This time we're doing pizza delivery.

Well, this at least I can relate to. In college, I did pizza delivery for two years in a beat-up twenty-five-year-old Italian sports car. It had a rust hole in the floorboard big enough to shove an orange through and leaked water by the bucketfull into your lap when it rained. I miss it to this day.

Those stories you read in Penthouse about naked people answering the door and offering... services... in exchange for pizza? Myths. Never did have an even partially clothed person answering the door. Well, at least one I wanted to see. What I did have was:

• Two single twenty-something sisters who ordered the exact same thing (two Italian sandwiches and a salad, as I recall) every Thursday, and tipped $3 on a $10.00 bill, as long as you didn't mind the large, scary dog that answered the door. We didn't, and fought over who delivered that ticket.
• Backing out of a blacked-out gravel driveway into a six foot deep, two foot wide ditch. The resulting impact bounced everything in the car off the roof twice. I managed to drive the car back off the edge. The moment I opened the door and heard fluid hitting the ground I knew I'd shattered the axle. It was only after noticing axle fluid smelled a lot like gasoline that I realized I'd just pulled the fuel line out of the tank.
• Driving around in circles for an hour trying to find a house in what I later learned was the "delivery triangle", a development seemingly purpose-built, out of wandering corners and poorly lit houses, to hopelessly confuse drivers.
• Learning that a) people really do order pizza delivery to "seat A13, section 4" just before a major college basketball game, and b) all you actually need to sneak into a sold-out game is a delivery uniform and an empty box. The security guards never even looked twice at me.
• Learning how to drive in a night blacker than a magician's sack with rain hammering sideways like a firehose across flooded streets in a car fogged up tigher than a drum. Small wonder I think "I hate driving when it's dark" is a piss-poor excuse for staying home.

Oh I got a million of 'em. Fortunately, I've suppressed nearly all of them. I always tip the driver, even though it's probably not enough nowadays.