PizzaGirl
by Diana the Valkyrie
PizzaGirl will bring the pie, through rain or snow - at least, she'll try.


You think I do this because I love pizza? You think I have some sort of
mission to deliver pizza, that this is what we were put on this world for? If
I could get a better job, I'd be out of here in two shakes of a rat's tail
(the same rat we use for Rat Surprise pizza topping, the surprise is that we
use a real rat). But the economy is shot, money's as scarce as rocking horse
shit, and a girl's gotta make a living somehow. Even superheroines have to
eat, you know. I mean, just because you never saw Batman put gas in the
Batmobile, doesn't mean he didn't. Can you imagine pulling up at a gas station
in that thing and buying ten bucks worth of gas, and make sure you check the
oil, because it's been running kinda bumpy lately. Well, of course, Batman
never had any problems finding the rent on Wayne Mansion at the end of the
month, and I guess he got the Batcave for free, but real life just ain't like
that.

The good thing about the job, is you get to eat all the pizza you want. The
bad thing, is that after a month or two, you don't actually want to eat the
stuff. Did I say "bad thing"? Hah! There's lots more bad things. Dogs, unlit
streets, stiffers, muggers, thieves and customers.

I read the comics, same as everyone. Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, The
Hulk. So after the accident with the pizza microwave and the anchovies
happened, I knew that I had to have a costume and a secret identity. A cape,
of course, on account of every superheroine has to have a cape, I'm not sure
why, it's just the thing to wear, plus it keeps the rain off. Gauntlets,
because you need something on your hands when you're handling hot pizza, and
if pizza isn't hot, it doesn't count. And boots, kneehigh boots, because boots
are kinda kinky and sexy and sort of dominatrixish, and very Superheroineish.
Plus sometimes you have to deliver through twelve inches of snow, and you'll
be glad you've got nice warm boots them.

And not much else, because if you got it, you flaunt it, and I got it, so I
flaunt it. So the costume was pretty easy to make, and I started wearing
spectacles to hide my secret identity, because if that works for Clark and
Diana, it'll work for me, right? Plus I wear my hair in a bun, like Diana, but
let it hang loose when I was being PizzaGirl. No-one could possibly guess.
Clark doesn't even change his hairstyle.

And after the accident, I thought about getting some other job, but when you
get right down to it, being a superheroine doesn't actually increase your
employment prospects - people don't expect to get a bill for being pulled from
a burning building. I mean, did anyone ever say "Hey, thanks Superman for
saving my life, here's a five dollar tip." No, they did not. You betcha.
Ungrateful lot. Should let them burn next time. And when Wonder Woman saves
the world, does anyone go up to her and say "Great job, here's ten bucks"?
Like fuck they do. So she has to get an office job in her secret identity, be
a cubicle peon, and I would do the same, at least you're out of the rain,
except like I said the economy is shot and I'm lucky to have this lousy pizza
job.

So here I am, tootling along in what I modestly call my PizzaMobile (in good
moments, and "That Fucking Car" when it won't start in the morning, and I can
tell you that being a superheroine comes into its own when you need to
push-start a car, because do you think all the big strong macho men leap into
action? Pigs might fly) on my way to deliver a large thin crust with sausage,
mushrooms and anchovies (I mean, what sort of a rube mixes sausage and
anchovies?) with Diet Pepsi, but it's a double drop, and there were a couple
of Hawaiians to go to the other side of the area. And it's night time, which
is a little bit scary in this part of town for a girl alone, although not for
Pizzagirl of course. But I wasn't Pizzagirl, I'm in my Secret Identity, so I
have to pretend to be demure, meek and mild mannered, you know what I mean? So
that people wouldn't link the demure, meek and mild-mannered pizza delivery
girl with PizzaGirl. Plus the hairstyle and the glasses. Either it works a
treat, or else a lot of people make the connection and were laughing at me
behind my back. Whatever.

So I get to the road, and wouldn't you know it, it's court court fucking
court, and no way to see house numbers, and does the rube leave his porch
light on as requested, chances are he does not. How do people expect a poor
pizza delivery girl to find their house before the pizza gets soggy, cold or
both? More importantly, how would the emergency services put out a fire when
you can't even find the fucking house? And I'm thinking, I've got these two
Hawaiians in the other insulated pizza bag also getting soggy and cold, and I
don't have the time to play this stupid game, because if you deliver the pizza
late and cold, for sure you get stiffed.

