November 17, 2006
The signs were all around me. Of course, I didn't see any of these signs until I was staring up at them, sprawled out and hung over, on the floor of rock-bottom. But, before you begin to think we are about to indulge in some Motley Crue-esque tale of drugs, debauchery, and death, I feel it is only fair to point out that we each have our own level of rock-bottom. Compared to Nikki Sixx, mine is pretty milquetoast, so don't get too worked up. ![][1] Me![][2] Not meYou see, my dark and shameful moment does not involve a car crash, an overdose, a dead prostitute, jail time, or even a fist fight. No, the loss of my last shred of dignity was heralded by a silently creeping, then suddenly stark realization that I was, more than likely, blacklisted from Pizza Shuttle. I say "more than likely" because my "blacklist" status was never actually confirmed. I just sort of assumed this was the case, and for good reason. Being too terrified to investigate, I have labored under this assumption, Pizza Shuttleless, for over a year. But, whether or not my banishment was an actuality, is beside the point. It had the same affect on me either way. I had plummeted to a depth of pathos that would not allow me to order from Pizza Shuttle. I was ashamed to order goddamn PIZZA SHUTTLE: Pizza "We only make money because we are willing to deliver food at ungodly hours to drunk people" Shuttle. This was, indisputably, the lowest point in my life. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me take you back to the beginning well, back to where I enter the story as a semi-cognizant being: I awoke one autumn morning in 2005, to find myself fully clothed, and came to understand that I had "slept" on my couch that night in an upright yet hunched position, not dissimilar to that of the Elephant Man. This was startling enough; however, what was to come next was utterly disturbing. As I gradually gained consciousness, I found that I had a small, rectangular piece of paper clutched firmly between my thumb and forefinger. Upon closer inspection, I recognized this piece of paper to be a check. My check. From my checkbook. I held the check in front of my face and willed my vision to return to me. It was no use. Everything was a blur: but wait, no. No, it was not a blur. Although my eyes were two angry balls of lava, each with their own individual hangovers, my vision was relatively unhindered. The problem was that the writing on the check was absolutely indecipherable. I blinked hard. I rubbed my eyes. I laid the check out on the table. I sat in front of it with my elbows on the table and steadied my head in my hands. Examining this mysterious artifact from the night before, I pondered the question: who the fuck would scribble all over my check?! Oh. That's right. There was only one person that could have scribbled all over my check. It was me. Which left me to ponder next the question: why the fuck did I scribble all over my check? The check was covered in:in: I don't know what. Nothing, really. There are a few vague symbols, the number ten, I think. Bits of it sort of looked like words:sort of. The best I can figure, I made the thing out for the amount of "ten buckaroo funny". Apparently I thought the date was the "100th of Papathy". I think I was in a good mood when I filled it out, as I was sure to include a couple of hearts and possibly some flowers, and then signed it all from Zaphod-Beeblebrox-er-something. As for the rest of it, well, giving myself the benefit of the doubt, it would appear that I was attempting to write in Cyrillic using a broken quill clasped between my teeth. If so, I need more practice. The most distressing part of it all was that number ten. That was the only part of the whole check that was unquestionable. I was definitely trying to write a check for $10.00. But why? Why in the name of all that is holy would I possibly write a check for ten bucks in the middle of the night? Whom would I give a check to at that hour for the amount of ten dollars: oh, shit. It was at this point that I recalled that $10.00 is the amount I have paid out many a time in the middle of the night. For $10.00 is how much I pay for a Pizza Shuttle 10" mushroom and bacon pizza, with tip. But, I couldn't possibly. There's no way. No way could I have been coherent enough to dial the phone, when I could only, barely, manage to make a legible mark on a check. It is not possible. Oh no, it's possible. I grabbed my cell phone, pulled up the dialed calls menu, and, sure enough, there it was: 842-1212. At 12:59am I talked to Pizza Shuttle for 56 seconds. My next thought is: there is no way a person can order a pizza in 56 seconds. Oh, but no, there is a way. I timed myself going through the order. I timed myself speaking slowly, as though intoxicated. I timed myself speaking slowly and with a 15 second pause as though I'd been put on hold. I placed the order, gave my name, my address, my phone number, all of it. I timed it again and again and every time it was at or under 56 seconds. Oh, god, what have I done: In an instant, the blood rushed to my head. I went hysterically deaf as my ears filled with heat and fear. My skin crawled and muscles writhed as every organ, vessel and cell in my body tried to simultaneously disconnect from my poisonous brain. I wanted to puke, but couldn't. My digestive system had gone on