Setting: Front porch of a suburban house. Evening. A delivery guy, Ethan, mid-20s, holds a pizza box. Maya, early 20s, in sweats, yanks open the door.
Maya (furious):
Are you kidding me right now?
Ethan (confused):
Uh… hi. Pizza delivery for Maya?
Maya (snatches the box):
You’re thirty minutes late! This was supposed to be here at 6:30. It’s 7:02!
Ethan (apologetic):
Yeah, traffic was—
Maya (cutting him off):
Traffic? I live two blocks from the place! I could’ve crawled there faster!
Ethan (nervous laugh):
I really am sorry, ma’am. There was a mix-up with the orders and—
Maya:
You know what else is a mix-up? Me expecting hot food and getting a box of disappointment!
Ethan (shrinking a little):
I can talk to the manager if you want—
Maya (dramatically holding up a slice):
Does this look like it came out of an oven or a freezer?
(Awkward silence. A neighbor peeks through their window.)
Maya (sighing, calms slightly):
Just… don’t let this happen again. I’m too hungry to stay mad.
Ethan (relieved):
Got it. Enjoy your meal… if it’s still warm.
