Though he was only the smallest pizza delivery boy - not that being a pizza delivery boy made him any less important than, say, a doctor, or a police officer, because even doctors and police officers need to eat pizza so they can save lives – in the smallest pizzeria in the smallest town in the smallest county in the state, Randy could not help but feel that it was his job and his job alone to act in the best interest of him and all those that came after him, a conclusion he came upon during these several strange encounters he had with the less than ordinary customer between seven forty-five and eight-thirty that evening: first, the phone call when the customer ordered a human spinal fluid and cerebellum pizza (without cheese!) that clued him into the fact that this customer did not have a very healthy diet; second, the strange series of beeps and boops he received when he asked for the customer’s name that were followed by the customer saying, “I mean, common American name John Smith,” which was the same name as the guy who his ex-girlfriend Wendy had cheated on him with (unless that guy’s name was Joe); third, the sphere shaped vehicle (without wheels or a license plate) that had blocked him from pulling into the customer’s driveway, forcing him find a spot half a block away; and finally, the event that really motivated him to stuff a pizza in the customer’s vehicle’s exhaust pipe, which caused it to burst in a fiery blue explosion that killed the slithering customer as it tried to put out the fire, was the fact that the customer did not even tip him, simply throwing the exact change at him and levitating the pizza in through the open window.
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