Deliveries, Morning Coffees, and Misnomer Misfires
I’m a courier for a popular food delivery service. I set my own schedule, and I drive my own car — an old, beat up Ford Crown Victoria. When I arrive to make a delivery, I keep customer interaction as light and polite as possible. In those brief exchanges, however, customers have said some odd things. The memorable moments are when they try to identify my courier car and their misnomers cause a conversational misfire.
My Crown Vic Pulls Hard like Jack the Bear
If you don’t know what a Crown Vic is, think ‘old cop car’ and that’s basically what I drive. My car, despite being plain white, is not a retired Police Interceptor. Though it has repurposed some Interceptor parts.
A few years ago I was pulling used parts at an auto wrecker. I found a partially parted out Police Interceptor that happened to be the same model year as my courier car. In my overclocked imagination I could hear the words of Elwood, Dan Aykroyd’s character in The Blues Brothers film.
It’s got a cop motor, a 440 cubic inch plant, it’s got cop tires, cop suspensions, cop shocks. It’s a model made before catalytic converters so it’ll run good on regular gas.
In hindsight I should have gutted the entire car. But what I did pull was the wrecked Interceptor’s rear drive axles and rear differential carrier. That model of Interceptor had an increased axle spline count and a limited slip rear carrier, which meant it had stronger axles and a posi rear-end.
I ran the Interceptor’s axles and rear-end for some time before rebuilding the entire rear differential and installing 4.10 (four-ten) rear gears. If you have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, think ‘low gear on a pedal bike’ and that’s what my courier car’s rear diff gear ratio became. The car went from slow and steady to Mad Max style acceleration (without the badass supercharger).
I’m Pretty Sure You Can’t Drive a Building
The large majority of us need a morning coffee (or something caffeinated) to shift our brains out of neutral and into gear. I fully appreciate a customer’s choice to forgo leaving their house for anything until they’ve had their morning coffee.
This one particular August morning was cool and rainy. The sun was behind a canopy of soggy, grey clouds. A new damp day was upon us and that’s when my notifications for deliveries started percolating through the app.
Rain drops polka dotted the brown bags as I handed customer’s their morning orders. I passed pedestrians, whom were under the safety of their umbrella’s, as I clambered into my idling Crown Vic. Another delivery notification was asking for my attention.
It was short drive to a franchise coffee shop and a short drive back into a waking neighborhood. The rainfall was subsiding. I parked my car across the street from a customer’s older home.
As I approached the house, I saw the customer waiting behind the glass of the storm door.
“Good morning,” I said as I handed them a brown bag.
“Thank you,” they replied while inspecting their order.
Before I turned and walked back to my car I said, “It’s a good day to stay inside.” And this is when the our polite interaction misfired.
The customer looked across the street at my Crown Vic and said, “Oh, I see you’re driving one of those old Police Stations.”
They weren’t aware of their gross inaccuracy.
My initial reaction was profess my confusion in a single, sharp, and impolite utterance: what? But I caught my reaction synapse in time to respond disingenuously, “ya, you got ‘er bud.”
After I reflected on that brief interaction, I suspected I knew subconsciously that what the customer meant to say was that I drive one of those old Police Interceptors, an old cop car.
I get it: the customer’s brain was still in neutral — they haven’t had their morning coffee yet. I wasn’t bothered to tell this particular under caffeinated customer that my Crown Vic was a civilian make and model.
But I don’t know why I reaffirmed the customer’s misnomer when I knew full well that you can’t drive a building.
I Didn’t Piggy Back a Human to Get Here
It was later that morning and near the end of my courier shift. The rainfall was replaced with sunshine. A few more delivery notifications percolated through the app.
I parked outside of a popular fast food franchise to collect another order. Towards the front of the building was a bike rack where an older man was carefully unlocking his bicycle while trying not to spill his morning coffee. He paused his task to watch me remove my thermal courier bag from the back of my car.
With an order in tote, I walked out of the fast food franchise and I heard someone call out, “is that one of those old Police Supervisors? Does it go fast?”
The phrase ‘Police Supervisors’ stopped me where I was walking. I blinked twice out of confusion. I turned and faced the bicycle guy. He was walking up to me as if to start a conversation about my car.
All I wanted was to quickly deliver a couple more orders and be done with my courier shift. I didn’t possess the patience to inform the bicycle guy of the mechanical history of my car. So I dropped some quick jargon.
“It’s not, but I’ve got an Interceptor diff and rear axles turned by four-ten gears.” Before he could process what I said, I quickly added, “and it pulls hard like Jack the Bear!”
His mental gears were turning as I clambered into the driver’s seat of my Crown Vic and proceeded to back out of the parking lot.
I was rude, but I was also on the clock to deliver a customer their morning order.
‘Police supervisors?’ I thought to myself as I followed the app’s street directions to the customer’s address. Aren’t those the police people that tell all the other police people what to do?
I parked my car on the street in front of the customer’s address. I was still thinking about the bicycle guy’s supervisor misnomer.
As I removed my thermal courier bag from my car I said aloud to myself, “I didn’t piggy back a high-ranking human to the restaurant.” I looked up and saw the customer peering at my car from the front step of their home.
I wasn’t sure if they heard me our not.
We All Need our Morning Coffee
There is no shame in ordering a morning coffee for delivery. I’ve seen first-hand the misfiring synapses that result in conversational misnomers. Just don’t ask me what I drive, ’cause I’ve got more delivery notifications percolating through the app.
