Of Pizza, Milton, and Patrick Dempsey

I have the coolest luck with Papa Johns delivery. And when I say “coolest luck” what I actually mean is “funny story material.”

When I first moved into my apartent here in downtown Lancaster, my pizza delivery person was a woman who only had two fingers on each hand. Not that that’s funny, but I bet my expression when I opened the door was. I guess it was the last thing I expected to see.

She used to have to call the apartment every time she delivered pizza because she always got lost. I didn’t mind, though, because it always served as a bit of a heads up that she was my delivery driver and I could steel myself for her arrival and practice my lack of surprised reaction.

But after a few months she was gone and then it was your standard rotation of nondescript delivery guys and gals.

Until last night.

Last night I got Milton from Office Space.

He called me on the phone to ask directions to my house and after our conversation, I wasn’t sure what to expect.

Papa Johns Milton: What side of the house is your street on?
Me: It’ll be on the left-hand side. The house number is 440. The house numbers on the street aren’t the easiest to see, but I’m in between Ann Street and Lime Street.
PJM: Yea, the house numbers in the city are hard. I bet that’s why people get shot and it’s hard to find them.
Me: …..Yea.
PJM: I have a Papa John’s sign on top of my car but it’s broken. My blinkers are on. Will you go outside and come get me?
Me: Um…yea…I’ll stand on the porch and look for you.
PJM: Ok, here I come!

It’s important to note that Sarah was sleeping while all of this was going on otherwise I probably would have told her to get the video camera or something and film the transaction because I knew this was going to be good.

I stood on the porch and watched him as he drove down the street, stopping about 75 yards away and just idling in the middle of the street. After about 25 seconds he made his way down to where I was and he came out of the car with my pizza delights. As he approached he saw the pen I was holding and the conversation took off from there.

PJM: Did you order online?
Me: Yep.
PJM: If you ordered online you don’t have to sign a receipt.
Me: Oh, ok.
PJM: Did anyone ever tell you you look like Patrick Dempsey?
Me: Heh heh, no, I don’t think so.
PJM: Well I say yes! Thanks for the tip! (Yes, when you pay for your pizza online, you can also include the tip right then and there, and I was feeling a bit generous this weekend and tipped about 35%. I don’t know why. I guess I sensed the blog material that was coming my way.)
Me: You’re welcome.
PJM: I’m the one at the store who made your apple crisps.
Me: Oh, that’s cool.
PJM: Yeah so thanks for the tip. I gave you a whole bunch-a frosting.
Me: Oh!….um….Yum!

Just for the record, I don’t really look like Patrick Dempsey. I think it’s just because it was 10 o’clock on a Friday night and my hair was kind of out of control and poofy.

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