No Free Lunch

I wrote this story as a lark a long time ago. This is one of my first attempts at short stories, so bear with me if it’s not that great! It’s more of a cathartic thing for me to get his stuff up.

 I wrote this story when I was in my “pizza delivery” story mindset.

 

Sample below:

 

Ring, ring.

“Hello, thank you for calling Pizza Shack, this is Shelly, will this be for delivery or carry out?”

“Delivery.”

“Okay, can I get your phone number?”

“555-1345”

“Okay, are you at 625 Cranberry Court, apartment 313?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, what would you like to order?”

“Two large pepperonis and an order of breadsticks.”

“What kind of crust?”

“Thin.”

“Do you have any coupons?”

“No.”

“Okay, the total will be $18.25 and we can have it there in 35 to 40 minutes.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Click.

Ring, ring.

“Hello, thank you for calling Pizza Shack, this is Shelly, will this be for delivery or carry out?”

“Delivery.”

“Your phone number?”

“555-4253”

“Okay, I don’t show that you’ve ordered from us before.”

“Um yeah, we just moved in.”

“Okay, can I get your address?”

“620 Cranberry Court, apartment 180.”

“Okay, and your name?”

“Smith.”

“Okay, Mr. Smith, what would you like to order?”

“A large pepperoni and a large beef, hand tossed.”

“Okay, any drinks with that?”

“No.”

“Do you have any coupons?”

“No.”

“Okay, your total will be $18.25 and we can have it there in 35 to 40 minutes.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Click.

Shelly turned to her manager, Bill. “Two orders to Cranberry Court.”

“That’ll be a double,” he said, cashing in Bobby from his last delivery.

“Easy money,” Bobby said.  He winked at Shelly who ignored him.

The cook grabbed the orders and made the four pies.  He placed the tickets on the waiting rack.  Nine minutes later the pizzas emerged from the conveyor oven.  Bill cut the first two, boxed them, placed them in the delivery bag, and shoved the ticket into the pouch.  He then cut the next two pizzas, boxed them and placed them in another bag, shoving the second ticket into the pouch.

“Your order’s ready,” he yelled to Bobby, who leaned on the back counter talking to Shelly.

Bobby moseyed up the front where he placed the first bag of pizzas on the second bag, and dispatched himself on the computer.

“I’m out,” he said as pushed the door open with his butt.

“Later,” Bill yelled. Shelly pretended to be checking her nails.

Bobby walked to his jacked up pickup.  He opened the door, moving aside the hunting magazine he had picked up on his last run.  He put the bags on the seat and used the running bar to step into the truck.  He flicked his CB on and fired up the engine, Skynard blared from the speakers. The sun had just set so he pulled off his blue blockers and tossed them onto a dash covered with old food wrappers and faded papers.

He put the truck in reverse and flipped on the headlights.  He looked behind him but the rebel flag on the back window blocked his view.  He turned the other way and no one was coming so he backed out and then pulled out of the driveway onto the street.

Cranberry Court was a good distance so he fished a cigarette from his pocket. He retrieved his special lighter he received for being a member of the N.R.A. It had the association’s logo emblazoned on the side.

Traffic was light.  He made good time, flicking the cigarette out the window as he pulled into the apartment complex. 

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