We aren’t allowed to text while on the clock.

I don’t worry about my manager catching me though,

Just the police.



Just joking

JK-ing.

I wouldn’t text and drive. 

I went to work unshaven,

Scruffy.

My manager might not have said anything

But his boss was in the store.

The big boss, upper management.

So I got spoken to.

Instructed.

I was handed a disposable razor and pointed toward the bathroom.

Razor, water, no lubricants

And my sensitive skin.

Oh that razor burn.

Oh that burn. 

I took a delivery that said,

“Leave pizza on picnic table,”

In the delivery remarks.

The order was paid for but not signed for

And not tipped.

So I wasn’t going to leave it without a signature.

Without a tip.

If you want to stiff me

Do it to my face.

I got to the address,

A business,

And saw the table

Next to the front door.

I called three times over the ten minutes

I waited.

I knocked on the glass door

A few times too.

Then I left

With the pizza.

Back at the store I saw the customer’s number

As an incoming call on my phone.

I ignored it. 

I’ve been putting these stickers
On payphones
Throughout the United States
To spread the word
Of my web presence. 
So far 
I haven’t noticed my stats increase.
I don’t think it’s working. 
…
Do you want some?
Stickers I mean.

Message me. 
Or something 
aperfectcatch [at] gmail [dot] com

I’ve been putting these stickers

On payphones

Throughout the United States

To spread the word

Of my web presence.

So far

I haven’t noticed my stats increase.

I don’t think it’s working.

Do you want some?

Stickers I mean.

Message me. 

Or something 

aperfectcatch [at] gmail [dot] com

I got a delivery remark that said,

“Only you can prevent forest fires.”

I know the saying,

Of course,

But I never figured out the delivery remark’s purpose.

Sidenote: I haven’t involved myself with a forest fire since that delivery remark. 

One of my coworkers from the inside crew,

The pizza creating crew,

Made an extra extra extra small pizza.

A tiny pizza.

So cute.

It had one pepperoni atop marinara and cheese with a small crust border.

Two-inch diameter, max. 

I asked how she was going to cut it and she said she wasn’t.

No cuts.

She didn’t get my sarcasm.

I just hope she Instagrammed it before she ate it

In two tiny bites. 

Everyone in the office—the pizza office—found out

About a blog I have

Called “every pizza i’ve ever delivered,”

Which is fine.

I guess.

Except now I feel pressure

To censor my content of anything incriminating

Or mean.



I guess I can always hide

Behind the veil of

Creative license. 

I delivered to a Bluetoother.

During our whole interaction

The Bluetoother never said a word to me.

But she never stopped talking either,

Saying things like,

“Shut up shut up, the pizza guy is here,”

Or, “Yeah, my mom ordered pizza,”

And, “Stop blabbering I’m getting money back from the pizza guy,”

Into her earpiece.

Into that piece of Bluetooth technology.

The Bluetoother didn’t tip.

I wondered if anyone was on the other end

Of that Bluetooth.

I wondered if it was a trick

To get out of tipping.

A page from a very cool new zine, called Dirty Provo Vol. 1, featuring previously unpublished work by me. 

A page from a very cool new zine, called Dirty Provo Vol. 1, featuring previously unpublished work by me. 

I was out of town

For nine days

With my band.

So I wasn’t working

With pizza.

I still ate pizza

An average of

1.7 times a day. 

I delivered to the father

Of a future supervillian.

The future villain wasn’t jaded.

Not yet.

He was only two.

But I could see his future villianhood

In his eyebrows,

His thick, almost colliding,

Perfect V eyebrows.

The father tipped me five dollars

And the future supervillian

Waved goodbye

Like babies often do. 

We have an apparatus for cutting tomatoes.
Cutting tomatoes is a one-driver job. 
Once, my co-driver Edgar suggested we team up. 
Edgar said he’d load the apparatus 
And I’d operate it. 
To save time. 
Another co-driver who was in the back room
Suggested we not do this. 
He said it wasn’t safe. 
I agreed
But Edgar insisted.
Then a tomato got stuck in the apparatus
So I had to double smash it
Through the blades.
But Edgar was in a rhythm 
That didn’t sync with my off-tempo second smash. 
Edgar’s fingertips went down with the tomato chucks. 

We had to fill out an incident report.

We have an apparatus for cutting tomatoes.

Cutting tomatoes is a one-driver job.

Once, my co-driver Edgar suggested we team up.

Edgar said he’d load the apparatus

And I’d operate it.

To save time.

Another co-driver who was in the back room

Suggested we not do this.

He said it wasn’t safe.

I agreed

But Edgar insisted.

Then a tomato got stuck in the apparatus

So I had to double smash it

Through the blades.

But Edgar was in a rhythm

That didn’t sync with my off-tempo second smash.

Edgar’s fingertips went down with the tomato chucks.

We had to fill out an incident report.

A customer said:

Don’t hate me

But I’ll have to bring your tip

By the store later. 



She never brought

My tip.

They never tip later. 

On the walkway

In front of a house,

As I headed back to my car,

Delivery complete,

A little girl,

Maybe eight years old,

Stopped,

Between me and my car,

On her bike,

The kind with pink and purple plastic tassels falling from the purple handgrips.

The little girl said, “Did you deliver to a pretty lady?”

The lady was pretty but I said, “What?”

The little girl said, “Nothing.”

She giggled as she pedaled off.  

I keep paper cups and plates in my car.

Napkins too.

Just in case

I forget them.

Or a customer forgets

To ask for them.

Once while driving to school

Without pizza,

But with a migraine,

Stabbing,

Throbbing,

Nauseating,

The cups became useful.

A blessing.

A portable toilet

To catch my impatient vomit.