Obviously here at Sick Chirpse we’re more than mildly addicted to pizza, but we never really stopped to consider the true experience of the Dominos delivery kid whilst they continued onto the rest of their shift.
Some of these encounters are pure jokes but half of them make us despair at the state of humanity and make us well and truly glad that our job involves sitting at home in our pants, surrounded by empty crisp packets and crying into a growing mound of half-finished article drafts.
A bearded man who answered the door and periodically spat blood into a crusted Harley-Davidson coffee mug while counting out his cash.
A woman who slipped me a business card (in lieu of tip) for a laser tattoo removal clinic, explaining “In case you want to bring your mutilated skin back to how God intended it to be.”
At least three Batmans so far, but only one who did the voice.
An elderly Spanish woman who meekly presented me with a (rather classy) pearl-handled .32 snub nosed revolver and asked if I knew how to load it (I do) and also, if I could load it for her (I didn’t).
A group of EMT’s hanging out in the back of an ambulance at a recently extinguished (but still smouldering) house fire.
A man with a thick Alabama accent who admonished me for standing in front of his mailbox while I waited for him to answer the door. He then explained how this was a federal offense because I was “obstructing the mail system” and demanded my social security number so he could “report me to the proper authorities”.
A group of young teenage girls (like 14-16) who begged me to buy a case of Bud Light (ew, why) and bring it back to them.
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