Today just before noon, I was deep in thought at my computer — you know, conceptualizing and shit — when a voice behind me broke my reverie: “Excuse me, I’ve got a food delivery here.”
It’s not the first time that a delivery person has tried to transfer their wares to my cubicle instead of to the reception area. I sit next to the secondary entrance to the company space. The door displays a prominent sign saying “Our main entrance is across the hall,” yet maybe once a week, someone will stumble through the door, see me, and assume that I know what the heck to do with their catering order.
But rather than revert to my trademark huffiness, I smile as if I am sitting at the reception desk. Who said technical writers can’t have a helpful disposition? This particular man came bearing Bertucci’s pizza and some bags of salad and condiments, so I helped him transport everything across the office as we searched for the office manager.
The deliveryman spied a marketing collateral poster featuring kids amid various educational scenery. “Are you hiring teachers?” he asked. “I was a private school teacher for 12 years in Lincoln until last May.”
“No, we don’t hire teachers,” I said gently. I was a little surprised that this man was once a teacher, for I would have totally pegged him as a career pizza delivery man based on his scraggy facial hair and too-casual jeans, but I guess those are adaptive attributes. If I spent all day ferrying pizza in my car, I probably wouldn’t groom either.
“Oh, so you’re an education consultancy or something?” he said, a little shine of hope still lingering in his eager voice.
“No, we make software that teaches people how to read,” I said, a little distractedly, for I spied the office manager in an office and was signaling for her attention.
“So you replace teachers!” he muttered, and I was about to give a long spiel about how we don’t replace teachers, we support teachers and supplement existing reading curriculum, but the office manager appeared and whisked him and his pizzas away.
