Compilation of Local Writers' Stories

I Can't Deliver This Pizza

Hello, all.

I am just going to get right into it because Im seated outside the house for my delivery and I cant wait too long or theyll complain. Someone is watching me from the window. I have no idea what to do and I cant get over this feeling in my stomach that I should lock the doors and drive away. Ill start from earlier tonight.

Funnily enough, I wasnt even scheduled today, but I had gotten a text from my manager that seemed urgent.

pls come in. crazy order, cant talk

It puzzled me, seeing as my manager was quite a bit of a chatterbox. Reading a short message made me feel a bit nervous. My job was only a few minutes away, and if something was wrong, I didnt want to feel guilty for ignoring it. I got ready and left as quickly as I could, walking and coming upon the building relatively fast. The closer I got, I started to smell something a little funky. I was walking near an alleyway so I didn't think anything of it, but it only got stronger the closer I got.

The second I walked in, a sharp and putrid odor shot its way into my nose. I gagged and pulled up my sweater, looking around at my equally disgusted coworkers. The customers seated inside were just as distressed, holding their shirt collars and scarves over their faces for some sort of relief, but to no avail.

What the hell is that, I choked, the smell grew more intense the closer I got to the kitchen. I saw our manager and pizzaiolo standing as far away from the oven as he could, not bothering to check if what was inside was finished or not. Even the flames seemed to be repulsed by what they touched. My manager, hesitant to lift the cloth from his face, walked quickly towards me.

Its an order, the customer brought in their own toppings and already paid for it, he wheezed, eyes red with tears. It seemed like the smell was only getting worse as it sat in the fire, and I started to feel faint.

Arent we supposed to refuse homemade toppings for this exact reason? My manager nodded but pulled out a giant wad of cash from his apron.

He paid $5,000. Just dropped the money and the bag on the counter and walked out. We counted three times. My eyes widened at the stack, which I regretted instantly as it burned, but I was surprised at just how much money 5,000 dollars was.

We thought hell if he wants the damn pizza so bad why not make it for him, takes 30 seconds to cook, we just didnt know it would smell this bad! he whimpered, waving his hand and walking out of the kitchen. I walked through the kitchen towards an empty plastic bag, which was stained with a deep, thick and black liquid, and there were small white chunks scattered throughout. The site of the contents itself sent a shudder through me, and there wasnt anything about it that seemed edible. I was starting to wonder if it was some sort of sick prank, but I wasnt too sure of anyone who would donate five grand for something as stupid and sick as this.

Im taking this shit out, the cook said, sticking the peel into the smoke-filled oven, and dumping the pizza onto the work surface. The black toppings seemed even more grotesque as they sat bubbling and melted together. The dough had soaked up the inky juices and turned a sickly grey color. I wanted to vomit just looking at it.

Im not touching that, stick it in whatever you want and get it out of here, Im gonna blow, the cook sputtered, dropping the peel and running out of the kitchen. I was left alone with the boiling monstrosity, just as unwilling as the rest to even get near it. I could feel my coworkers standing behind me, waiting to see what I would do next. It would be best for all of us if I just boxed this garbage and took it outside, that way we could start the process of airing the room out. I tensed my shoulders and shook my head, moving before I could think. I put on gloves, slid the pizza into one of our boxes, stuck it into a bag I noted to burn after and walked quickly to the front entrance.

Whats the address, I asked, feeling the stench permeating through the container. One of the cashiers fumbled around the desk while pinching her nose and handed me a post-it that wrote in scratch,

end of street.

I stared at the note, feeling more irritated than confused. However, it didnt matter at that point, as I was already out the door and headed to my car. The air outside smelled so sweet in comparison I almost felt sick again, and I was starting to feel the lack of oxygen in my head. Whatever, the end of the street was either right or left, and so all I had to do was drive and find out.

Well, now were here, sitting in my car avoiding eye contact with whoever is watching me from the window. Any irritation I felt dissipated and reformed as genuine anxiety. I cant explain it, but something it telling me I should just toss the pizza and leave.

Should I just do it?

***

Author: slowmali

Site: Reddit - NoSleep

Date: 21/09/2019