OK, better change to PizzaGirl, so I stop the PizzaMobile, get my cape out of
the trunk, take off my sweater and skirt, and Shazam! change into PizzaGirl.
Which isn't easy. They don't make full length stand-up phone booths any more,
just these little ledge-and-shelter things, so I have to find a public
lavatory, which is something they don't seem to mention in comics, I don't
know why, public lavatories aren't anything to be ashamed about. Someone might
wonder why Clark suffers weakness of the bladder whenever things get exciting,
but you could pass that off as part of being meek and mild-mannered. Well, I
didn't actually say Shazam!, that's Mary, and I doubt if it would work for
anyone except her (and Billy, of course). But you know what I mean. So then I
get back into the PizzaMobile, and use the PizzaFinder to work out where I am
and where the pizza needs to be delivered. The PizzaFinder is accurate to
within ten meters, and once I'm ten meters away from my destination, I can
usually find it, especially if the rube left the porch light on like he's
supposed to, and which they hardly ever do, but several of the neighbors do,
it all adds to the confusion.

So, guided by the PizzaFinder, the PizzaMobile glides up to the house, and
sure enough, the porch ain't lit, and as I get out the dogs commence to bark.
And you can imagine just how much a pizza delivery girl likes the sound of
three big dogs in the house. Even if they're friendly, you think I enjoy
getting dog drool off my costume? And when they aren't friendly ...

And I knock on the door, pizza delivery wisdom says that you get a better tip
if you knock than if you ring, but after I'd knocked a couple of times there
was no answer, so I ring, and after a few minutes this big old guy comes to
the door and says "Yes?". "Pizza", I say, like he couldn't work it out for
himself, with the pizza box in my hand steaming gently and the cap that says
"Pizza", and he phoned the pizza place just a few minutes ago, who is he
expecting, the Tooth Fairy? "Oh", he says, "Is it hot?" Like he can't see the
steam. "Yes, hot and ready for you sir" referring to the pizza, of course,
"six dollars ninety-four", I say, explaining that I'm expecting some cash now.
So, he gives me ten, I give him back three ones and then he says "keep the
change" and shuts the door.

Stiffed again. Fuck. A whole six cents tip. Well, what can you do, and I've
still got those Hawaiians to deliver, maybe I'll get lucky there. So I turn
around to get back into the PizzaMobile, and there's these three guys leaning
on it. "Hi, babe". Fuck fuck fuck. I hate this neighborhood.

"Excuse me", I say, "I need to deliver." "You can deliver to me any time you
like" says one joker, and the other two go "Yuk yuk yuk". So I attempt to go
to the motor, but one of them is standing in front of the door, and I need to
push past him. "Like the cape and boots, babe, how about you and me tango a
little?" So I explain it in words he can understand "Fuck off and die, bozo,
I'm busy." Well, as you can imagine, that doesn't go down at all well, and he
and his pals stop yukking and start to frown. So I try again a bit more
emphatically, show him the biceps, and explain "I'm leaving, you get out of
the way or I go through you. It's of no mind to me, but right now you got a
full set of teeth and an unbusted nose and if you want to stay happy, get
lost." So he looks left and right, and checks that his buddies are still
backing him up, and he makes a rude gesture with his middle finger.

I'm thinking about those Hawaiians in the pizza bag getting cold, and I
haven't even started the delivery run, and I don't have the time to play nice,
so I grab the finger he offered, pulled it towards me, rotated it towards me
to point towards the ground and keep on turning it the same way, except that
fingers don't rotate that way, so either the finger breaks or bozo rises up on
his toes, and I keep right on rotating the finger, and lucky bozo wasn't so
heavy, so up he goes a couple of feet, then I let go and he drops, but on his
way down he meets my knee coming up, giving him the flattened nose as per
promise, and at least loosening some of the dentition, and of course his pals
back him up to the hilt by running as fast as they can in two different
directions. I think about giving him a bit of a kicking to drive home the
lesson, but I don't really have the time for that. So I leave him on the
ground moaning, and set off to make my second drop.

This time, I'm in a big hurry, those Hawaiians had already had ten minutes in
the bag, and pizza temperature is a one way street - downwards. I reckon I
have twenty minutes max to cut across town, find the rube, and get shot of the
food. So I fire up the PizzaMobile, which goes "Rurr rurr rurr" and then
silent. Oh fuck, please, not now. "Rurr rurr rurr" again, I really have to do
something about this, but I certainly can't afford a new car, not on six cent
tips plus the pittance the Pizza Parlor pays, fuck, I can't even afford new
spark plugs. So I let off the brakes, jump out and I'm just about to start
pushing when I realise I've got my high heeled boots on, which are great as a
fashion statement and make my thighs look really sexy, but are most unsuitable
footwear for pushing a car. Off with the boots, on with the trainers, and if
you think I look funny in a PizzaGirl costume and trainers, then fuck you.

