For some reason lately, I've been thinking about my first real job, which was delivering pizzas for Old Masters. This was from about December of 1987 to maybe March or April of 1988. I was a fucking terrible pizza boy, constantly smoking in the car, usually late because I'd take the pizza car (a 1986 Chevy Sprint) through downtown - this was still in the days of cruising town on Friday and Saturday nights, and I'd usually be slurping out of your Coke - all our Cokes were fountain drinks that were poured into this milk-carton-looking thing and clipped shut with a plastic binder clip, very easy to open and shut again. I had a boom box in the car with me at all times, because the boss was too cheap to buy a delivery car with a tape deck.
I got my first traffic ticket in the pizza car, got hustled by more mulletized trailer-park heshers than I can recall, stiffed for tips, wrecked the pizza car (which eventually died when one of my coworkers dropped the transmission on US-31 while trying to lay rubber), starved myself for 2 days so I could eat $60 worth of food from the salad bar when the boss complained I wasn't taking advantage of my employee discount, etc etc.
Mainly, though, when I think of that job, I think of driving around and listening to music. Those were heady days for me, in terms of hearing some great rock and roll for the first time. I still thinking of delivering pizzas - and getting stiffed for tips - when I hear some of those songs.
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