Disclaimer: I do not own TMNT : ( Pokemon, Pikachu, or Honda.

I do own the OC's in this story: Kate, Artie, Bob, and all nameless Cheesy Hut employees (I also own Cheesy Hut unless it actually exists. In which case, I own nothing, please don't sue me!)

This fic started from a question: How do the ninja turtles get their pizza? and evolved into another question: What would the deliverer of that pizza think of them?

I hope you enjoy the answer as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Dear Journal

I don't know what I did to deserve this. It's only my first day on the job and already I think the manager, Bob, hates me. I've only spoken two words to him! Or maybe this is some form of deranged initiation. I never expected anything this brutal though; I got a job delivering pizzas, I didn't join a sorority! Still, I need this job to pay for college. That's what's keeping me going, the thought of the dream. My dream is to become an antique document preservationist. Someday I'll be working in museums, handling rare and ancient pieces of parchment instead of handling Cheesy Bread. But that requires years of schooling, which requires money, which requires a job. So every delivery I tell myself that I'll make up for it when I run my hands over a piece of history or get to see with my own eyes the signature forged by some great historical figure. Keep telling yourself that Kate.

I've already had to deliver three rounds of pizza to this house on frat-boy row. It's the same story every time. I ring the doorbell five times before someone hears it over the unnecessarily loud music and runs to the door, grabs the pizzas and slams the door in my face. I bang on the door for a solid five minutes before someone else hears it over previously mentioned pounding music and comes to pay me for said pizza. I know I'm just a newbie, but I would have thought that places that order so much pizza would tip better. On the last trip I got a dollar, oh, and a button, a paper clip, and a Pokémon card. Pikachu, I think. And don't get me started on New York traffic. I'm not even going to go there.

When I got back to Cheesy Hut's Artie, the guy who showed me around at the beginning of my shift, was taking a phone order. Blah, blah, blah—normal order, right? Not with my luck. He hung up the phone and announced to everyone in the kitchen. "It was them again!"Every person looked up in fascination as Artie called out the order for one half extra extra cheese-half olives, one pepperoni/sausage, and one works, one pickles, ham, and salsa pizza; oh, and an order of Cheesy Bread. We all laughed at the last pizza order. Then the air got tense as they waited for 'the almighty Bob' to say who would be delivering it. I didn't get why. Sure the choice of toppings was weird, but my brother used to put grape jelly on his cheese-burgers, and he looks normal enough to any innocent bystander; poor naïve bystanders. I was thinking about my brother's odd eating habits so I didn't notice when Bob walked up to me. He's in his thirty's and still managing a Cheesy Hut, so I guess that's made him kinda bitter. I figured that out when he grinned as he said "Karen. You're delivering." the just walked away. I was looking around for Karen when I realized he meant me. Everybody looked at each other like it was some joke and started snickering. I didn't know whether to be annoyed or afraid. At the moment I stuck with annoyed.

Twenty-five minutes later I pulled my '95 Honda Accord up at the address: 105 East 155th Street, and I was convinced that this had to be a prank call. The address was a grand Victorian era house that probably hadn't been inhabited since the Victorian era. But still, I had to at least try if I wanted to get paid. It could be some sort of frat-boy initiation thing, or a bunch of kids sleeping inside on a dare. And I had to get paid. So I grabbed the pizzas, got out of my nice, safe, car and walked toward the creepy abandoned house. Does that last sentence sound wrong? Yeah, I thought so. Don't worry, it gets weirder.

I knocked on the door gingerly. (Half from fear and half because I thought it would fall off its hinges if I knocked any harder) There was a high pitched squeal inside and I heard someone yell "Sweet! Pizza's here!" There was a bang and someone with a Brooklyn accent say "Hood up, shell-for-brains!" There was a lot of rustling. I was starting to get really really curious at this point and I could see why everybody back at Cheesy's was so fascinated with this place. The door opened and a guy in baggy clothes, a hoodie, and a baseball hat pulled low over his brow stood in the doorway. Three other similarly clad guys stood in the background. It was so dark I couldn't make out his face. "Ummm, here's your pizza?" I said like an idiot and handed the guy the boxes. I noticed he was wearing gloves. In August? Well, he was bundled up for a blizzard; why not take it all the way? "They got the salsa, right?" one of the guys in the back said. "Yeah. They got the salsa, and the ham, and the pickles." I said. "Awesome!" He ran forward and snatched the boxes from the other guy "Houston we have pizza!" he yelled. I chuckled. That dude reminded me of what my brother must have been like at age five (I'm the younger one.) The other two guys in the back ran forward and grabbed him and pulled him back and had to pin him down to keep him from running around in circles holding the boxes high over his head. "Chill Mikey." One of them said as the other grabbed the pizza and Cheesy Bread; the guy at the door face-palmed. "How much do we owe you?" he asked. "Oh. Uh, Twenty-three seventy-four." I said, still staring at the guy trying to get up off the floor "Nooo! Give me cheese or give me death!" he yelled. "I can arrange that." The guy with the pizzas said, putting down the boxes. The guy at the door shoved some bills into my hand "This-should-cover-it-thanks-again-bye!" he slammed the door in my face and then I heard him yell "Raph get off of him!" there was some scuffling, actually a lot of scuffling. And some crashes. Then another voice said "Aren't you guys forgetting something? The sooner we get these pizzas home, the sooner we get to eat." The rest of them yelled "Yeah!" I didn't want to be caught eavesdropping so I hurried down the walk. But as I walked away I heard something that made me pause for a moment. "I always knew you were the smart turtle Don!"

Turtle?

I got in my car and drove away, but as I looked in my rearview mirror something caught my eye. I'm not sure, but I could swear I saw a hand easing a manhole cover closed. But then again, it was pretty dark…

Weirdest first night on the job ever! I hope I get to go back to that house again soon. ; )

What did you think of the answer?

R&R.

Reviews make for happy writers and happy writers mean that the next chapter goes up sooner...