Wednesday, November 24, 2010

The Handful

Some of the weirdest experiences of my life occurred during my tenure as a delivery driver. Between my impossibly odd boss Trevor and the cavalcade of characters with whom I worked, there was never a dull day working for Meadowbrook Deliveries.

In previous posts, I've made mention of the customers in previous entries, such as the drunk (see The 2-6) and the late night masturbator (see How Much is That Pervert in the Window). These were a couple of extreme examples of customers who I met along the way, but I've saved THE most memorable experience...until now.

In the summer of 2001, I was having the best time with the Delivery Service. I was no longer tied down to my other job (as a clerk at Five Star Movies in Airdrie), and generally had a friend who would accompany me on my deliveries. On the evening in question, Bob was riding shotgun with me while I worked. Bob was definitely the best co-pilot...we always had weird shit to talk about and when there was no work to be done we would get up to all sorts of mischief. Sometimes Bob would come up to the door with me when I had to make a delivery. Sadly, Bob remained in the car for this particular delivery.

I was in an upper class neighbourhood, delivering some Boston Pizza to a faux-posh home with a pond on the front lawn and a three-car garage. The Mercedes parked in the driveway seemed to be more of a status-increasing decoration than a vehicle. After all, why would they leave the car out of the garage? I suppose the garage was full of other overpriced automobiles, but that seems unlikely. It was an upper class neighbourhood...not a "rich" neighbourhood.

I pulled the order out of the trunk and walked up to the front door. The doorbell was one of those obnoxious ones that play a song rather than the tried, tested, and true "ding dong." I waited a few moments but no one came to the door. Again, I rang the door bell. Bong bong bing bong, bong bong bing bong. This time, I saw a blurred image through the frosted glass window built into the door. The door opened and a short, frighteningly thin ginger with stringy hair. She looked like a freckle threw up on her. The woman seemed nice enough as I greeted her and let her know the total. She excused herself to retrieve money for her pizza and pasta.

I noticed the home was filled with religious idolatry paraphernalia, including a huge wall portrait of jesus. This thing was eight feet tall if it was an inch. It was one of those "magic jesus" know the ones. Where jesus has a sunburst behind his head and his hand is held aloft in a Jedi mind trick motion. There were other pictures of jesus peppered throughout the living room, including that famous "something off to the viewer's right is really interesting so jesus stares at it" picture and one of jesus crucified. There were even statues perched on a table against the far wall...jesus and some chick. This was clearly a very religious family.

The homely redhead returned to the door a few minutes later with a credit card. She apologized for the delay and explained that her husband had to find the credit card. I began to check the card and make an imprint of the number. While I worked, a little girl came out from the stairwell leading upstairs. The child, maybe six or seven, had bright red hair like her mother, thought he child's hair appeared clean and brushed. The girl had an arm partially outstretched and held her hand in a cup shape.

"Mummy, look what I found," the girl said to her mother with a smile. The girl walked up close. And oh my god...

She opened her hand slightly to give her mother a better look and I had the misfortune of spying what was there. In the little girl's hand, dripping and slimy, was a piece of shit. A piece of wet, smooth, human poop. Well, I can't guarantee it was human, but it appeared so. And the moist nature clearly suggested that this girl fished a piece of her own feces out of the toilet right after she dropped it in. Oh, and it reeked! I don't know what that child had eaten, but it certainly didn't agree with ME. It was truly disgusting and I felt my gag reflex acting up. I turned away while the mother signed the VISA slip.

"Mummy! Look!" the child demanded. The mother, without looking, simply replied with "That's nice, honey. Go show your father."

The kid ran into the home, a small puddle of toilet water on the foyer floor.

"Daddy! Look!"

I heard the girl yell the above quote as I gave the mother her receipt and walked away from the door. I got back into the vehicle and proceeded to laugh for a minute straight. I shared the tale with Bob and we both enjoyed a hearty laugh.

The image of a little ginger kid with an outreached handful of crap is burned into my memory forever. One of those memories so vivid that there's olfactory memory attached to it.
I once even had a nightmare that the entire family had poopies in their hands and that they actually defecated through their palms. I think jesus was defecating from his hand too. There were also midgets trying to steal my pizza delivery bag too. It was a really messed up dream. Alas, I digress about the dream.

I wonder why that child decided to scoop out a floater to show her family. She was arguably old enough to know better. Perhaps she knew it was wrong but did so anyway because she wanted attention? Clearly her mother was not very attentive. The mum didn't even look at what the child was showing.
I also wonder how the father reacted to his daughter's surprise. I wish I could have stayed at the door a few minutes more, just in the event that the father would scream something awesome like "WHAT THE FUCK?"

So now you know. The most memorable delivery of my life was all thanks to a little ginger kid and a pile of shit in her hand. So simple yet so effective. What would have made it even funnier?
If the mum slipped on the puddle as she closed the door.

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