Dear Pizzaman Joe,
Look. I know delivering pizza is your full-time gig, and this is not exactly where you saw yourself at 40, but I really don't care whether or not you get that extra two dollar tip so you can cover the rent check that you already wrote your mom, so get out of my face.
What do you mean, "Don't just run out of here with orders like that?" I thought that was our job! What the fuck are you talking about, "your turn??" There were like, four other orders up when I left! You could have had these two that I am taking out now, as you are cursing at me, but no! Pizzaman Joe had to make sure we all know who's the biggest fish around here, so you waited around just to yell at me. And instead of missing one delivery, you've now missed three.
Well, guess what. I'm not going to wait around for you to get your shit together, or to ask you which pizza you'd like to take out.
I'm pretty sure niether of those things are in my lofty job description, you sandy little butthole.
Dude, how the fuck was I supposed to know that Linfield Ave was once called Main? I didn't grow up here, and I certainly wasn't around when the Kaiser decided to change all the street names on us! There is no need to describe to me again the whiteness of your house and the red camero in your driveway. If you keep telling me to turn on Main, and there is only Linfield, I will never get to your driveway, and you are simply not going to get your damn pizza. I KNOW IT'S ALMOST AN HOUR LATE!! WHO'S FAULT IS THAT???
You know what?? KEEP your stupid money! I'll take it out of my tips and...and...THAT will show YOU!!
Um, the parking brake is not, repeat, not on. You can just stop it with that blinky "parking brake" alert. And...wait...whoa! What is with the sudden speedometer failure?? I need to know how fast-
No, no, it's okay! Don't get mad! You're right! We don't need no stinking speedometer! Just keep running through July! That's all I want! *crosses fingers*
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