I’m so hungry. It feels like my stomach is crawling up my esophagus, and hovering around my gag reflex sphincter. At least I think it’s a sphincter. I like that word. Sphincter. (giggles) When I get ravenous, my weird leaks a bit. I slept so hard last night. The temperature dropped to near freezing, and I had all windows open as far as they go. It was 51° F inside my apartment when I awoke. My cat was snuggled up, half under the covers. She didn’t wake me at 5 AM to feed her for the first time in ages. Sadly, she has me trained so well, that at 5:14 AM, I awoke and performed my human duties for her majesty anyway.
It’s still cold and windy outside, so I ordered dinner from Food Dudes. Before clicking “order,” I noticed a place to enter instructions for the delivery driver. It had a huge character limit, so I gave excessively explicit instructions:
Enter 6789 to get buzzed in. Take elevator to 6th floor. Turn left at the top of the stairs. Knock. Say, “Hello”. Pass food through doorway. Say, “Goodbye”. Whistle the theme song to The Andy Griffith Show while retreating back to your vehicle.
They never read the instructions. They prefer to call on their cell phone when they reach the parking lot and hope I’ll come down and meet them at the entry door. If I wanted to do that, I’d continue on to my car and drive somewhere to retrieve my dinner. So I have a policy where I only tip if they bring it to my door. It’s working for me for the most part. I still get the out-of-breath call asking me which floor I’m on occasionally, letting me know they took the stairs because they didn’t read the instructions informing them that there’s an elevator. Karma in action, folks.