I (26M) was a pizza delivery driver for two weeks back when I was a junior in high school. This was my first job, and I don't think I could have fucked it up more if I tried.

Aside from being nervous about starting my first job, I was also apprehensive because I am almost legally blind and barely passed the driver's exam. (I think the tester felt bad for me after I talked to him the whole time about how my pediatrician never thought I would be behind the wheel and LOOK AT ME NOW!) So there was that, and I didn't even think to consider that part of delivering pizza is reading the house numbers to figure out where the food goes. I was excited that I got my first job, and I could finally smoke cigarettes for 6-8 hours a day without my parents finding out.

I came in to work for my second Thursday shift and instead of buying cigarettes for the road, decided that I wanted to spice up my drives with a hookah. I bought a small 1-footer and it actually fit in my cup holder really well. The clouds of smoke that came out were much better and smoother than with a cigarette, and I liked that I smelled like Sex on the Beach instead of stale cigs.

I get a delivery that is thirty-minutes into the middle of nowhere, PA. and am like, "Hell yeah! Tunes and quality time with my hookah!" I start the drive, and everything is going well. I had heard that pizza drivers get a pass on speeding in my town, and I'm just drag racing my 2000 Impala through every yellow light, smoke pouring out of my windows... then I hit a pothole. This was not a normal bump in the road, no. This hole sent my front-end into the air, and the pizza got a good jump off my seat. Not only did the pizza fly, but the coals on top of the hookah got airtime too, and the lit charcoal landed squarely on my balls. I PANICKED and started furiously grabbing at my junk. I knocked the coals on to the felt foot liner, cut across the right lane to the shoulder, and jumped out of the car. I had ruined the crotch in these khakis and there was a big burnt hole right through the zipper. You could clearly see my boxers through the hole. I took off my hoodie and tied it around my waist. I figured I would stop on my way back and get a new pair of pants from my house and that the hoodie covering it would do for now.

Having narrowly avoided a car accident and being set on fire, I returned to the car and just threw the hookah out the window. I still had 20 minutes before I reached the delivery destination, and I had to make up for lost time. It was getting dark, and I knew it would be harder to find the house if I arrived after sunset.

Funny thing about Nowhere-but-Trees, Pennsylvania is the cell reception is almost non-existent. I HEAVILY relied on my GPS to compensate for my poor eyesight and was now driving without guidance. My iPhone 5 just couldn't get any service, and so I was left to figure this one out on my own.

For the second time, I pulled over. This time I was checking the address on the ticket and reviewing the delivery instructions. In the delivery notes, I read, "Drive past driveway to front door." The address was simple enough, containing only a house number, no suite or apartment identifier. 'This make me feel better because complexes were my mortal enemy and always confused me. (I once went from apartment to apartment trying to find the right place... it scarred me.)

I had no choice but to find this house on my own. It was now dark, and there were no streetlights to be seen. I figured that I had to be on the right road, and I had been driving for about forty minutes at this point so I must be close. I double checked the house number and found a mailbox that matched. You couldn't see the homes from the road and the mailboxes were the only indicator I had of the right address.

I pull down the driveway of house number 34 and, just like the delivery notes stated, the driveway stopped waaaaay short of the front door. I figured, "So this is why they said to drive to front door?" It was a good fifty feet to the door from the driveway and I guessed that it was a pain to walk all the time, and that the homeowners just parked in the yard to avoid the hassle so I would do the same.

Instead of just going past the driveway, however, I drove right up to the porch stairs. I opened the door, fifteen minutes late with cold pizza, and literally stepped from my car right on to their porch. I had pulled my car so close that my door opened over the bottom step. Without closing my door, I rang the bell. After waiting for a good minute or two, I rang the bell again. Still no answer. They teach you never to go to the back door, but I was desperate and just wanted to finish this delivery, so I went around back and knocked aggressively on the metal screen door. No answer. Walking back around to the front I realized that there were no cars parked in the driveway or the yard, except for mine, and it hit me that this could be the wrong house.

