The Pizza Chronicles: The Double Agent

Updated: Nov 25, 2020

When I’m out tearing up the streets delivering pizzas on my scooter (or more appropriately put, lawnmower engine with wheels), I have no thoughts or concerns about med school, or any of the complications about matching to residency. I only worry about crushing pizza boxes with bungee cords and where the hell I am, and oh my God look at that pot hole. When I’m not driving I work in the back of the store mopping floors, taking out the trash, or whatever is needed. Bottom line is that it's a completely different existence from being a med student. No one asks where I go to school, and I don’t think anyone cares. I do my best to keep these two worlds as separate as I can, otherwise I imagine I will get very strange looks in the hospital, and no one will want to share their debauchery stories with me any more at work.

Unfortunately I’m afraid that my cover is slowly being blown on both fronts. It all started a few shifts ago when I got a delivery to University Hospital ER. At first I thought it would be funny to bust in right from the ramp into the main ER, and when questioned from my classmates and formers attendings about what I was doing, I would simply reply “well ya know, its a recession, this whole doctoring things just isn’t going to cut it”. I called the resident that ordered the pizzas and told her I was in the lobby, and did my best to make the exchange without being noticed by anyone. There were a few more instances when I made a delivery to the hospital, each time disaster narrowly avoided.

One night I was taking a couple pizzas to a random house, standing outside I thought that it looked familiar, but couldn’t put my finger on it. Sure enough it was a couple of my classmates that were just as surprised to see me, as I was them. They got a good laugh out of it, and I think may have been a little jealous when I told them what my tips were like.

There haven’t been too many close calls at work, one time one of the girls who had a cold was complaining that she really really needed to go to the doctor and get antibiotics. I said its probably just a virus. She argued and continued to be dramatic, I just slouched down and gave no reply. The point is, this is a small town it's hard to live multiple identities. I need to move out soon, otherwise I worry that I will only find more jobs and things to fill my time with that could potentially be more bizarre and confusing to this whole idea of being a proper upstanding physician. Hey, I heard Harrahs in hiring blackjack dealers.

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