strike. I sat on the floor of my bathroom next to my toilet (just in case), and stared blankly as all of the possible scenarios of what took place that night flooded into my brain and any remaining sense of dignity drained out. Those scenarios are as follows: Scenario #1: What I hope happened I phone. They (Pizza Shuttle) answer. I drunkenly attempt to order a pizza. They recognize immediately from my slur that I am a soused idiot and say, "yeah, uh-huh, okay, drunk girl. You want a pizza. Okay. Uh-huh. We'll be right over. You betcha." Click - dial tone. I pass out. Scenario #2: Not too bad I phone. They answer. I somehow manage to convince them that I am a reasonable person with adequate funds and would like a pizza at 1:00 in the morning. They bring me a pizza, knock on my door; but I don't hear them because I am unconscious on my couch, all tuckered out after scribbling the fuck all over a check. The driver gives up and walks away annoyed with a mushroom and bacon pizza. I could live with this. I would still feel bad about it, but I could forgive myself that. Scenario #3: Humiliation I convince Pizza Shuttle to bring me pizza. They show up. I answer the door and try to pay their driver with my pretend check. He laughs at me, or worse, gets ticked, walks away. And now there is some fella in Lawrence who might see me in a bar or something and recognize me as the drunk bitch who wasted his time by trying to pay for pizza with a check that she scribbled all over. Scenario #4: The Nightmare As soon as the nightmare scenario came to me, I frantically tore through my house looking for a pizza box and/or a used condom. If I paid for pizza, I had to have paid with something, and it certainly wasn't that check. I found nothing. And so, I am forced to wonder, did I... Order a pizza; try to pay with a pretend check; when the check is refused, pay the driver with unsafe sex; eat an entire pizza; destroy all evidence; get dressed; pick up check; pass out on couch. This is now my greatest fear. I have discussed this situation with some former Shuttle employees and they have assured me that it is not at all likely that I would be barred from ordering Pizza Shuttle; that they have encountered situations far worse than me and my mad check. But that doesn't really make me feel better about myself. No, no, reform is definitely in order. I must say, over the past year, my behavior has become marginally better. Furthermore, two weeks ago, I ventured to order my usual from Pizza Shuttle and it was delivered to me promptly and courteously as though nothing had ever happened. So, either those former employees were right or the staff of Pizza Shuttle are a noble and forgiving lot... or their turnover rate is such that there is no one left who remembers the incident. Nonetheless, I have learned my lesson. As a reminder, I keep the check mounted on my fridge; so, if I should get peckish some drunken, lonely night, I will remember not to order a pizza... unless I have cash... or condoms. Oh, Shuttle, it's good to have you back. I did miss you. And now, the moment you've been waiting for, the infamous check: ![][3] [1]: http://media.lawrence.com/img/blogs/maggs/maggie.jpg [2]: http://media.lawrence.com/img/blogs/maggs/notmaggie.jpg [3]: http://media.lawrence.com/img/blogs/maggs/check.jpg
Comments
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nomouthbear (anonymous) says...
YES! That story needed to be told Margot, you are a brave woman. You should sleep well knowing that your story will give strength to many who have drunkidentally (yeah, you heard me) annoyed sober people at their job. You are "ten buckaroo funny"!
November 17, 2006 at 9:11 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
quinno (Patrick Quinn) says...
Well-done! The check is priceless.
November 18, 2006 at 11:12 a.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
edie_ (anonymous) says...
The hearts are the special touch that makes the difference. It's a good thing they didn't get a piece of the Magpie.
November 18, 2006 at 1:06 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
mitzibel (Misty Nuckolls) says...
It is not uncommon to have a drunk hand a Shuttle driver his checkbook and instruct said driver to make it out so said drunk can sign it. As you can imagine, they often regret that decision when they get their bank statement, if they remember making it at all.
I once walked up to a house where the customer had passed out, face down, across the threshold of his door, one hand clutching a twenty extended toward the street. Of course I did what any ethical delivery personnel would do, which was gently kick him in the ribs a few times, and then when he didn't respond, place the pizzas under his hand and pocket the change. I was kind enough to turn his head to one side so he wouldn't drown in his own puke-puddle, though, so I earned it.
November 18, 2006 at 1:07 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
thetomdotdot (anonymous) says...
I just hope that there wasn't any, you know, mushroon bacon pizza enema involved. If so I just fucking give up.
November 18, 2006 at 4:47 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
dolores2175 (April Fleming) says...
I bet if you were drunk you could read that.
November 19, 2006 at 3:34 a.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
cvillehawk (anonymous) says...
