If there’s one thing I’ve come to appreciate about the community of Ithaca, it’s the vast selection of late-night eateries that are willing to deliver their food long after our professors have gone to bed. With the help of City Bucks, these restaurants have forged a cheerfully symbiotic relationship with the students of Cornell, many of whom view late-night delivery service as a sort of weekend ritual, the second-greatest way to end a long night.
Ordering delivery not only ensures the gratification of your munchies, it usually culminates with a bizarre and entertaining encounter with a fascinating and strange individual: the deliveryman. The deliveryman, among other things, is certainly the most heralded occupation that doesn’t require a middle school education. (If any of you deliverymen and women are reading this, please do not be offended. I’m not saying all of you missed out on 7th grade, I’m just saying that it probably wasn’t necessary.)
The deliveryman is always a dark and mysterious figure, emerging from the shadows in a black hoody and mud-stained jeans. And yet it seems that nobody is more endeared by those he serves than the deliveryman, so long as he performs his duty in a relatively timely manner. For if he successfully delivers his food on time, he will be received warmly with open arms, because there is nobody more friendly than a drunk college student with two pounds of buffalo wings in his arms. And if he is lucky enough to come across an actual party, he may even become the de facto guest of honor, especially if he comes bearing crushed green leaves whose name rhymes with Madonna. On the other hand, if he is a half hour late, he is subject to verbal abuse or something far worse, like broken bottles or baseball bats.
It was not long after I arrived at Cornell that I began to understand just how puzzling and erratic the behavior of an Ithaca deliveryman can be. I was sitting at my desk one evening when I received a desperate instant message from a friend studying in some dark corner of Uris Library. He needed pizza, he said, and he needed it fast. Unfortunately, his cell phone was out of batteries, and he was also unable to complete his order on campusfoods.com. Anyhow, I decided to assist my exasperated friend by picking up the phone and ordering a large pineapple pie, due to arrive at the library within the hour.
45 minutes later my phone rang. I accepted the call and was immediately bombarded by a series of penetrating questions issued by a squeaky, slightly deranged voice. “Hello. Kevin here from Papa John’s. Is this Ben?” Unable to wait for my one-syllable response, Kevin continued by conducting what more closely resembled a top secret military operation than a pizza delivery: “Okay, Ben. Listen carefully. I’m headed south on Thurston towards Uris. Library. Where exactly are you in the library?” I struggled to comprehend what Kevin had just asked me — “Did he really just ask me where I was sitting in the library?” I thought to myself.
A bit startled and quite eager to get off the phone with this guy, I explained that I was not actually in the library at all, and that I was calling on behalf of a friend who was stuck in the library without a cell phone. Kevin was not happy. “Now, Ben, I usually consider it a violation of protocol not to speak directly with the recipient of the order, but I will make an exception. Please inform your friend that I will meet him just outside the Olin Café in approximately three and a half minutes.”
“Approximately three and a half minutes,” I repeated to myself in amazement. This guy had to be messing with me; must be some bored delivery guy just trying to keep himself entertained on the job, I figured. This, unfortunately, was not the case. Kevin was an effing psycho. After sending an instant message to my friend warning him of the imminent delivery and the obsessive tendencies of the driver, I briefly left the room to help a friend move some furniture next door. When I returned to my room about five minutes later, my cell phone had registered four missed calls, all from Kevin. More startling was the fact that each missed call, which had taken place in 30 second intervals, was accompanied by a furious voicemail.
Apparently three and half minutes had elapsed, and my friend had not yet made it to the café. Kevin was extremely displeased, and it was only a matter of time, I figured, until this strange and volatile specimen became violent. As it turned out, he just accused us of ‘theft of service’ and declared that he was leaving immediately. Fortunately, my friend caught Kevin on the way out, and the pineapple pizza was consumed within minutes.
This is not to say that all deliverymen are this irrational or cantankerous. In fact, many are quite personable and happy to meet new people. They may come in all shapes and sizes, with different intentions and motives. But whoever they are, they are bound to add a little extra flavor to your night.
Ben Notterman is a sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences. He can be contacted at ben8@cornell.edu. The Scorpion King appears alternate Fridays.