Ritual Dances

(Let it be known to all, or at least to B.C.G., that I'm writing this on my lunch break - not during worktime.)

Two nights ago Matt, Nikki and I were desperately waiting for our overdue pizza delivery when we heard a knock at the door. The nice but somewhat flustered-looking pizza girl handed us our food and then sort of stared at me like a deer in the headlights. We had paid over the phone with a credit card so I figured that, like Papa John's, this particular pizza company took a carbon copy of the credit card used for payment.

"So", I asked, "Do you want to do the rubbing of the card?"

At this point the delivery girl looked confused and Matt and Nikki started giggling. "I think I left your receipt downstairs," said the girl, looking longingly at the two-dollar tip I was clutching in my hand, "I'll go back down and get it."

As she left to get my receipt Matt and Nikki pointed out two things:
1. I was mean for making her go all the way back downstairs for my receipt.
2. The "rubbing of the card" sounds like some sort of strange ritual dance, which Matt demonstrated by doing this weird rapper's-girlfriend imitation while rubbing an imaginary credit card over his chest.

As it turns out, she did not need to perform the Rubbing of the Card, and I was more than happy to give her the tip in exchange for my receipt. I got my comeuppance the next day, when the ball from Nikki's mouse fell out while I carried her computer equipment upstairs, and bounced all the way down the hilly driveway, forcing me to trudge all the way back downstairs to retrieve it.