My roommate and her friend ordered two pizzas to our apartment last night as I sat at the living room table, eating vegetable curry from the Thai restaurant, Bangkok 2.
“Can I get two jumbo pizzas – one plain, and one eggplant with mushroom,” the friend said into his phone. “It’s cash-only for delivery,” the friend, sitting on the couch, called to my roommate in the kitchen. “That’s fine. I have cash,” my roommate said. “It’s gonna be forty-three dollars,” the friend said.
After the phone order, time passed and my roommate told her friend she had to take her chihuahua for a walk. “Should I come with you?” the friend asked. “Sure,” my roommate said. “I have my phone if the delivery person comes with the pizza, they’ll call me,” the friend said. My roommate and her friend left the apartment with the dog. I sat, eating Thai salad with peanut dressing.
After ten minutes, the downstairs buzzer rang. I jumped up and ran to the video call screen by the door. I saw the delivery man, holding two pizza boxes. I buzzed him up.
My roommate and her friend were outside with the dog. I would have to pay for the pizza.
I was not worried about paying for the pizza because I knew I had cash. Earlier in the day at work, a co-worker came into my office and asked me and other co-workers if anyone had change for a fifty. He was making a deal with a locksmith and needed various sized bills. I looked in my purse then and saw two twenty-dollar bills and fives.
If I didn’t have cash, I would have texted my roommate and told her to come home.
I ran to my bedroom and looked in my purse. I saw two twenties, fives, and ones at the bottom of the bag. “The order is forty-three dollars – how much do I tip?” I thought to myself. I ran to the front door and looked through the peep hole. I saw the delivery man walking toward the door. I opened the door before he rang the bell. “Hello,” we said to each other. “How much is it?” I asked. “Forty-three dollars,” he said.
I counted the cash, as I calculated the tip in my head. “Twenty, forty, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight,” I whispered. I counted the money the same way, three times in a row. “The man probably thinks I can’t do simple math,” I thought. I can do simple math, but feel pressured calculating tip when a human is looking at me, waiting. I gave him 48 dollars in cash – a five-dollar tip. I took the pizza boxes, thanked him, and shut the door. I put the two boxes on the living room table.
“My roommate and her friend are going to be pleasantly surprised when they come home from their walk and see the pizzas,” I thought. “They’re hungry and will be glad to see the food.” Seeing food delivered – whether at your apartment or a restaurant – is a great feeling.
I picked up the boxes from the living room table and moved them to the kitchen counter. The living room table is wood and I didn’t want the bottom of the hot pizza box to make a mark the wood.
I sat at the living room table, and ate more vegetable curry – including tofu, carrot, and string bean.
My roommate returned to the apartment with her dog, friend and a second friend. I looked at them walk into the apartment and smiled. I didn’t say anything about the food. I wanted them to discover it on their own. My roommate looked into the kitchen. “The pizzas came?” she asked. “Yep,” I said, smiling. “Wait, you paid for it?” she asked. “Yep,” I said, smiling. “I had cash,” I said. She and her two guy friends laughed. “Wait, how did I end of paying for you and your friend’s pizza?” I joked.
They opened the pizza boxes and smiled, glad the food was delivered.
My roommate handed me a fifty-dollar bill. I went into my bedroom and took two dollars off my shelf. I have a two inch tall shelf for receipts, cash, and sunglasses. I walked across the living room and handed her the two dollars. “It was forty-eight dollars,” I said. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, not taking the two dollars. I walked back into my bedroom and put the two dollars back on the shelf. This was a two-dollar profit for me.
Being nice paid off.
What a great experience.