Status: Completed.
My Life Is Average
Chapter One
“Time for another exciting day in hell!” I thought to myself as I pulled on my boots and picked up my leather jacket. I stepped out of the front door, locking it behind me, and made my way down the gravel path to my motorbike. As I turned the ignition switch, the engine fired up immediately, and I sped off along the road towards the town centre. Darting through the heavy, rush hour traffic meant I arrived at work right in time for my shift. I parked my bike on the rough gravel outside the back door that was for staff only, and pulled off my lime green helmet.
“A gay guy called in earlier, and he’d just been stood up, so I gave him your number,” the voice of Larry, my co-worker called out as I entered the pizzeria. I rolled my eyes and shouted back, “For the millionth time, I’m not gay!” This was a running joke between the staff at Dario’s; that I was homosexual and fancied pretty much every guy I saw. I have no idea where it came from, but it was almost a tradition now, so it was unlikely that they were going to stop anytime soon.
“Any orders come in yet?” I enquired, hoping the answer was no, as I couldn’t be bothered going straight out; I’d much rather have a drink and a chat before starting work for real. Unfortunately though, one of the cashiers, an annoying, brunette slut called Stacey, smiled smugly, “Two pizzas for 12 Mount Drive, Ilkley. You better hurry up and get going, or the old man will complain and then you’ll lose your job. What a shame that would be.” I rolled my eyes and gave her a disgusted look, before picking up the pizza boxes and going back outside to my bike.
Several hours and many deliveries later, I ended up with an order for an address a mile or so out of town. It was for some chick called Beatrice, so I hoped she was hot and single, as I needed something to relieve the boredom. Being a delivery man was really tedious; although I was glad I wasn’t stuck behind the counter all day because that would be even worse! Pulling up outside the house, I checked the door number and looked around at my surroundings. It seemed to be a pretty posh neighbourhood, all well kept gardens and fancy cars in the driveways. I hopped off my bike and lifted the pizzas out of the specialised box on the back of the seat that prevented the heat from escaping during the journey, carrying them up the perfectly laid path to the door. There was the sound of footsteps clattering down the stairs, following my ringing of the doorbell, then the scraping of a key in the lock, and finally the door opened smoothly to reveal a rather attractive young woman. For some reason she was wearing a dishevelled scarlet wig and a false goatee, making me think that she must have a good sense of humour, considering most girls wouldn’t be seen dead looking any less than immaculate.
“Are you Miss Beautiful?” I pretended to read off the address label, “Sorry, Beatrice even. Easy to get them confused while talking to someone like you.” The girl smiled and nodded, twirling a strand of the wig around one finger. She reached into her wallet and withdrew a ten pound note, handing it to me with a wink. Rummaging around in my pocket, I found enough coins to make up her change and passed it back to her, along with the pizzas and her receipt. She thanked me, then glanced at the receipt and grinned because I’d written my number along the top.
“Call me,” I said flirtingly, before turning on my heel and returning to my bike. I started the engine, waved, subsequently roaring off into the distance, back towards the pizzeria.
As soon as I arrived home in the evening, I got changed and turned on the computer. The humming as it slowly loaded really annoyed me, and I was tempted to throw it out of the window, but I restrained myself, settling for flicking a ball of paper at the screen instead. After it had finally tormenting me, I logged onto MLIA and began reading through the latest posts. One exceptionally funny story read, “Today, I was sick, so I stayed home from school. In the middle of the day I got bored and played dress up. After about two hours of going through my mom's closet, putting on her makeup, and an old red wig I found in the back of her closet, I ordered a pizza under the name Beatrice. When the guy came to give me my pizza, I tried to act all seductive, and flirty. He liked it, and gave me his number. I'm a guy and I have a beard. Either he was gay, or extremely hair blind. MLIA.” I burst out laughing, but my amusement trailed off as I recalled the events from earlier. The ‘pizza guy’ was me.
I’d just proved all of my co-workers’ jokes.
“A gay guy called in earlier, and he’d just been stood up, so I gave him your number,” the voice of Larry, my co-worker called out as I entered the pizzeria. I rolled my eyes and shouted back, “For the millionth time, I’m not gay!” This was a running joke between the staff at Dario’s; that I was homosexual and fancied pretty much every guy I saw. I have no idea where it came from, but it was almost a tradition now, so it was unlikely that they were going to stop anytime soon.
“Any orders come in yet?” I enquired, hoping the answer was no, as I couldn’t be bothered going straight out; I’d much rather have a drink and a chat before starting work for real. Unfortunately though, one of the cashiers, an annoying, brunette slut called Stacey, smiled smugly, “Two pizzas for 12 Mount Drive, Ilkley. You better hurry up and get going, or the old man will complain and then you’ll lose your job. What a shame that would be.” I rolled my eyes and gave her a disgusted look, before picking up the pizza boxes and going back outside to my bike.
Several hours and many deliveries later, I ended up with an order for an address a mile or so out of town. It was for some chick called Beatrice, so I hoped she was hot and single, as I needed something to relieve the boredom. Being a delivery man was really tedious; although I was glad I wasn’t stuck behind the counter all day because that would be even worse! Pulling up outside the house, I checked the door number and looked around at my surroundings. It seemed to be a pretty posh neighbourhood, all well kept gardens and fancy cars in the driveways. I hopped off my bike and lifted the pizzas out of the specialised box on the back of the seat that prevented the heat from escaping during the journey, carrying them up the perfectly laid path to the door. There was the sound of footsteps clattering down the stairs, following my ringing of the doorbell, then the scraping of a key in the lock, and finally the door opened smoothly to reveal a rather attractive young woman. For some reason she was wearing a dishevelled scarlet wig and a false goatee, making me think that she must have a good sense of humour, considering most girls wouldn’t be seen dead looking any less than immaculate.
“Are you Miss Beautiful?” I pretended to read off the address label, “Sorry, Beatrice even. Easy to get them confused while talking to someone like you.” The girl smiled and nodded, twirling a strand of the wig around one finger. She reached into her wallet and withdrew a ten pound note, handing it to me with a wink. Rummaging around in my pocket, I found enough coins to make up her change and passed it back to her, along with the pizzas and her receipt. She thanked me, then glanced at the receipt and grinned because I’d written my number along the top.
“Call me,” I said flirtingly, before turning on my heel and returning to my bike. I started the engine, waved, subsequently roaring off into the distance, back towards the pizzeria.
As soon as I arrived home in the evening, I got changed and turned on the computer. The humming as it slowly loaded really annoyed me, and I was tempted to throw it out of the window, but I restrained myself, settling for flicking a ball of paper at the screen instead. After it had finally tormenting me, I logged onto MLIA and began reading through the latest posts. One exceptionally funny story read, “Today, I was sick, so I stayed home from school. In the middle of the day I got bored and played dress up. After about two hours of going through my mom's closet, putting on her makeup, and an old red wig I found in the back of her closet, I ordered a pizza under the name Beatrice. When the guy came to give me my pizza, I tried to act all seductive, and flirty. He liked it, and gave me his number. I'm a guy and I have a beard. Either he was gay, or extremely hair blind. MLIA.” I burst out laughing, but my amusement trailed off as I recalled the events from earlier. The ‘pizza guy’ was me.
I’d just proved all of my co-workers’ jokes.
♠ ♠ ♠
Finally finished! :)