Hey folks, sorry to bring this story to you late. I broke my bike and bought a new one this week and haven’t had much time to write. Here goes.

Our store is always short-staffed on Thursdays. Yesterday was no exception, and we were extraordinarily busy. There was a list of late deliveries filling the dispatch screen until well after 1 p.m. Later, I found myself recounting some of the day’s fallout to a lady that works at an office tower reception desk I often visit on delivery. She was middle aged and bubbly, with a poofy blonde bob. Our conversation had turned to comparing work stories.

I told her about an order I delivered to a woman named Susan early in the shift. “Well I’m just surprised to hear you’re not concerned about that,” I heard Susan say over the phone as I stepped into her office in a government building near the highway. She hung up and I said “Hey, how’re you today?” “Not very good,” she said. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied, expecting to hear about some health problem or financial crisis. “It took forty minutes for you guys to get me that sandwich,” she said. “Oh, did it?” I asked, genuinely unaware of how late the order had been. I had delivered a catering order before I got to Susan, and I spent several minutes gathering all the sides. I saw some of the orders in the store had been 20 minutes old before even going out.

“And that manager there is a real jerk! I just got off the phone with him, and he didn’t even care that I had to wait 40 minutes.” I listened and tried to be empathetic. Susan restated the same sentiments at least three or four times during our conversation, and in such invective tones I had to pause to be certain she hadn’t been swearing. She complained that my manager was unhelpful and rude, that she just could have gotten a pizza in the time she waited. She didn’t raise her voice toward me, however, and I apologized for her wait and for my manager. She sat staring at her credit receipt, pen in hand, shaking her hand. She was so worked up she struggled to form a sentence. “Well, I’m not going to sign–I’m not paying twelve dollars,” she said. She explained that she refused to pay for her sandwich, which I was to take back to the store, but that the other was for her coworker. I called the store to figure out what I should do and got an earful from my manager, who was audibly flustered. He sounded as ill-equipped to handle the situation as the lady did. “Well yeah, she’s upset because you took too f—ing long getting there. Chris, just bring the sandwich back,” he said. “Listen, I’m going to cross out the total and write in the total for the one sandwich,” I said, insisting that he approve a course of action before hanging up. He finally agreed, and Susan signed the amended receipt. She marched off with it to make a copy for her records, and when she returned I saw “$5.50 ONLY!” written in pastel blue gel pen at the top of the ticket. She vented about the injustice dealt to her for a moment more before conceding that she wouldn’t penalize me for my boss’s behavior. Then she handed me two one-dollar bills.

“Thank you very much for that,” I said, feeling surprised. “Here’s hoping that the rest of your afternoon goes better,” I offered, and she gave a sullen, pathetic nod. I was convinced that she would not feel alright for a long while.

I told the receptionist, whose name I learned was Joanna, about another lady I delivered to an hour later. Her name was Christina. She worked in a Bank of America office building, and she had been waiting for some time in the lobby when I got there. “Oh, ugh, it’s dinner now!” she exclaimed. “It’s not lunch anymore!” “Oh, I’m so sorry, did we keep you waiting long?” I said, gathering that she was both joking and excited to finally have her long-awaited lunch. We had kept her waiting long. Christina trotted over to the security desk and tore open her sandwich bag, smiling wryly and continuing her playful dramatic complaint. I played along, commiserating about how grumpy I get when I’m hungry. She smiled and handed me the credit slip with a $2 tip written in. I thanked her for her patience. “I wasn’t patient!” she protested as I turned and strode for the door. “Well thank you for being gracious!” I shouted behind me as I stepped out, full of wonder at how well the delivery had gone despite the circumstance.

“So you see all kinds of attitudes delivering uptown,” I summarized to Joanna the receptionist. “Oh, don’t I know it,” She said. “I cannot believe these people sometimes. Sometimes I just tell ’em, ‘You need to walk right back out that door and change your attitude. If you’re not grateful for your job, there are 10 or 12 other people out there that would be glad to have it!” “Good for you! You set ’em straight!” I laughed. “I do!” she said, “I tell ’em to their face. I’m like the mom around here.” “Yeah, she keeps us in line!” chimed in the woman whose sandwich I was holding. We both laughed as I gave her the sandwich, collected my slip and said goodbye. “Keep it up!” I said to my new friend Joanna and made my way to the elevator.