u/TapWilling7210

I accidentally tipped a pizza driver 200%.

I ordered a pizza after a ridiculously long shift and paid in cash.

The total was around $25. I handed the driver a few bills and told him to keep the change.

He stared at me like I'd just handed him a winning lottery ticket.

I thought, "Wow, this guy is really appreciative."

A few minutes later I checked my wallet and realized I'd accidentally handed him three $50 bills instead of three $20s.

For a brief moment I considered calling the store.

Then I imagined this poor guy getting a call saying, "Remember that life-changing tip? Yeah... about that."

I decided against it.

That pizza was good.

Not $150 good.

But still good.

This occurred after an unbelievably long shift; thus, I will be citing exhaustion, poor management of my wallet, and brain functioning from pizza fumes.

I had ordered a pizza since there was no way I could manage cooking then. The total costed approximately twenty-five dollars and I decided to pay in cash. When the driver came I took what I perceived to be three $20 bills and gave them to him saying, "Keep the change."

I think the guy looked at me like I had just offered him a lottery ticket. I felt proud of myself at the time thinking, wow, this driver sure knows how to appreciate. To tell you the truth, at one point I even felt good about it since I was the kind of customer that he would always remember in the evening.

A while after, I went to check my wallet.

I did not give him three $20 bills.

I had given him three $50 bills.

Instead of giving him a tip of around $35, I essentially gave him a tip of $125 on the $25 pizza. For a split second, I thought of contacting the restaurant and letting them know about my mistake. Then I realized what would happen after I got called by them and was told, "You remember that nice tip you got? We will be needing most of that."

At that time, I just figured it out that I am going to have to leave it at that. The mistake is mine, he did not do anything wrong, and perhaps, the universe needed him to be lucky rather than me having the money.

The pizza was delicious.

Not $150 worth delicious.

But definitely delicious.

TL;DR: I mistakenly believed that I had given my pizza delivery man three $20 notes and kept the change. I actually gave him three $50 notes and ended up tipping him $125.

It is already three years since her death.

We have been romantically attached for over seven years and in recollecting some of those memories, all memories are not sad.

And this is the time when I realize that I am actually laughing in between our travels inside the vehicle knowing perfectly well that the joke is not worthy of even one laugh. It is also recalled that whenever something unexpected occurred during our travels at night to have a meal or for taking a walk without thinking of anything else or just sitting quietly as if everything was okay!

There once came a night where I parted with all the money I had to get a cab to take me home safely because there was nothing else to do. Of course, after that, there was nothing left for me; I walked all the way home through three bus stations, all in the pouring rain. Even then, I knew that at least she would be fine. This is how love was for me, not some romanticized Hollywood thing, but simply placing her needs above mine without a second thought. She was the person who I wanted to share anything that was going on with me; be it good or bad or anything. It was the day when she died that I intended to tell my parents everything.

Seven years passed until finally I summoned the nerve to tell her how much she meant to me, how she was the one, and that I wanted to spend my entire life with her. I could see myself saying it, the nervousness that would be felt, and how joyful she would look after hearing what I had said.

Everything changed at the moment when I was about to utter those words. She got killed in an accident.

Even now, the happenings of that day are forever embedded deep into my mind. It took me some time before I finally realized what exactly had happened. Everything that had happened was clearly rational; however, emotionally, I was unable to accept that it did. All I knew was that somehow there was a misunderstanding, and she would phone me and that everything was only a dreamlike nightmare.

Nevertheless, she never did call.

There were no farewell exchanges, no parting words, no last kiss. Just empty space.

Right from that very day, I hate cars. Indeed, I stopped driving forever now. Although it seems to be quite an unreasonable step, especially for someone like me, it holds much more meaning than simply using the vehicle for transport purposes. For me, a car means losing my greatest treasure. Watching cars is like reliving the dream that was taken away from me without even having the opportunity to share it with my family.

This is why the grieving process is so difficult. Life continues around you. You hear the traffic outside. You see people rushing off to work. You see the sun rise, but to you, the whole world is at a standstill because you have lost someone you love.

Three years have passed since her visit, but I cannot help but wish I could send her texts whenever anything happens. Yet I come to realize that there will be no answer. No more phone conversations, no more laughter, no more saying “I told you so,” no future that we had planned together.

Just memories.

Seven years of loving her, and three years of missing her.

Some people leave us suddenly, and some people leave the world abruptly.

But I am still here with the love I couldn’t show her.

It is already three years since her death.

We have been romantically attached for over seven years and in recollecting some of those memories, all memories are not sad.

And this is the time when I realize that I am actually laughing in between our travels inside the vehicle knowing perfectly well that the joke is not worthy of even one laugh. It is also recalled that whenever something unexpected occurred during our travels at night to have a meal or for taking a walk without thinking of anything else or just sitting quietly as if everything was okay!

There once came a night where I parted with all the money I had to get a cab to take me home safely because there was nothing else to do. Of course, after that, there was nothing left for me; I walked all the way home through three bus stations, all in the pouring rain. Even then, I knew that at least she would be fine. This is how love was for me, not some romanticized Hollywood thing, but simply placing her needs above mine without a second thought. She was the person who I wanted to share anything that was going on with me; be it good or bad or anything. It was the day when she died that I intended to tell my parents everything.

Seven years passed until finally I summoned the nerve to tell her how much she meant to me, how she was the one, and that I wanted to spend my entire life with her. I could see myself saying it, the nervousness that would be felt, and how joyful she would look after hearing what I had said.

Everything changed at the moment when I was about to utter those words. She got killed in an accident.

Even now, the happenings of that day are forever embedded deep into my mind. It took me some time before I finally realized what exactly had happened. Everything that had happened was clearly rational; however, emotionally, I was unable to accept that it did. All I knew was that somehow there was a misunderstanding, and she would phone me and that everything was only a dreamlike nightmare.

Nevertheless, she never did call.

There were no farewell exchanges, no parting words, no last kiss. Just empty space.

Right from that very day, I hate cars. Indeed, I stopped driving forever now. Although it seems to be quite an unreasonable step, especially for someone like me, it holds much more meaning than simply using the vehicle for transport purposes. For me, a car means losing my greatest treasure. Watching cars is like reliving the dream that was taken away from me without even having the opportunity to share it with my family.

This is why the grieving process is so difficult. Life continues around you. You hear the traffic outside. You see people rushing off to work. You see the sun rise, but to you, the whole world is at a standstill because you have lost someone you love.

Three years have passed since her visit, but I cannot help but wish I could send her texts whenever anything happens. Yet I come to realize that there will be no answer. No more phone conversations, no more laughter, no more saying “I told you so,” no future that we had planned together.

Just memories.

Seven years of loving her, and three years of missing her.

Some people leave us suddenly, and some people leave the world abruptly.

But I am still here with the love I couldn’t show her.