Pizza Hut

 “You didn’t call them back”? I asked.

“No, why would I have?” She retorted.

“Because of all the bogus pizza calls, this would be one. Now that it is made; I’ll run it over there, but if nobody has the money to pay for it. You are gonna owe me. Maybe I’ll make you mop the floor tonight.”

The Pizza Hut managers weren’t very smart. I shouldn’t say that. Not because they weren’t dumb, but because what does that really say about me? I didn’t mind driving the pizzas around. I loved it. If it didn’t ruin a car; I’d still be doing it. I’d listen to music and take my time. Oh, they did time us, and when it was appropriate they would give us the “You are taking too much time” speech that in all reality took up too much of our time to hear “the speech”. I would always find time to go to the liquor store before it closed and that never prompted ”the speech”. It was always around closing time that we would get “the speech”. None of us wanted to run that last pizza. Because, it was always the same house, and they never tipped. So, we would stretch out those last runs. In hopes that we would stick the other guy with the pizza to run to those non-tipping crunks. And thus we would inspire “the speech.”

So, I get in the car with the questionable pizza run. Turn on the tunes, light up a smoke, and think about going up there. I can remember what was in high rotation in my cd player at the time. The Strokes' Room on Fire had just come out, and I had just discovered Ben Folds. The album that takes me to those late night car rides and snow-ridden roads is Travis’ 12 Memories. It’s such a dark album, and those where such dark times. That was one of the perks of this job. Smokes and music when and how I chose.

I was drinking heavy back then. I wouldn’t drink on the job; I just drank around the job. I can remember countless times I had a hang over, and was still drunk, and at work. Those bastards would just tell me to get into my car, and deliver the pizzas. I want to reiterate I never drank on the job. However, I was drunk and at the job.

So, after my cigarette was half done, and a good driving tune began to play, I headed off to the current destination. It was close, but this would still be a pain in the ass.

I arrived, parked, and headed to the front door. Walked through the lobby and went to the elevator. I hit the 3 button, and awaited my ascent. The doors opened and I went to the nurses’ station. I was praying it was them that had ordered. It would make this delivery so much easier.

“Did you guys order a pizza?” I crossed my fingers.

“ I didn’t,” She turned asked the others. Every goddamned one of them shook their head no.

Fuck, I said to myself.

“I’ll open the door for you.”

I heard the buzz, and I walked through the door. Here it is.  I now stood in the third floor at our hospital, all its glory. This is where they take you if you go off the loose end, or if you just have to many loose ends. In fact my friends and I just refer to going crazy as heading to the third floor. I’ve been threatened with it many times. The third floor. Standing in this room it gave me a visual I never wanted. I had a picture to go with all the horror stories. This fifty by twenty five room held a lot of my friends. Hey, I take the friends I can get what can a man say?

I scanned the room; all I saw were gowned people. I had to think of Dennis in a gown and a cigarette. You couldn’t smoke here now, but twenty years ago…

Dennis: I was working in a semi repair shop. We had one of those old pop vending Machines. You know the kind, it held bottles. You putt he money in and opened up a glass door, and you could grab a bottle out. I’m not truly sure what he meant by that. However, I was getting the idea. There were a few of us listening to this story. Dennis always did tell the best stories. Well, we had one of those filled with miller High life. The best part was that you didn’t have to put money it. That was how we did it. We worked on the big rigs, and drank. First thing in the morning at 9 until 5 or so. Then after that we’d go to the bar till it closed and finish the night. That is just what we did. After about a year of that I got sick one day. So, I called off. About half way through that day I just kept getting worse and I started getting the shakes. So I high tailed down to the hospital. I didn’t know what the fuck was wrong. I just felt like dog shit. When I got to the er the nurse started asking me questions. When I got to the part of much I was drinking her eyes got fucking huge and she ran off to get the doctor. He immediately handed me some pills and put me on the third floor. It was the same thing for three days. I’d wake up they would hand me a handful of pills. I’m not shitting you it was a fucking handful. I’d go about my day as best as any one can on the third floor. Then right before bed they hand me another handful. On the fourth day I woke up, and the nurse didn’t give me any pills. I said where’s my pills. That bitch smiles real big and with sass in her voice said the doctor said that you don’t get any pills to day. I told her I needed my fucking pills. And she just said nope.  Then about two o’clock that day I went out to the common room to have a smoke. All I remember is lighting it up and feeling like total dogshit. The next thing I know is that I wake up strapped to a bed with a nurse sitting in the room. I looked at her she said holy shit and left the room. The doctor came in a couple minuets after she left and said son. We didn’t think you were gonna make it. You must have nine lives. If that is the case I guess I’m down to two guys.

That was the story. So standing on the third floor my mind raced back to Dennis. Trying to imagine him lighting a smoke and passing out. My mind then floated to the task at hand. The pizza.

There were about six people sitting in the common room.

“Anybody order a pizza?” Fucking-A. Sure as shit they all raised their hand high in the air. “Bet you all did. Does anybody have any money to pay for it?” Low and behold, not a single hand was raised. Alas! I would not be mopping the floor tonight!

Just as I was to turn back and tell the nurses to let me back out of the magnetically sealed door, a man came out of a room. “That’s mine.” He handed me a twenty, “just keep it.” At least he tipped.

I would like to tell you that seeing the room that Dennis passed out in helped stop me from drinking. It didn’t. See, it wasn’t only Dennis I saw there shaking and then passing out. I saw myself there. Stuck in the loony bin because I couldn’t stop drinking. I hate to say this: Drinking got me through all those dark times when I mopped floors. I’m most sure this is how I ended that night: Thinking about the hospital tipping the bottle to my mouth, thinking about how I was reduced to mopping floors, and easing the pain of a bleak future to come. Tomorrow, I’d tell myself, tomorrow I’ll quit… tomorrow…