Every couple of weeks, I deliver Meals on Wheels to people in town who are sick or homebound. A woman at church started the route and we all take turns delivering each Wed. It's a pretty easy gig and the people I deliver food to are really sweet.
Besides occasionally getting turned around when I first started, the delivery is pretty straightforward. Still, I have managed to have some dubious adventures in the couple years I have been delivering. A year or two ago, I got a surprising eyeful on what turned out to be an X-rated delivery. A totally naked man exited the bathroom as I handed the meals to his wife. Apparently, he hadn't heard me yelling, "Meals on Wheels" as I knocked on the door. Luckily, that family was not on our route very long, as it was really hard to look the couple in the eye after having seen the husband in all his naked glory.
A couple of weeks ago as I hurried to the apartment of a woman who is deaf, I totally wiped out, sending food packages flying and in the process, scraping up my knees, elbow and hand and tearing an enormous hole in my jeans. Thank goodness they package the food really well; luckily, none of it spilled, which was pretty amazing considering the distance it traveled through the air before landing on the pavement.
Of course, I had to fall right in front of this young guy, who happened to be outside today when I delivered, as well. I doubt he recognized me, though. Don't all soccer moms look the same?
Today was pretty eventful too. It started out when I arrived to deliver food at an apartment complex. I got up to the second floor and was overwhelmed by a terrifically rancid smell. I actually looked around expecting to see steaming piles of feces nearby. The woman I was delivering to was walking down the hall when she spotted me. She mentioned that there had been a really bad smell and it had taken her and the building's maintenance people all weekend to figure out the culprit: a bag of rotting chicken sitting on top of her refrigerator since Friday. As she opened her door, she said, "You can't really smell it anymore, though, can you?"
That's when the stench hit me like a giant nauseating wall of stink. I had great difficulty answering her, as I was trying to breathe through my mouth without gagging. Will I go to hell for lying to her and saying, "Well, maybe just a little"?
Is it a lie or just an under-exaggeration? When I got outside, I gulped down air greedily.
Yeah, it was a total bald-faced lie. Poor Ethel.
Just when I had finally cleared the smell from my nose, I got to a regular on the route. She rarely comes to the door, as she is extremely hard of hearing, so I normally leave the meal on the little table by the door. No matter how loudly I yell "Meals on Wheels," she never seems to hear me, even though her dog is barking up a storm. This time, there were two dogs, and I was worried one would get out as I entered the house. That's all I needed: to have to chase some dog through the neighborhood while the rest of the meals cooled in my car.
Escaping dogs was not what I should have been worried about, however. I should have been so lucky to have the dogs run away. No, instead, one of the pint-sized little canines bit me. Right on the shin bone. And while it didn't break the skin, that little dog did leave a blue bruise on my leg. The puny flea bag. He's lucky I was so surprised, I didn't have the wherewithal to react, because I think my first reaction would have been to drop kick yappy Fido across the room.
Never a dull moment.
**No animals were harmed in the writing of this post, though not for lack of trying on the part of the author.