- #Detours tailbone for sale drivers
- #Detours tailbone for sale driver
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- #Detours tailbone for sale professional
#Detours tailbone for sale professional
My voice on a switchboard is professional voice-over quality, with a strong hint of phone sex. She sounds like a double-oh, double-five number, the punters tell their mates. Hey, come ’n’ ’ave a listen to this chick. My boss sets up a central phone room to take the orders for all of them.
#Detours tailbone for sale driver
The guys make fun of me for being the granny driver of the crew – but only while they have demerit points to spare and aren’t confined to kitchen hand duties.Ī year into my Pizza Chick career, the two-site pizza business explodes into a chain half a dozen shops open almost overnight. I’m the driver who delivers two orders in twenty minutes and never once comes to the attention of the boys in blue. His mad driving skills will come in handy later on when he has to cover the planet in a single night, but right now they’re not doing his licence – or his wallet – any favours.
#Detours tailbone for sale drivers
He’s one of the drivers who deliver twelve orders in twelve minutes and are forever on the brink of losing their licence. The world of pizza is where Bogan Boy’s path crosses mine. To pay the rent on my cheap dog-box apartment in the inner suburbs of Perth, the capital city of Western Australia, I’m working as many shifts as I can get delivering pizzas, which is the casual job I had while studying. Since Australia is wallowing in Prime Minister Paul Keating’s ‘recession we had to have’, that bachelor’s degree isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on, so a year after graduating I’m still officially unemployed. When this story begins, I’m a 23-year-old Aussie girl with letters after my name, ⁴ a degree-qualified accountant. At least it’s a Cortina, one of the few models your self-respecting Aussie Bogan Boy would be seen dead in. I know, right? But this is long before he hits the big time and buys that fancy sleigh, back when he’s a dirt-poor pizza delivery boy and can’t afford to be picky about his wheels. ² He drinks bourbon, smokes dope and hoons ³ around town in a Ford Cortina station wagon painted Kermit the Frog green. When this story begins, Santa is a 19-year-old Aussie Bogan. ¹ Everyone has a past, and before the marketing geniuses at the Coca Cola Company got their hands on this Fat Boy, and styled him into that wholesome favourite-Grandpa type you all adore, it was a whole other story. Now, you all wouldn’t know this, but I used to go out with Santa Claus. They were the only things left in the house to eat.ĬHAPTER ONE DEAR SANTA, GIMME A TRIKE OR I’M GOING TO THE TABLOIDS She slowly worked her way through all the junk food in the apartment, all the while thinking lo-o-o-ong and ha-a-ard about a-a-a-all those Rules.įinally she tossed the empty bucket of fried chicken into the bin and said to the walls: She ate a tub of ice cream, and thought about The Rules even more. She drank a litre of Coke, and thought about The Rules some more. She was going to cycle, hike and paddle around the entire world. One day as she lazed about, munching on her favourite junk foods and reading yet another adventure travel book, Fat Chick decided she too was going to have adventures. It was just as well she loved that armchair, because the three-seater sofa was taken up by the two cats, and they showed no signs of ever giving it back. It was a comfortable armchair, and she loved to laze about in it. Once upon a time in the far, far west of the land that Time forgot, in a little apartment in the inner city, there lived a Fat Chick and her two fluffy cats.įat Chick spent all of her spare time lazing about in an armchair.
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Plus there was the Camry and the Old pickup that also got taken out by it so actual savings was over 3500, minus say if I paid full price would still be over 2500 bucks.PROLOGUE IN THE BEGINNING, THERE WAS A FAT CHICK I have 500 dollar deductible, after hitting almost a half dozen years at various times with each one at highway speed, I would of been paying out over 2500 bucks on getting the 04 repaired, BUT since the ARB took each one out with no damage didn't have to pay that out. Take the ARB front, didn't buy mine new but yet it made me money, Some think aftermarket bumpers are not worth it when in fact they will make you money. AND right there is the reason I am still thinking about if I will or will not produce more rear bumpers with some thinking that.
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