Have you ever been pumping gas when a confused looking Asian woman with a cell phone walks over to you, hands you the phone, and points to a piece of paper that says 1415 Piedmont? No? Then you clearly haven’t lived!
Today just such a thing happened to me. I was pumping gas. A confused looking Asian woman approached me. It’s hard to remember the sequence. All I remember, at first, was her handing me her cell phone and pointing to a piece of paper.
I looked at the piece of paper. It was a receipt. At the top it said WINGNUTS.
I know Wingnuts. I live across the street from it. For you non-Atlantans, Wingnuts is what college students order when they’re craving boneless chicken wings. (It’s really chicken breast chopped up and sauced like a wing).
“Oh ok,” I said, “Wingnuts is back near Emory…”
“No, no, no,” she said. “I work for them. I deliver.”
Ohhhh. So this was the receipt that was telling her where to deliver the Wingnuts. The receipt said 1415 (or some other such number) Piedmont.
“1415 Piedmont,” I said. “This is Piedmont,” I said, pointing.
“Yes yes, I know,” she said, “But where 1415? This 1411? You call.”
She hit send and handed me the phone. I realized I was calling the place where she was delivering to.
“Hello, how can I help you?” asked a friendly voice.
“Hi,” I said, “Where are you located?”
“We’re in the Ansley Mall,” the voice said.
“Oh, ok,” I said. That was easy. The Ansley Mall was over my shoulder. But what place was this?
“What kind of store are you?” I asked sheepishly.
“We sell baskets,” said the voice. Why would you be calling us if you didn’t know what we did? I assumed he was thinking.
“Ok thank you,” I said.
I directed the woman over my shoulder.
“In the mall there,” I said.
“The mall?” she asked, confused.
“Yes,” I said, “right over there.”
I watched her shift her way over there, still looking as confused as ever. I looked up at Heaven and winked at the Big Guy: “You owe me one, Chief.”