My son, Tommy, worked for Domino’s back in the mid-90s, to earn money to attend the University of Tennessee. He had an old Dodge sedan my brother had fixed up for him, and a good memory of the neighborhoods of Athens. It wasn’t a bad job; he got a salary and tips.

Most of the time everything went very well, but occasionally things dipped just a little bit below the threshold of the Twilight Zone. One extremely interesting Saturday night he was sent to deliver a pizza to an apartment complex off Congress Parkway. These were not luxury apartments, to put it mildly, but he had made many deliveries up there with no problem. It was a hot summer night and was rather late. The complex was a kind of a loop, with the apartment buildings in the middle and parking spaces along the road that ran around the perimeter.

Tommy parked in a spot not too far from the customer’s building. The insulated pizza delivery bag was bulky with the extra-large, fully loaded concoction, garlicky bread, and dipping sauce. Under the other arm was a 2 liter bottle of Pepsi. Despite being loaded down, Tommy strode quickly up the sidewalk. And then he stopped short about ten feet from the customer’s door. Standing on the tiny porch was an extra-large skunk. Tommy backed up slowly until he was about twenty feet away. Then he waited.

Most of the time, skunks and other wild critters will eventually leave, going elsewhere to scavenge. Not this guy. He seemed to be taking up residence. Tommy put down the Pepsi to call the customer. The voice on the other end was irate and sounded somewhat inebriated.

“Where the **** is my pizza?”

“There’s a skunk on your doorstep, sir. I can’t deliver your pizza!” Tommy replied to the complaints.

“I don’t care what’s on my **** doorstep! You jokers promise pizza in a half hour and the half hour’s up!”

“I can’t get to your door, sir. There is a skunk on your porch. A big skunk.”

“I want my pizza! I’m going to call your boss!!!”

“I still can’t deliver the pizza until the skunk leaves.” Tommy wanted to tell him that it was the customer’s duty to make sure the food could be delivered, but decided to be discrete. He could hear the guy’s phone taking a nose dive on its cradle and then a buzz of an open line. He called his boss and explained what was going on.

Somehow, Tommy felt like his colleagues were trying very hard not to laugh, without success. He was told to wait a while longer. There was no way Tommy was going to do anything but wait. He sat in his car for extra safety. Where there was one skunk, there might be more.

Finally, the skunk meandered off into the darkness and Tommy took the pizza to the door. A man dressed only in a tee shirt and shorts jerked the door open. “About ***** time! Here!” he shouted, thrusting a ten at my son. It wasn’t quite the right amount, but Tommy wasn’t going to argue. The man was definitely inebriated.

“Thank you, sir.” Tommy took the bill and handed the lukewarm dinner to the man.

“And you ain’t gettin’ a tip!!”

With that the door slammed in Tommy’s face. With a relieved sigh, he climbed in his car and headed back to the store.

That story brings a laugh now, but we have had several dogs sprayed by skunks. The first time it happened we got out a large can of tomato juice and used it liberally. The dog still spent every night for a week in the shed before his house privileges were reinstated.

Since then I have found something better. When our latest dog tangled with a skunk, I looked online. Mix 1 quart hydrogen peroxide, ¼ cup baking soda, and 1 teaspoon dish-washing liquid. Work it into the dog’s coat thoroughly. Has done the trick every time!!!

Susan Kite, a member of AGT, is the author of five young adult fiction books and a contributor to several anthologies. Check them out at: https://www.amazon.com/default/e/B00J91G0ZU/.