Pizza Girl part one 

By Diana the Valkyrie


Yes. I deliver pizza. Because someone has to, and I need a job. With
the economy how it is post-Brexit (I still don't understand how
we got conned into that) well-paying jobs are as rare as hen's
teeth. So I'm a pizza delivery girl.

And I'm Pizzagirl because a weird accident happened with the pizza
microwave plus pineapple plus anchovies, which should normally
never come in contact, let alone on top of pizza.

Superman came from Krypton, Batman came from Gotham City, Wonder
Woman came from Themyscira. I come from Neasden in London.

Superman has superpowers because he's Kryptonese, Batman because
he spends a lot of money on gadgets, Wonder Woman because she's
an Amazon.  Me? See above - the accident.

Superman, Batman and WW all have secret identities, so when the
accident happened, I realised I needed one. Because superheroes
don't get paid.  Can you imagine? Superman swoops down and saves a
falling woman and then invoices her for $600. Wonder Woman worked
part time at Taco Whiz and takes home minimum wage. No chance.

So for my secret identity, I put on a pair of plain glass spectacles,
because apparently that's all you need. But to be totally sure of
secrecy, I also wore my hair in a ponytail instead of the falling
locks that Pizzagirl wears.

So, you're probably wondering why I call myself "Pizzagirl"? You
guessed it.  It's because in my secret identity, I deliver pizza. I
have an electric bicycle. I built it myself out of a second hand
bicycle and a motor kit, it tops out at 25 kph but it's great in
traffic. Batman never gets stuck in traffic. Superman flouts the
air traffic control regulations and no-one can see WW's invisible
aeroplane. But the Pizzabike has no number plate, so it's completely
anonymous. Because bikes don't have number plates.

Batman has the Batmobile, the Batplane and for all I know, the
Batspaceship.  I have the Pizzabike. All I need is something to
get the pizza from bakery to customer before it gets cold. I call
it the Pizzabike, but when the chain comes off the sprockets, it's
the "bloody bastard bike".

Superman's vulnerability is Kryptonite; Wonder Woman has Steve
Trevor.  Batman's nemesis is The Joker. But Pizzagirl has lots of
adversaries - dogs, stiffers, muggers, thieves, unlit streets and,
of course, customers.

Pizzagirl wears a cape, because of course she does. At least
it shields me from the worst of the rain as I pedal along. And
gauntlets, because you only come off a bike with bare hands once.
And very high boots, because they're sexy and kinky. But the main
costume is a shoulder-to-knee dress, very tight because that's what
we superheroines wear, and on it I have embroidered an anchovy and
a pineapple chunk, and you can guess why.

So.

I'm humming along on the Pizzabike with a Four Seasons for one
customer and a Hawaiian for another in my insulated panniers. It's
night time, half the street lights aren't working and the other half
casts a dim glow that barely illuminates the prostitute leaning on
the lamppost.  I've got a good light on the Pizzabike, in front
because I want to be able to avoid the potholes and at the back
because I don't want to be rear-ended by a car driver that can't see
me. And  head torch, so that I can find the bloody house, because do
customers leave their porch light on as requested?  No they do not.

So eventually I find the house, and I knock on the door, because
it's a common belief that you get a better tip if you knock than
if you ring, which I do not believe, but I do it anyway because
it's a Pascal's Wager kind of situation. And there's no answer. So
I ring again.

Eventually, the door in answered by a guy who would be the posed
model for Sloppy Guiseppe if there were such a thing, and his
opening gambit is "Yes?"

"Pizza," I say, brightly and indicate the box that I'm already
holding out in front of me, and how could you think it was anything
else? "Uh," he grunts and offers me a tenner for the �6.95 pizza. I
count out three pounds back to him, and then he says "Keep the
change". A whole five pennies. Stiffed again.

What some people don't realise, is that you can't actually live
on the minimum wage you get as a pizza delivery girl (which for
some strange reason that I don't understand, is less than a pizza
delivery boy), and we rely on tips.

But there's nothing I can do, tips aren't compulsory, so I turn to
leave and immediately I notice that someone is stealing my Pizzabike.

"Hey," I shout, which is a big mistake because it alerts him to
the fact that he's been made. He's already cut through the chain
that I'd used to attach the bike to a non-operational lamppost,
and he jumps on the bike and pedals away, thinking that he's gotten
away with it. Did I mention that I hate thieves?

But he didn't reckon with Pizzagirl. I whip off my spectacles,
shake my ponytail down into a freestyle hairdo, take off the long
coat that I cover my costume with, and Pizzagirl is ready for action.

By this time, the thief is vanishing over the horizon.

But now I'm Pizzagirl and I can run like a Carolina Reaper through a
digestive system, and I'm running after the bastard who just stole
my Pizzabike, so I have considerable motivation.

And despite his frantic pedalling, I soon catch up with him, lift
up the back of the bike so he has no propulsion. Then I vent my not
inconsiderable frustration on his head by bashing him sideways off
the bike onto the tarmac. When he hits the road, he's still going
at twenty per, so he slides along for several yards, accumulating a
major case of gravel rash. Am I sad about that? Not in the slightest.

And when friction overcomes momentum and he comes to a halt, I
administer a good kicking with my high boots, which are great at
protecting my toes from the impact, yet don't protect the thief at
all from my righteous indignation.

Eventually, both he and I agree that I've kicked him enough, so I
pick up my bike, and the big bolt cutter that he'd used to steal
my bike, and ride off to deliver the Hawaiians, which have been
gradually getting colder while all this excitement was happening.
It's a substantial bit of kit, this bolt cutter. I'll get a good
price for it on eBay. Call it a fine for the theft.

But after chasing the robber, I'd arrived in unfamiliar territory,
so I fired up the Pizzafinder. Which, of course, told me "Looking
for satellites" but I didn't have time to spare, because if you
deliver the pizza cold, you get no tip, and it serves you right.

So I reasoned that there's only two possible ways to go; forward
or back the way I came, and until the Pizzafinder found a few
satellites, one way was as good as the other.

Obviously, I choose the wrong way. So then the Pizzafinder tells
me to make a U-turn, I do that, and go as fast as I could in the
indicated direction, which is pretty fast because I'm still in my
Pizzagirl costume and there's no speed limit for bicycles. Well there
is actually, it's the same as for cars, but I don't have a number
plate, so who's going to know who I am if a speed camera flashes me?




Read the rest of the story on https://www.amysconquest.com