from a pizza delivery job more the a decade ago. I do not have anything approaching an eidetic memory. At best I have a brain for trivia, but for some damn reason, I have near total recall of the job I had delivery pizzas for a mom and pop restaurant when I was an undergrad. I remember the houses, the customers, the routes, the most common orders, the good tippers, the co-workers. I remember what songs were on the radio when I was driving a specific block on a specific day. I recall exactly what Adam Carolla was ranting about on Love Line as I sat in my Cavalier waiting for the next delivery. There’s literally no other period in my life that I can remember as clearly, and there’s absolutely no value in being able to recall all of these details from a town I haven’t seen in a decade and people I’ll never meet again.
My best guess is that I engraved it all in my mind because it was a stressful, yet fun, time. I was doing all my cross town, multi-stop navigation pre smart phone navigation, and I wasn’t very comfortable with people a the time, so it was an incredible stressful job. I was great at it, but maybe all that internal stress punched the shit out of my internal DVR record button.
It is mundane, and boring, and frustrating, and pointless. I will randomly flash back to a specific memory, on a specific road, driving to a specific house, specific pizza, specific total, and a specific song on the radio – and it is all so pointless and useless. I really should have been reading a medical or law textbook at the time, because I feel like I had this brief year long window wherein I had total recall, and it was wasted on workaday nonsense.
Richard Flowers. That bitch lived in the very farthest corner of our delivery area. He always ordered at 10:55pm, and Nate Dawg never had the balls to tell him “naw man, we’re closed.” I’d drive way the hell out to his place instead of the bar, and he would count out EXACT CHANGE every time. “Fuck you very much, Dick” I’d say every time, and throw his pennies in his planter box before he even closed to door. I’d get back to the store and everyone would be waiting to complete end of day until I had his exact change with me.
And there was that guy in the apartments with the custom COWBOYS license plate who always sent his kids to the door TO STIFF ME. One time one of his kids didn’t know the drill and gave me a $50 tip. I ran to my car like the last scene in Four Rooms and went back to the store. He called back and said his whole order was wrong and Shane made me go back out to him for free. That asshole stepped right in my face and said “nah luk heah, boyah. I dun no wut u dun did to meah, mah kids seen it, yah best gi meah bak may fitta dolla wut yah stole.” “Look, asshole. I know you don’t know a god damn thing about either one, but college tuition and mortgage payments don’t make themselves, and driving way the fuck across town to give back tips is a failing strategy for earning a living. One of your kids neglected to rip me off tonight and that’s too bad for you, but I’m not paying you a cent and if you want to get offended and take your business elsewhere I’ll do a dance all the way back to my car and buy a round of shots tonight with “your” $50. Enjoy the free meal you just stole from my employer, you fat fuck, an I hope your children manage to overcome your genes and be successful in life.” I got fired for it, but it felt good, and I was working again two days later at another shop down the street.
And Bob, man, poor old Bob. He was always so lonely, sometimes his young daughter was with him but usually not. Custody issues. Much like my own young daughter at the time. He would talk your ear off, but he was good for at least an $8 tip. And one time he came to the door in a suit and I said “shit man, who fucking died?” And he said “my dad.” I came in and sat down and had a beer and he vented. I saw him cry. And he never ordered again. And I currently work a half mile away from his apartment and every time I drive by I think “man, poor old Bob” even though this was 10+ years ago.
Take it from somebody who was born some years before Adam Carolla first drew breath: This, too, shall pass ;).
Honestly, I know that feeling. When I was in my late teens I had a job in a school that involved using lots and lots of data, like names, addresses, course topics, instructors, fees, and so forth. After a year of sending out mailings, typing reams and reams of copy, filling out receipts, and other tasks like that, I had an encyclopedic knowledge of ZIP codes and addresses throughout the city, which instructors lived where, which students lived near them, what equipment was required for each scheduled class, and on and on and on.
I still can’t hear an address in the Twin Cities without retrieving its ZIP code from my memory, can’t hear a disco song without picturing the aerobics teacher and the pink apartment house she lived in, and it drives me absolutely mad, especially because I often can’t remember simple things like how old I am or where I left my dog. I’d love to be able to reformat that particular drive and use it for more useful information.
I still remember my newspaper route after nearly 30 years. Never really knew anyone’s name, but I can still match faces to apartment numbers. The stoners in A-205 who paid me in weed…The nudist in W-105…The chickenhawk in U-206…The lady in G-103 whose life apparently revolved around the weekly Target insert…and so on.
I used to do deliveries 30 years ago and still remember a couple who ordered in the name of their deceased cat, whom I asked for at the door. I had a great laugh. As long as I still have a phone listing, I put mine in a deceased pet’s name. Good times.
I still remember phone numbers that I haven’t used in 34 years. And a locker combination that I haven’t used in 30 years, but that one was easy to remember anyway.
I can’t remember my own husband’s phone number most of the time. I have to write numbers down as soon as I hear them or I’ll forget them in the process of looking for a pencil. The only birthdays I can reliably remember are those of my children, my husband, and my brother. Numbers are not a thing I recall easily, in other words.
However, I worked at a Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlor in 1981. A Kathy’s Pink Surprise cost $2.30.
I can remember the dwell angle and timing on cars that I owned in the late 60s and 70s. I still have a dwell meter at home but haven’t used in it over 20 years.
I used to ride out with my step-father when he installed antennas on remote farms in the area in the early days of TV. E.g., put up a big antenna on the local high spot, run a cable to the house, plug into the TV. I’d watch the screen to let him know when something came on as he adjusted stuff. The first show that came on for one place was one of those Bill Burrud adventure shows.
Why do I remember that? Not really necessary. It was someone else getting TV for the first time, not me.
I have an insane recollection of player statistics for the 1989 San Francisco Giants. Why should I know that Don Robinson (aka Caveman) had an 12-11 record that year? I sometimes forget my age, but the fact that Will Clark batted .333 that year? I gotta keep room in my noodle for that stuff.