TITLE: Pizza Man Delivers...PAIN!!!
DATE: 2/11/2005 12:11:00 PM
Nature continued to fuck with me yesterday. When I left work at 5, the rain was just barely changing over to freezing rain, not even sleet, just slightly more coagulated droplets pelting my face.
By the time I got to my shrink's office for an appointment at 6, there was easily an inch of snow collected on the road. Hey! It was the Insta-Snow Storm! Just in time for the evening commute!
I couldn't believe it. It had been barely fifty minutes, and here I was having to yank the wheel hard right to avoid plowing into the car in front of me, at least once while negotiating the battleground that is Chelmsford Center (somehow, the town adding traffic lights only seems to have made the intersection vindictive). I was almost broadsided by a van. It was excellent.
I had plans to hang out with Kellie when I was done with the shrink, but when I came back out again after 7, it was the same situation times another hour. I called and spoke of the doom that was the local infrastructure, and she elected that hanging out in my little apartment to watch the replay of Game 7 with me was probably not risking her life for on this particular night.
So I headed home. As I have noted in past posts, my driveway is such that I must "build up a head of steam on my road, take the turn way too fast, slam my car into low gear, gun the accelerator, grit my teeth and pray" to get my car up it when there's snow on the ground.
Enter the pizza man. The motherfucking pizza man. I'm still mad at this asshole.
The driveway in question services three houses: mine, on the left, a duplex directly ahead, and another multi-family house to the right. Each house has its own auxiliary parking lot once you have traversed the steep main driveway. Pizza Man was apparently making a delivery to one of my neighbors...and yet, rather than park, say, in front of the neighbor's house or even in the middle of the small courtyard where the driveway and auxiliary parking lots intersect, had chosen to perch his little hatchback roller-skate car precisely at the point where the driveway begins to level off into intersection / parking lots.
In other words, after building up a head of steam on my road, taking the turn way too fast and slamming my car into low gear in preparation for the climb up the driveway, I was confronted with the taillights of Pizza Man.
Who was on the porch, turning around to come back to his car. I honked as if to say, "Sir, I exist!"
The pizza man sauntered back to the hatchback as if to say, "That does not create in me a sense of obligation."
You don't even understand. This may be funny now, but at the time, it was extremely un-funny. My car was squealing in protest. I had the emergency brake on and was standing on the main brake, and still I feared that any significant movement on my part was going to send me sliding down the driveway and out onto my road, which happens to be a very busy one. And very slippery in its own right. And did I mention I was going to slide down backwards?
Pizza Man moseyed over and eyed me for a good long moment before ever-so-casually sliding into the driver's seat of the hatchback and throwin' her into gear.
I could only lean on my car's horn, full of impotent rage.
At which point the hatchback itself began to slide backwards.
It slid within a whisper of my car's front bumper, as my mind started sending me thousands of confused signals at once: BACK UP! HE'S GOING TO HIT US! CAN'T BACK UP WILL BE RUN DOWN BY A TRUCK ON THE STREET! DO SOMETHING! WHAT!?!?!? BACK UP!"
Finally, miraculously, his tires somehow took hold on the asphalt. He floored the accelerator. I did the same, cursing him all the while. We began a slow and arduous ascent up the hill, in synchrony.
Well, at the moment my car got to the point where Pizza Man's car was when the whole incident started, Pizza Man had already reached level ground. So he no longer had a problem, in which case, there was no problem whatsoever. So he began to execute a three-point turn, bringing his car into a "T" formation at the top of the driveway, blocking me again.
I was just at the very, very edge of where the driveway began to slope. My headlights were shining directly onto his face as I stood on the brake again, feeling the car begin to slide down again, cursing his descendants for all eternity and informing him, through my windshield, what I thought of his family lineage as well as the reputation of his mother.
I'm not sure if it was the sight of my frenzied face and gnashing teeth, the sudden realization that he was being an asshole, or--more likely--the sudden realization that he, Pizza Man, the MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IN THE UNIVERSE, would not be able to get his car out if he didn't let me get out of the driveway.
At this point, my poor car, a Toyota Corolla not given to off-roading or clinging to snowy hillsides, was really feeling the heat. I had to switch to standing on the accelerator while Pizza Man took his sweet time figuring out that he needed to GET THE EVERLIVING FUCK OUT OF MY WAY. Finally, he turned himself around and wound up over to the side a little, and I slammed the car back into gear and squeezed the accelerator all the way to the floor.
Nothing happened. Flooring the accelerator only kept my car in the same spot. It would not move forward. Once again thoughts began to tumble around my brain like a cat in a clothes dryer.
I had no choice. I could either slide down the road and be hit by an oncoming vehicle, or I could risk blowing out my engine trying to get the rest of the way up the hill. I opted for choice #2 while Pizza Man sat there with his idiot face hanging out the window.
I pressed the accelerator as hard as I could, and miraculously managed to find it could go just another centimeter downward, which gave it just the thimbleful of gas it needed to begin slowly, painfully, inching upward.
I pressed. The car screamed. It literally screamed, its engine grinding, a terrible smell wafting through the heating vents.
But I finally got into the parking lot, bumping over to my space while Pizza Man made a quick exit.
I don't blame him. If he'd stuck around long enough, I would've been happy to give him a piece of my mind.
My car seems to be fine today. But I swear, if there turns out to be anything wrong with it, I'm hunting down that goddamn Pizza Man.
I know where he works, after all.