When you’re in young and in college, you look for all kinds of ways to make easy money with minimal effort.
My best friend knew a guy who was a manager at one of the Papa John’s places in town and she just knew that she could get BOTH of us jobs.
I needed money to pay for books and tuition and I didn’t have anything else going on so I figured, “What the hell?”.
I rocked that job. I was on the fast track to becoming a manager [in my head anyway] and I could even toss the pizza dough like you see those guys in the movies do. Yay, me!
In the month that I worked at Papa John’s, I had a damn good time.
I got to drive around town in my new car, crank up the stereo and see parts of the town I grew up in that I had never seen before.
Only once did a drug dealer [alleged] with a total sweety of a white pitbull [cliché much?] pay me for a $12 pizza with a $100 bill.
By the close of that first month, I was doing great with the tips. Big boobs and pizza delivery usually equal big tips. I’ve decided that the size of tips are directionally proportianal to cup size. I had an equation written down somewhere but I lost it. Just trust me on this.
So, anyway, I was doing a last run before the end of my shift and I cut through a parking lot to get back to the store faster.
I was turning right and I looked right, left, right and everything was clear. I executed an almost PERFECT right hand turn and then I heard a loud CRUNCH.
My mind basically shut down when I heard the CRUNCH. All I knew was that I had hit something and the first thing my addled brain did was throw my car into reverse.
And I reversed right back over a kid’s bike…the bike I had just hit. Fuck!
I pulled forward to dislodge the 10 speed from the undercarriage of my car and threw it into Park.
By the time I scrambled out of my car, I was in tears since my brain had finally caught up with my body and I had finally realized that I had just crunched a bicyle…which probably had a rider at one point.
The rider, a 14 year old boy, was on the grass and was obviously shaken but not hurt. I don’t remember much after that except for my manager asking if the bike was still outside and could they mount it on the wall.
The days passed and I basically forgot about hitting the bike. The cops had told me that the kid was in the wrong since he had been riding his bike on the sidewalk and going against traffic. I made my pizzas. I made my deliveries and carried on with life.
And then, about two weeks later, I got a phone call from my mom telling me that the postman had a letter for me that required a signature and dude wouldn’t let my mom sign for it.
I raced home and found the postman, signed for the letter and ripped it open.
It was a notice that my ass was being sued.
I was maybe 19 at that point and had no money to my name. I had a car that I was making payments on. I had student loans. Sure, I had a shit ton of books, but really? Were they going to take my books and try to sell them?
I called my step-mom, since she was co-signer on my car, and she told me that she would take care of it.
Apparently, the parents had recently been dropped from my insurance company for false claims and my step-mom thought that the parents were suing me out of revenge. I don’t remember how much they were suing me for, but it was a lot.
My step-mom talked with the parents’ lawyer and the guy actually asked my step-mom to tell her who I was working for so that he could just sue my employer. Class act, that guy.
In the end, the parents dropped the suit and I went on my merry way but I had to quit my pizza making job since my insurance didn’t cover that kinds of thing. [Who knew?!]
I’m just happy that I didn’t have to sell my books.