You know, up until that point, my shift was going great. It was going so great. We were packed; the heating rack was almost overflowing with pizza. I was grabbing the food, making the run, then coming back and immediately going back out for most of the shift. I made good money the night we crossed paths.

It wasn’t very late. The sun hadn’t even set yet—I guess it was 7 or so. You weren’t even the one who ordered the pizza. That was your girlfriend. But you said more to me than she did. I had to call you; I was stuck at the gate outside of your neighborhood.

I hate phone calls. Can't stand 'em. It's awkward, even more so than conversations in person. When I'm having a conversation with someone face to face and I stutter, it's a little better because there are other ways to communicate, like body language. Like eye contact and smiling. But on the phone, nope. It's just my voice and their voice, and sometimes my voice doesn't come out like most everyone else's.

Your girlfriend put me on speaker. I got stuck on my name. It's cruel, but I often get stuck on my name. It's just a thing that happens. But you pointed it out. Mockingly, you asked me if I forgot my name. You laughed. Both of you laughed. Then you called me some other names that I will not repeat before I finally just hung up.

I was equal parts upset and angry. When I found the house—by the way, that house was easily the ugliest one in the neighborhood—I rang the doorbell. I heard you shouting more names at me. Your girlfriend answered and she made you shut up. I wanted to scream at her. I didn't. I gave her the pizza and got my money and left. I wanted to stomp on the flower bed in the front yard. But I didn't. I got in my car and drove off. I'm supposed to go immediately back to the store, but I needed to cool off. So I rode around for ten minutes, listening to loud guitar solos. My favorite guitar solo ever is on "Catching Fireflies" by The Revivalists. It's an upset and frustrated solo. I jammed out for awhile, and I calmed down enough that I could go back to work. My lowest tip for the rest of the night was $5. Maybe the universe was looking out for me.

You could've ruined my night, you upset me very much. But you didn't. I wouldn't let you. I refused to let you ruin my night. See, not too long ago, that would've been the end to my day. I would've given up, and don't get me wrong, I still internalized it, but only a little bit. I calmed down. Instead of caving in, I cooled off. On my long road to recovery, that is the type of thing I have been working on. Getting through it. Not giving up. You tested me and my willpower when you said those nasty things to me.

I passed with flying colors.