The Deer Hunter

In the grand scheme of things, I understand why customers stiff. They're either cheap (black or poor), don't know any better (kids or Mexicans), or they're just mean spirited (hipsters or high-schoolers).

What I don't understand is the total apathy that exists within the lives of these people. For example, a while back I delivered to a house in the middle of a place called The Acres; a redneck wilderness of sorts. More specifically the Acres is a part of town where roads cease to be drivable and gun ownership seems to be universal. I'm convinced that the only currency in this part of town is lead and Hungry-Man frozen dinners. Oh, and '84 Chevy Novas that are up on blocks. Those seem to be in vogue too. From what I can gather, the more engine-less cars you have that were manufactured in and around asbestos-ridden assembly lines in the 80's, the higher your social standings will be among your fellow bleach huffing degenerate peers. I'm guessing there's a pretty powerful Housing Association out there too. They apparently don't allow lawns, they require at least two non-functional boats that would burst into flames if they ever made contact with a body of water, and they demand every house have at least one window boarded up with a couple of empty Bud Light boxes. Sticklers, right?

Anyway, like I was saying, one time I was lucky enough to get a delivery that led me to what I can only assume was the head of the Acres HOA department. I mean, it's the only explanation considering the address I was given by the homeowners was wrong, the directions I was given when I called for help was wrong, and the fire trail that wound its way to the shower curtain that served as their front door was so bad that I'm convinced it would've given a military Humvee fits. Now that I think about it, I'm positive that they were the president, CEO, spokesman, mascot, dictator and honorary douche-bag of the Acres all wrapped up into one.
 
That's all nothing compared to what lurked above the door of their entryway, though. You see, right above the front door (curtain) loomed the head and neck of a deer. It was like a gargoyle on a 11th century Scandinavian castle in the way that it cast a threatening shadow on anyone that approached. What really caused my heart to skip a beat wasn't the horns of the great beast or the eyes that were intently hovering above the spot where the front door should of been. It was that the buck's head was literally just severed. It wasn't stuffed and brought to life by an artistically gifted taxidermist. It was simply a head that was severed from the body of a deer with a bone saw and precariously set/nailed to a board that was attached to a wall. It must have been a semi-fresh kill too seeing as there was a throng of maggots, a small hive of hornets and a legion of flies oozing out of the neck of the cut. You could actually see the congealed blood and the rotting meat sagging out of the bottom of the neck and spilling out onto the board that it was attached to. 

From what I've come to understand, the act of setting out a kill to let insects clean it out is a readily practiced process for those wishing to preserve the skeleton of their kill. What's not usual is mounting an unstuffed kill above your door-sill and having the insects do their dirty work where you regularly enter and leave your household and conduct pizza related transactions. I can tell you right now that the smell itself was overwhelming. I felt completely violated. It was like the smell was Jerry Sandusky and my sinuses were the prolapsed anus of a newborn babe. I'm not saying that my experience was necessarily on par with taking it in the poop shoot against your will. I'm actually saying it was far far worse.
 
Naturally, these people didn't tip. That's not the surprising part of this story, though. What's surprising is that these people are still alive. How did they not shoot themselves in the face while loading their gun? Better yet, how many bottles of Oxycodone did they have to parachute up their ass to come to the conclusion that mounting a rancid kill above their door-frame and then ordering a meat-lovers pizza was a grand idea?
 
These are just a few of the hard hitting questions that we may never know the answer to. It's probably a good thing too. I'm guessing that the answer would probably make me envy the deer. It had the easy way out. It didn't have to co-exist with these monsters.