| I used to help deliver over a million smiles a day. I guess not everyone can make that claim. I will probably always miss that job because of the people I met, the places I got to go, and the fun of it. There's a certain thrill in finding your way to people's houses through towns or out in the sticks, even when they have no house numbers. When roads were snowed in or icy, schools and many businesses were shut down. It was exciting to take supper to families caught without electricity during ice storms (yes, we have them, even in southern Kentucky!). You feel like Santa Claus every time you deliver pizza to a school for a dot party. I first started working for Domino's Pizza in 1989, while I was teaching Head Start/daycare at WKU. Another summer school teacher and I took a group on a store tour at the one next to our campus, #1454 on Center Street, in Bowling Green, Kentucky. I was fascinated by a part-time job where I could drive my car around. (How cool is that? I could listen to my music while I worked!) I had already worked in five different McDonalds and a Long John Silvers. I was asking our guides a lot of questions that sounded as though I knew what I was talking about, and the manager commented on it. Shortly thereafter, I got an application. Although I was hindered by the fact that most insurance companies will not insure you if you deliver anything in your car (and so I eventually got professional delivery insurance), and the store manager was moved to a larger store in another town, I was actually hired. At first I was trained by another young woman, who worked mostly days. The store was essentially a madhouse, run by two or three assistants, until we acquired a new manager. When I began to work nights, several more experienced but less scrupulous drivers took advantage of the absence of authority, taking runs out of sequence and leaving newer drivers without runs to take. Whenever I felt angry or discouraged, I thought of one of the jerks who sneered at me and told me not to "f*** up," and that made me angrier. I was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me give up. Eventually this jerk, who was cheating other drivers and the store, left to be employed by and steal from Papa John's instead. He later left to take a position with the Houchen's Markets chain. (I have wondered if he had anything to do with the recent selling-out and closings in area Houchen's stores. Hmm. But enough about him.) I had a manager named Scotty, and I liked him a lot. I made friends with other drivers. I worked on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. I worked at WKUCCC on weekdays in Tate Page Hall, and I worked at McDonalds day shift on Saturday and Sunday. I was also taking graduate classes in education, trying to earn my master's degree. In addition to this, I was commuting from Franklin (20 miles away), where I lived with my mother and three children. Paul was twelve, Eve was eleven, and Cathie Dawn was nine years old. They thought my delivering pizza was extremely cool. Then Scotty's fiancee decided she could not compete with the store, so she broke up with him. Scotty became unhappy and eventually left. Our replacement was named, coincidentally, Scott. The first day I worked with him, I had no warning that we had a new manager, or that that unsmiling dude in the office was he. He didn't introduce himself, and no one thought to enlighten me that first shift. He remarked, much later (like a year or so) that I hadn't spoken to him for three weeks. That was an exaggeration. But he hadn't smiled, and I can't say I was comfortable for a while. However, Scott was broken in, and he began to smile. The store moved into a phase where we were a weird kind of family. It was the kind of place they make tv shows about, like WKRP in Cincinatti, or Murphy Brown, or Just Shoot Me. I began working more days a week. One of our senior drivers, Randy, had a CB radio club. (No big ten-fours, good buddy.) Several drivers owned CB radios so they could contact each other and the base station at the store. I got a radio and became unit 102. Neil was 101, Randy was 105, I think Scott was 107... I can't remember all the others. We used a lot of ten-codes, like the police department. (Randy had always wanted to be a cop. I understand he now works for the post office... and that he uses a computer a lot. Maybe he'll read this someday!) Our radios were useful as well as fun. Drivers who need assistance didn't have to go find a phone. A female driver (not me, by the way!) called for help when she was being harassed by some inebriated college students of the male persuasion. They tried to steal her pizza, and one of them tried to kiss her, but they were picked up by campus security. Jon called when his car broke down. Another time, we un-switched pizzas sent with the wrong drivers before the 30 minute guarantee ran out. Let me take a moment to comment on that now-defunct time guarantee. I've had people who were not old enough to even remember the time guarantee demand it from me. (Sorry guys. You must have confused us with the Easter bunny or something.) They'd been told the old tale by older family members, who encouraged them to demand free food. I am glad a court ruling made that guarantee a thing of the past. Trying to live up to that promise tempted many employees to take chances while driving, and safe driving is the only way to go. There were several drivers I have known to act recklessly, though not wreck-lessly. Several of them were lured over to Papa John's or Pizza Hut by managers offering more money. Some of these speed-fiends just quit. If and when Scott found out how they were driving, they were history. He said we were more valuable than the price of a pizza. In the early 1990s, I left WKUCCC to substitute teach. It was a tough decision to make. If I ever loved a job more than driving for Domino's Pizza, it was that one. After subbing for a year or so, not getting nearly as many days as the assistant superintendant had led me to hope for, I worked at other part-time jobs until I found out there was going to be a new store opening in Franklin. part two Lorilei Lee's Page of Art * |
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