I sprinted down the driveway with pizza in hand and read the mailbox. My shitty-dumb eyes misread the label... this wasn't house 34, it was 54. A cold chill went down my spine as I realized that I was lost, parked in someone's yard, and most likely trespassing. Adrenaline kicked in, and I hauled it back to my car. I threw the pizza in the passenger seat, put it in reverse, and went... nowhere. My car wouldn't move. It had been raining for a few days prior and my tires just dug into the ground. The Impala was front-wheel drive and couldn't push the car back out of the muddy lawn. I was stuck.

Quick thinking kicked in and I started looking for anything I could use to gain traction. I spotted a pile of neatly stacked chopped wood and figured that logs would get me out of the yard. I took two of them off the pile and threw them behind my tires, firmly digging them into the grass. I got back in the car, set the shifter to R and tried again. This time, the car lurched backwards, and then down again into the mud. When I got out to look, I saw my tires had dug the logs into the ground and buried them. I looked around for anything that had surface area. I thought that if I can just get traction over a wide enough area, the ground wouldn't be able to eat whatever I put under my tires, and I would be able to get out. Nothing fit that description that I could see, except maybe... just maybe... the lattice that covered the underside of the porch.

I was fully panicked at this point and desperate to get the hell out of there, so I started kicking and tearing at the lattice until I had two long sheets of it. The porch was now damaged, and there was no turning back. I made little ramps under my car and tucked the lattice under my tires as best as I could, got back in the car and tried to reverse again. This time, my tires spun and kicked mud on either side of the car, and I didn't go anywhere. I got out to inspect and reposition the lattice, but it was gone. There was a corner of lattice that was sticking up from under my car like a hand coming out of a grave, and I knew I had just drilled the damn things into the ground. I literally started crying and pushing on the front bumper of the car, hoping that I could move it just enough to get it out of the rut I had dug.

Pushing the car didn't work, all I did was cover myself in mud from my shoes to my elbows. I was completely stuck in this guy's yard. No cell service, dug holes in his lawn, and had destroyed his property. After about ten minutes, I just gave up. I sat on the hood of my car, threw my hoodie in the trunk, and tried to brainstorm the next move. That's when I saw headlights come through the trees and illuminate the driveway.

My heart froze and I jumped off the hood of my car. A huge black pickup truck barreled down the driveway, stopped, and sat still, humming at the end of the drive. The cab light came on and I heard the driver door open, followed by a, "What the FUCK is going on here!?!" I tried to get ahead of the situation and approached the truck. I couldn't see the man behind his headlights, but I reached my hand out when I got close enough and tried to introduce myself.

"Hello Sir, I'm AshenLibra, and I work for Pizza Place in another state. I got lost and my car is stuck in your yard."

He wasn't having any of it. The man didn't shake my hand, didn't say anything. I could see he was eyeing me up, and then he got back in his truck. He spun out his tires on the slick pavement into the yard, spun the truck around, hopped out, and started rigging my Impala up to chains he had in the bed. Without saying a word, he hauled my car out of the ditch I had dug and pulled it to the driveway. I felt relief wash over me, and I dug in my pockets for any cash I had as a peace offering and that's when I saw the hole in my pants had grown substantially. It was now just a gaping hole over my boxers, which had been moved enough to no longer cover my dick. I had approached this guy with my dick out and couldn't even get my hoodie because he was pulling my car. I was mortified. He got out of the truck, and I walked over to him with $10 in ones and my hand over my crotch. As I reached out to give him the money, he smacked my hand away and said, "Get the fuck out of here."

I never ran back to my car as fast as I did that day. I was happy to be free, and also scared shitless at the same time. I drove back the way I came, covered in mud, exposed, and now about two hours late on my delivery. I figured the homeowner would be calling my shop and guessed I was going to be fired for this, so I just ate the pizza. When I got back to civilization, I saw I had eight missed calls from Pizza Place. I knew it was bad, and just never went back. I even forwent my last check because I couldn't bare to show my face.

I still have the Pizza Place driver light in my garage. I don't think they'll ever get it back. I was terribly embarrassed, and I hope the guy never called to tell them what happened.

TL:DR: Pizza delivery went wrong after I almost lit myself on fire, destroyed someone's property, flashed them, and buried the evidence.