tips over there. That’s because the clientele there are typically either drug dealers, drug users, or prostitutes, who quite possibly could fit into either of the first two categories as well. Basically, they all have money and they’re not spending a lot on their room, so they tip well.

I got to the guys door, lately he’s been ordering almost every night and he’s a good enough customer, but for some reason tonight he didn’t answer his door. I knocked twice and waited. Then I heard his air conditioner kick off, and I looked in through his window and could just barely see his TV on. Since the air kicked off I tried knocking again, cause maybe he could hear me this time. Nope.

So he either passed out, which happens a lot late night, or he was taking a shit. So I got my phone out and called. His voice mail picked up. I began leaving a message and was about to tell him I was going to take my next delivery and come back, but I noticed it was a credit card order.

Now, some pizza companies have a policy that no matter what, if they don’t answer their door and you don’t actually hand them their order, you have to bring it back to the store. The company I work for isn’t that way, so I did what I always do in this situation.

I left his order at his door with his copy of the credit card slip and I left. I told him that in the voice mail.

It was cold out tonight, but that doesn’t bother me a bit. Sure I was losing out on a tip, cause this guy tips, but that’s no big deal for me. I still got my commission, and I had another order to take. The longer I fuck around with this one guy, the less money I could potentially make by taking other deliveries. Plus, I got my revenge by leaving it at his door where anybody could walk by and take it, and especially where it was going to get cold fast.

This past winter I left someone’s order at their door and it was 30 below outside. I don’t give a fuck. Answer your fucking door.

So I left there and went to my second delivery. When I was given the order I thought the name of the street sounded familiar, and then I remembered another guy I work with was telling me about it one day, yet I couldn’t remember what it was he was telling me about it. Then it hit me.

I’m delivering to Johnny Cueto’s house.

For those of you who don’t know who he is, he’s this guy.

Johnny Cueto

Yup, he’s the starting pitcher for the Cincinnati Reds, and he’s a badass. Never mind how the Reds do, Cueto is almost always at the top of his game and he’s one of the best pitchers in the league. And me, a born and bred Cincinnatian, the Reds are always going to be the shit. Because we love our baseball in this city, and I come from a long line of Reds fans. For me to not be one would get me kicked out of my family.

“Cueto made his major league debut in 2008, and by 2011 had emerged as one of the top pitchers in the National League.” – Wikipedia – If you’re interested at all, click that Wiki link and read up on him. He’s impressive.

So impressive, that even this season where they didn’t make it to the playoffs, he lead the team with strikeouts, among other things, and he won 20 games. He’s the first Reds pitcher to win 20 in a season since 1988.

Cueto is a Dominican, and he speaks broken English. By “broken English” I mean he speaks very little to no English. Here’s a video of an after game interview he did when he got his 20th win, and he’s got a translator there helping him out.

When his house orders, his people, it’s the translator, or one of them, who calls and who the drivers deal with. When my buddy delivered there he wasn’t entirely sure it was Cueto’s house, but said it probably was. That night he was out of town with the Reds playing a game. Tonight however, I’m pretty sure he was there.

The translator let me in and told me to take the rather large order to the kitchen and sit it anywhere, so I did. When I got there, I saw there were quite a few people over and they were having a small party. Music was up, one of the playoff games was on a huge flat screen across the room, and someone was getting his hair done. I think that was Cueto, cause I didn’t get a good look at him, but the hair was the same and he didn’t speak English. There was another guy there who looked like him too, and also didn’t speak English, so I’m sure one of the two was him.

There were a few other guys there wearing Reds hats, and a few women there. They were also drinking from expensive bottles of liquor.

The house itself was nice enough to qualify as one I’ll never be able to afford, and the cars in the driveway were so nice that when I pulled in, those cars all shunned my car. My car actually lowered the property value of the house.

It was a cool time, they tipped me very well, and I left happy that I got to enter a Reds player’s house and quite possibly have stood just five feet from him.

As I left the house I heard a quiet woman’s voice saying “Hello? Hello?” It sounded familiar. I reached into my pocket and saw that I had pocket dialed one of my favorite people, Jolene, of Joeyfullystated fame. Apparently my phone was so happy it got to be in Johnny Cueto’s house, it had to tell someone.

I called her back and when she answered, sounding sorta pissed off, I said, “Oh my god, I pocket dialed you!” She said, “Twice.” I said, “Were you sleeping?” She said, “Yes.” I said, “I’m so sorry!” She said, “It’s okay. Good night.” And that was that.

For the first time ever I had to put a lock on my phone so that I have to go through a process to unlock it so that my phone doesn’t do that anymore.

Same lock, but not my phone. Cause T-Mobile sucks assnuts.

Same lock, but not my phone. Cause T-Mobile sucks assnuts.

I felt bad, but not for too long, cause I got to go into Johnny Cueto’s house! Be envious.

13 responses to “Delivery Tales: And This One Belongs To…

  1. Yay for the eventful evening…and the discovery of phone locks.

    • I’ve known about them, just don’t like them. But damn these pocket dials. Years ago I had a phone that pocket dialed New York once for like 20 minutes, and then France for a few minutes. And I had to pay the long distance fees.

  2. You’d think he’d have learned English by now…

  3. I hate when my car is shunned by the other cars. I especially hated it when my car was all shiny and new, but obviously didn’t rank in the hood-ornament-worth-money category.

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