No one really notices pizza delivery drivers. There’s no reason to, I suppose. During my time as a driver, deliveries were a cold affair. I knocked on a door, a customer answered, and without so much as a “hi there,” handed me money and took the pizza. Only the occasional customer penetrated my shell of invisibility.
I remember one in particular. He lived in a small bungalow shaded by olive trees and a few oaks. I delivered to his house several times, and his German Shepherd always greeted me at the door. I think he liked me because I was never afraid of his dog. I have a Labrador of my own, and I can spot the difference between friendly, excited energy and lethal hostility. Taz just wanted to be the first one to sniff the garlic and mozzarella.