I order a sub. I choose delivery and write “Leave at door please, has a pumpkin wreath.”
I wait, blissfully unconcerned. With a few taps, food would arrive, with no human interaction required.
I recline back in my chair, snuggling into my pajamas. I queue up a YouTube video. All is well…
DING DONG
A bolt of panic obliterates my calm. The delivery driver has rung the doorbell. Excellent, they have notified me and will now leave.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
Okay. They’re knocking, just to be thorough. Now they’ll surely leave.
BANG BANG BANG.
Alright, what in the Sam hell is going on. I chose zero human interaction. Zilch. I paid you a good tip. I asked you to leave it. What the hell?
THUNDERING DOCTOR WHO RING TONE
This motherfucker is calling me!? I will not speak to you!
BANG BANG BANG
A few moments…
THUNDERING DOCTOR WHO RINGTONE
I am frozen in my chair. I’ve ignored it for too long. It would be weird if I came to the door after so long. Fuck. They aren’t leaving. Shit. I’m home alone. I’m not wearing a bra. My pajama pants have holes. Did I brush my teeth this morning? I am NOT prepared for Human Interaction.
THUNDERING DOCTOR WHO RINGTONE
A stroke of brilliance. I answer, cough to clear my throat, and sleepily say “hello?” As if I’ve just woken from a hundred year slumber.
“Hello, this is Door Dash” in a female southern accent. The number that was calling was AL, Alabama. But I’m in Wisconsin. Jesus, I just want to eat my damn sub. I summoned all my strength and mumbled-
“Oh, thanks. You wannna just leave it?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
Checkmate. I’ve prevailed. Now that my story hast been recorded, I shall retrieve my gluten free submarine sandwich and revel in my victory.
0can’t decide between a black bra (u can kinda see the bra thru the shirt) or no bra (u can definitely see my nipples thru the shirt)
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