Yeah, that check was definitely written to the order of (heart) lover. You might not have carried through, but the to: line signals your intent.
November 20, 2006 at 10:34 a.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
beatle919 (Marcy McGuffie) says...
Wow. Nice work. ;) That may be the most illegible check I've ever seen (and I work in a bank).
That's a great story. Gave me my chuckle for the day...
November 20, 2006 at 11:32 a.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
Shelby (anonymous) says...
hilarious!!
November 20, 2006 at 12:08 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
thomgreen (anonymous) says...
I've read this somewhere else...
November 20, 2006 at 1:59 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
MjA (MJ Allen) says...
somwhere else? what?
weird.
November 20, 2006 at 2:27 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
theyards (Bradford Hoopes) says...
Hold on! I'm making out more of the check at the botttom:
This babe most ... ... Your friend ...
Any other guesses? Maggie?
November 21, 2006 at 1:56 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
ladylaw (Terry Bush) says...
I just hope that you changed your checking account # after posting this copy of your routing #.....
Suffice to say, the fact that you feel anything at all based upon the potential that you may have in some way harmed some faceless person or accidently bilked some business entity proves (yet again) that you are a really good and decent person. And no one can ever convince me of anything else.
November 21, 2006 at 6:34 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
MjA (MJ Allen) says...
Seriously, don't try to figure it out. You'll hurt yourself.
The only way to get to the bottom of this is to do as April suggested and try to read it when I'm drunk.
The problem with that being, I would probably have to be as drunk as I was at the time I wrote the check in order to read the check. In which case, I wouldn't be able to remember what it was that I read.
Clearly, the only solution is to enlist the help of a team of experts, such as: a psychologist, a hypnotist, a literary anthropologist, Jay Holley, and a video crew, and a bartender. The team will then get drunk and try to decipher the check, while videoing the entire process for further study at a later date.
Naturally, for the sake of empirical study, we will need to be drunk while reviewing the video footage.
Only then can we hope to understand the true meaning of this mysterious artifact.
Somebody call The Discovery Channel; I think we've got a new program for 'em...
November 21, 2006 at 6:39 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
MjA (MJ Allen) says...
Aw, Terry. You're always so good to me. :)
November 21, 2006 at 6:41 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
ladylaw (Terry Bush) says...
Here's my attempt to decipher the check
Date - could be February (but looks more like January) and there is a 1 in there.
Made out to "Love [i.e. the heart) forever." That seems pretty clear to me.
Numerical amount = $10.00 (clearly)
Alpha amount = Ten and no over one-hundred
Signed by "your friend ....." Some name with an X in it....
Notation: This food Pizza for me myself and funny person salesman or sometimes love
How close does that come?
And you deserve to be given praise when you do or just are something praiseworthy (like have a conscience).
November 22, 2006 at 2:38 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
Jester (Nick Spacek) says...
Drunk checks are fantastic. When I was delivering, young men at fraternity houses would ask me how much the charge was, and then tell their friend twenty bucks over the total as a tip, as he was standing only by their kindheartedness.
This was a wonderful antidote to the uncouth young ladies who would discover their drinks had no straw or there were no mayo packets and call with stop check threats.
November 26, 2006 at 11:16 a.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
thetomdotdot (anonymous) says...
Notation: This babe mosta pun sarrocki + NY (second line) artsit.
Signed: You'll end exveree.
Makes sense to me.
November 27, 2006 at 1:57 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
MjA (MJ Allen) says...
TDD- I think you may be on to something.
I had a strong feeling about the signature; but then "You'll end exveree" is the Allen family moto. Naturally I would want to include this phrase in my pizza-related business transactions.
November 27, 2006 at 4:17 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
thetomdotdot (anonymous) says...
Hey, no problem. But damn you mosta been drunk to think you could pun both sarrocki and NY artsit in one evening. If I tried that at my age I'd sure as fuck end exveree no doubt in your mouth about it.
Your family sounds fun.
November 27, 2006 at 9:23 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
MjA (MJ Allen) says...
Sarrocki can be a challenge even when I'm sober, but NY artsit is a fuckin pushover. This babe could pun NY artsit with mosta my arms tied behind my back.
November 28, 2006 at 3:56 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
thirtyeight (Dave Loewenstein) says...
I just read this in the deadwood. Brilliant.
The check after the heart does seem to made out to loverrr....,
but we all know what money can't buy you.
November 28, 2006 at 9:23 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
the_dza (anonymous) says...
Oh Maggie, I miss your stories. I remember this one but it's even funnier now. Folks in AA would just love you. My face hurts.
God love ya!
April 4, 2007 at 9:47 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )