Dents in the Van

Dents in the Van

I used to deliver flowers. It was a great job for someone who needed some extra money but can’t work all day. After school I would run by the flower shop to pick up the deliveries, and after thinking about the best route, I would be paid to drive around the city, listen to the radio and have happy people greet me when I showed up with flowers.

It really is a cool thing to have people thank you for doing your job. It’s like I sent them the flowers, and everyone is so excited when they get them. It’s not like I paid for them – I’m just the messenger. I guess the saying about don’t shoot the messenger also works in reverse. Why do they thank the messenger?

In this state, people really don’t tip well. I don’t know why we are so cheap, but this is a complaint I often hear from those who are paid poorly, using the excuse of tips to pay someone way below minimum wage. Waiters, waitresses, or do you call them waitpersons, delivery people like the pizza man, and yes, the flower delivery person are usually short-changed around here. I delivered thousands of beautiful bouquets, and I got tipped once. What was the grand tip? A quarter.

I understand being parsimonious, but a quarter? It was really an insult, and the contradiction here is I think I would rather have not received a tip. I often feel this way about being paid poorly; sometimes I would rather be volunteering my time than receiving a ridiculously low payment for something. Again, it doesn’t seem to make much sense, but that’s the way I feel.

The scariest delivery ever was at a really nice house. This may have been where I got the quarter. I was a little distracted though, since the owners had a Doberman pincer. This dog was very interested in protecting the property, but I usually get along well with dogs. I can proudly say I have never been bit by a strange dog – just my own pets. This dog barked fiercely as I approached the door, and as I rang the doorbell, the Doberman began trying to bit my leg. Two things saved me here; I was wearing incredibly tight jeans, and the dog was trying to bite my thigh. Luckily his teeth just kept slipping off the tight denim, and the owner answered before blood was drawn.

I liked delivering flowers so much during my high school years that I applied for the same job when I went to college. Again it really worked well with my schedule. The only problem with this job is the little old lady who owned the flower shop also liked her grandkids to help out. So when I get the job of washing and vacuuming out the van, guess who gets to come along and help?

The twelve-year old grandson thought it would be great to help clean the van, but I wasn’t very excited to be baby-sitting. There really wasn’t anything he could do to help, which gave him a little time to hatch a plan. While he watched me wash the outside, he decided it would be a really good idea to let him pull the van up to the vacuums.

When I finished the wash, I opened the door and saw him sitting in the driver’s seat. He begged me to let him pull the van up to the vacuums. So here’s the choice; I tell him no, and he complains to his grandma, or I let him drive 15 feet and make him ecstatic.

I should have remembered something that happened to me when I was a junior in high school. At a summer workshop, I ran out of gas, and had my girlfriend drive the car as we pushed the truck up to the pumps. We were going pretty fast when we got to the station, and she was pulling on the wrong side of the pump. So as I gave her directions, she ended up plowing right into the gas pump. We were lucky there wasn’t a giant fire – it just knocked the pump off the foundation. Whose insurance jumped the next quarter, even though he wasn’t driving at the time of the accident? You guessed it.

But I guess I chose to forget this earlier lesson, and I let him drive up to the vacuums. Don’t ask me how he did it, but he pulled too close to the vacuums, which were on the passenger side. He didn’t slow down, and he didn’t stop when the crunching started.

One giant gash in the side door later, I had another choice.

I told the old lady I did it.

The kid never blinked an eyelash.

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