The PizzaMobile starts after a good push (help from a passing man? Don't make
me laugh) and I jump into the drivers seat and slam it into gear with a
horrible grinding noise that sounded like the cost of a new gearbox, but which
at least gets it started, and we zoom off to the south side of town. With my
PizzaGirl reflexes, I could handle seventy mile per, but the speed limit is
thirty, and there's nothing that spoils your day more than A) getting a
speeding ticket for $50 and B) watching the pizza go cold while the cop writes
your ticket. Not to mention the smart-alec remarks about the superheroine
business, cops never did like us, I think it's because Batman keeps making
them look like incompetent bunglers, and then never did figure out how to deal
with the Joker.

So I'm whizzing along, if thirty can be called whizzing, and I'm starting to
get the adrenaline hit from the action as per above, and then I hit the
traffic jam over Parkway and fourty-third, and it's looking like every car in
the city is trying to get down the same road I am, except they're in front of
me, and not really moving, and I bang my head on the steering wheel and curse
because this looks like a total gridlock. At this point, Wonder Woman would
whistle up her invisible airplane, Superman would take off like a rocket, and
Batman would swing from rooftop to rooftop in total defiance of the laws of
conservation of momentum.

I pull over onto the pavement so the PizzaMobile doesn't become part of the
problem, run round to the trunk and pull out my folding bicycle, grab the
pizza bag, and set off again on the PizzaCycle. The stalled cars aren't a
problem, I just weave in and out, up on the pavement sometimes, till I get to
clear water and plain sailing, then I really push the pedals to the metal and
spin along like a Whirling Dervish powered by the mighty PizzaGirl thighs.
Except the PizzaCycle doesn't have the PizzaFinder, and I have to rely on a
handheld GPS (you've probably cottoned by now that the PizzaFinder is also a
GPS), and if you've ever tried using a GPS with one hand, you'll understand
why I needed two hands for that, plus two more for the PizzaCycle handlebars,
and one more to hold the insulated pizza bag, which is a total of five hands
out of the two that I could actually muster.

So I keep stopping to work out my route, and by the time I get to the rube's
house, we're almost out of time, but not quite, so I leap off the PizzaCycle,
run up the drive to the door (wonder of wonders, the porch light was on),
knock, ring and generally make such as racket as is likely to awaken the dead,
until this young likely-looking lad opens up, I thrust the two Hawaiians into
his waiting hand, followed by the Diet Coke (why is it all the big fat rubes
drink diet coke?) and gasp out "Seventeen dollars forty two cents". He gives
me seventeen fifty, and I'm just about to think "Stiffed again" when he
follows it with "And here's five dollars for you". I blink, smile, and say
"Thank you, sir" in my best thank-you voice, and I turn to leave in a halo of
happiness and goodwill, and it's at that point that I notice someone is just
about to steal my bike.

I drop the pizza box, and accelerate from 0 to 20 mph in about one second,
reaching my PizzaCycle and the would-be thief about half a second later. Great
acceleration, poor brakes. I stop by the simple method of smashing into the
guy, who cannons off my hurtling body like a red off a white, smashes into a
tree, and sinks slowly to the pavement looking like he just got hit by a
cruise missile. I get on the PizzaCycle, kick him in the head as I go past,
just for luck, and the sooner I get out of this neighborhood the better. Why
is it that pizza deliveries are always to this sort of area?

I pedal back to the PizzaMobile, which is not only still there, but, mirabile
dictu, also still has all four wheels (you thought that was a given?) and the
traffic jam has cleared. Fold up the bike, put it into the trunk, swap my
trainers for my fancy high-heeled Pizza Girl boots, back in the car, fucking
car won't fucking start again, back to the trunk, on with the trainers, push
push push, cough, splutter, and it starts. Then I drive back to the place I'd
just delivered to, because I'd forgotten the fucking pizza bag in all the
excitement, pick it up (who'd steal a pizza bag?), and I remember not to kill
the engine, so I'm able to drive back to the Pizza Parlor, stopping on the
way back to visit the public lavatory and change back into my demure, meek and
mild-mannered Secret Identity.

So the boss says "That's an hour, where you been?"

"Had a bit of grief, boss, nothing special, where's the next delivery?".