Robert "Bobby" Franklin #1

Your boss treated the delivery drivers like firewood. As soon as everyone realized how awful and miserable it was to work at Planets Pizza, they quit. You'd think word would spread quickly, but you'd always see new resumes piling up on the manager's desk.

You worked inside: you made the pizzas, washed the dishes, cleaned, and yelled at your coworkers who wouldn't close the freezer door and set off the alarm. You would have left by now, but you have nothing else to cling to; so in the meantime, you had to put up with it and swallow your pride.

You're at the counter by the staff door, refilling the sauce bottles and salt and pepper shakers, when you see a car's high beams gleam through the fogged-up window: it means one of the delivery drivers has pulled up ahead. You can also hear a muffled David Bowie song playing at full volume from the stereo.

Lucky them. Your boss hates music. You're lost in thought until you hear a knock on the side door. You sigh, take off your gloves, and open it: there's one of the new delivery guys, the one you think is cute, with messy blond hair tucked under his cap and one of the insulated bags leaning against his side.

"I forgot the combination to get in," he said, huffing and puffing, pointing at the door and rolling his eyes.

I don't know