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Alright, so I posted a thread some six or seven months ago about my new job as a pizza delivery driver. I work at a small store, so the majority of our consumers are businesses and people who don't mind spending a bit more for better pizza. I've read stories from other delivery drivers, usually at places like domino's, and they rack up more weird stories in a week than I could in six months. Anyways, I just had a weird experience and I will post about it, when I get off work and on a computer I will post more stories from the time I've had working here.
This story begins in 2006, on my graduation night. We pulled up to the place and parked next to a flashy, graphics-covered escalade promoting "Yockie Joe", a local rapper.
Two years later, I started buying dope from a dude who lived above me. He said he got it from Joe, and even took me to the new studio that Yockie had built in an effort to "put Shreveport on a map".
Anyways, an hour ago we got a delivery call to the Hilton hotel downtown. I always love going there, I've delivered pizza to James Marsden and Edward Norton there. And the dude whoim pretty sure plays that Aussie guy on House.
I get there, and at the front I was greeted by a huge black dude wearing the worst fucking plaid blazer ever, and he orders me to follow him. I assumed he was part of the staff. We get into the elevator, and he goes to scratch his nose and as he does, his jacket reveals not one but two fucking Glocks, in holsters. I immediately get super freaked out, but I also figured hey, I'm not getting robbed at a hotel. (I'll tell the story about egan street later.)
We get out of the elevator, and proceed to walk slowly down to room 808. The dude is seriously walking riiiiiiight behind me. I'm pretty sure he could smell the fear. I go to knock on the door andthe dude lunges at me, and I squeezed out a small turdball before he said hold up... And proceeded to knock on the door in a particular fashion while saying "it's cool, it's cool." I hear shuffling, and the door opens, and... It's yockie joe, and he is fucked up. Either that, or the nearly diagonal lean he had was due to the chains on his neck weighing hundreds of pounds. He asks me how much he owes me, and proceeds to start pulling out twenties. After the third twenty, he asked me what he had given me. (the order was twenty four bucks.) I told him, again, that it was twenty four, and he takes two twenties back, fishes out a five, and gives it to me. He then gave me a dollar... Another dollar... Another... Asked me if that enough. I told him the price again, and he just said "fuck it, keep it", grabbed his pizza, and walked inside. The bodyguard (I assume) then closed the door and informed me that "Corey" wasn't feeling well. I told him I knewit was yockie, and he was pretty surprised. We started talking about yockie, k-pistol, etc until he declared that I was the coolest whiteboy ever. Asked me my name - Andrew, irl - and yelled "drew!" "drew doooowwnn!". At this point I nervously told him he packed some good heat (when my dad is out of town, my mother sleeps with mace in one hand and a glock in another. If you only knew her, she is adorable.) he then stopped and told me not to ever mention his guns, or he would find me and kill me.
I guess this post means I have a death warrant.
This story begins in 2006, on my graduation night. We pulled up to the place and parked next to a flashy, graphics-covered escalade promoting "Yockie Joe", a local rapper.
Two years later, I started buying dope from a dude who lived above me. He said he got it from Joe, and even took me to the new studio that Yockie had built in an effort to "put Shreveport on a map".
Anyways, an hour ago we got a delivery call to the Hilton hotel downtown. I always love going there, I've delivered pizza to James Marsden and Edward Norton there. And the dude whoim pretty sure plays that Aussie guy on House.
I get there, and at the front I was greeted by a huge black dude wearing the worst fucking plaid blazer ever, and he orders me to follow him. I assumed he was part of the staff. We get into the elevator, and he goes to scratch his nose and as he does, his jacket reveals not one but two fucking Glocks, in holsters. I immediately get super freaked out, but I also figured hey, I'm not getting robbed at a hotel. (I'll tell the story about egan street later.)
We get out of the elevator, and proceed to walk slowly down to room 808. The dude is seriously walking riiiiiiight behind me. I'm pretty sure he could smell the fear. I go to knock on the door andthe dude lunges at me, and I squeezed out a small turdball before he said hold up... And proceeded to knock on the door in a particular fashion while saying "it's cool, it's cool." I hear shuffling, and the door opens, and... It's yockie joe, and he is fucked up. Either that, or the nearly diagonal lean he had was due to the chains on his neck weighing hundreds of pounds. He asks me how much he owes me, and proceeds to start pulling out twenties. After the third twenty, he asked me what he had given me. (the order was twenty four bucks.) I told him, again, that it was twenty four, and he takes two twenties back, fishes out a five, and gives it to me. He then gave me a dollar... Another dollar... Another... Asked me if that enough. I told him the price again, and he just said "fuck it, keep it", grabbed his pizza, and walked inside. The bodyguard (I assume) then closed the door and informed me that "Corey" wasn't feeling well. I told him I knewit was yockie, and he was pretty surprised. We started talking about yockie, k-pistol, etc until he declared that I was the coolest whiteboy ever. Asked me my name - Andrew, irl - and yelled "drew!" "drew doooowwnn!". At this point I nervously told him he packed some good heat (when my dad is out of town, my mother sleeps with mace in one hand and a glock in another. If you only knew her, she is adorable.) he then stopped and told me not to ever mention his guns, or he would find me and kill me.
I guess this post means I have a death warrant.
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