Delivering pizzas ended up being far easier than I had expected. I had a lifetime of experience driving under time pressure, and once I figured out how to use the little portable map that came with my phone, finding my way around the city was a cinch. I loved each and every time I got to hop into my new car, but the best thing about the job was the smell. The scent - a sense I had never before needed - was beyond intoxicating as pizza after pizza came and went, each with a subtly different aroma that left my stomach rumbling like a diesel on fumes.

But actually getting paid for the pizza was another matter entirely. You see, as Red-1, probably the galaxy’s best fire truck, I had mastered moving between Point A and Point B. But Point B was where my firefighters had taken over. It was they that interfaced with the other humans. It was they that connected the hydrant and hose. It was they whose abilities perfectly complemented my own, doing everything I couldn’t whilst I did the same for them.

This job, unfortunately, left me doing both.

“That’ll be one-nine-five-zero,” I said dubiously, hoping that I’d read the numbers correctly this time. 

The lady in front of me blinked. “One… nine… Nineteen fifty?” she asked.

I gave her my best smile, hoping that she would answer her own question. It was all I could do to read the single digit numbers. Combining them into other, longer numbers… Well, suffice to say that my previous steel body had not been designed to do math, and this new body did not come with an instinctual knowledge of how to add.

She shook her head, grumbling about the youth and their idiotic common core numbers. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a few bills and handed me a twenty and a five. Now, I’m no rocket engine, but I was fairly certain that was more than enough… Actually, it was a little bit too much. 

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said. “There must be some mistake. The twenty is enough to cover the bill.” My confidence dropped with every word, but I put on my best, most friendly expression. Number crunching wasn’t something that I, Red-1, had dealt with much in my previous life. The only crunching that I had done was to the rocks on the hot asphalt as I made my way to save lives.

The older woman smiled at me. “Oh, yes, dear. The five is for the tip. You can keep the change.”

The tip? In the name of all that was pure and carbon, what was the tip? And keeping the change? She hadn’t given me any change at all! There was clearly something going on that I didn’t understand. I thought for a moment, trying to figure out a way to ask about the situation without confirming her obvious suspicion that I was, in fact, an automobile from another world. “I’m sorry,” I said slowly. “This is my first day on the job. I guess I don’t understand the tip.”

She blinked, looking down at my clothes, which were quite different from the other employees at Pizza Planet. Her facial expression moved from kindly to confused, and I realized that I’d picked the wrong tactic. Like everyone else I’d met today, she had probably seen me before, in whatever strange version of this world existed prior to my arrival.

“I just mean that I’m not used to getting such a big tip,” I said quickly. Trying not to sound like an idiot was extremely difficult when you only understood half of every conversation. Unfortunately, nobody had asked me about the fluid dynamics of fire hydrants or why dalmatians were the only acceptable breed of fire dog. 

“Oh?” the lady said, cocking her head at me quizzically. Then she shrugged. “Keep providing good service and you’ll keep getting money, I imagine. Especially if you wear clothes like that every night.” She gave me a wink and closed the door.

“Thank you,” I said automatically, but my mind was whirling. This seemed like it was too good to be true, because it sure sounded like people would pay me for the pleasure of driving my beautiful car around. All I had to do was grab a pizza every now and again and collect free money from these humans. That sounded like a dream, better than dalmatian puppies and almost as good as brand new tires.

Once I began to work out the intricacies of money and the fact that people were desperate to give some of it to me, my day settled into an idyllic routine. Deliver a pie, collect the money, return to the store, repeat. Almost everyone left me tips, either in cash or sometimes written on the piece of paper Larry gave me with each order. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with a written tip, but even with just the cash it felt like I was now in possession of huge sums of money. I wondered if this was what it meant to be rich - and asked Samantha that very question the next time I saw her at the restaurant.

“Are you joking?” she asked incredulously. “Rich? You’re a delivery driver, Red! You live alone - keep it for rent and food and bills. You do have bills, don’t you?”

“Right, bills,” I said, desperately trying not to sound like a fire engine that had become a girl just that morning. “It just seems like a lot for one night.”

Samantha shrugged. “Most of the drivers make fifty or so per night in tips.” She gave me a pointed look, eyes moving up and down my scantily-clad body. “I’m sure you make more.”

I had no idea how to reply to that, but was saved when the phone started ringing. Samantha waved me off, pointing at an outgoing order for me to take. Then she grabbed the receiver and pressed it to her ear, licking her lips slowly. “Pizza Planet,” she said, giving me a wink as she fondled the phone in a way that left my body feeling all sorts of weird.

I walked out of the store, grabbing the pizza as I went. What the hell was that about? Every time I thought I was getting the hang of this new world, someone went and did something even more strange. I missed my humans. The firefighters and chiefs and the small children whose greatest joy in the entire world was seeing my bright red exterior. Life made sense then - everything had a place and purpose, and every part was ordered and numbered. In my first day as a girl, I’d fumbled through more insanity than the last ten years as a truck.

 And that was just the behavior of others!

As the day went on, I was also learning all sorts of little foibles about my new body and some of its core functions. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’d seen firemen eating and heard them speak of urinating a million times. Scrapyard above, Fireman Jimmy had gotten drunk and pissed on my tires a few times, so I’d even seen the mechanics involved. I’d sort of imagined it to be like a good oil change - release the cap and allow that nasty old oil to drain out into the drip pan, then fill up the reservoir with some good ol’ Mobile 1. 

Yeah. That was not what it was like.

The drinking part was pretty easy. I discovered rather early on in the day that imbibing fluids made the strange, dry feeling in my mouth go away. It wasn’t that dissimilar to replacing transmission fluid, or topping up on gasoline. It left me feeling energized and pure. Unlike those two things, there was no regularly scheduled maintenance on when the old pipes needed to be flushed. Sometimes it had to be done once an hour. Sometimes every six hours. Sometimes the urge came on slowly. Other times it felt like I’d ruptured every gasket in my abdomen at once. Surely I hadn’t broken anything… I desperately wanted to ask Samantha just in case I was dying - something I did not want to make a habit of - but she already thought I was crazy.

That left me with only Larry.

“The fuck you mean thing’s ain’t workin’ right, Red?” he asked, staring at me with those dark, beady eyes. “You better not be askin’ off, Red, you know it’s dinner rush and I ain’t got no more drivers, Red.” 

“No, I want to work,” I protested, gesturing down at my stomach. “But my stomach hurts. I don’t want to-”

He interrupted me with an eye roll. “Ya ain’t taken ya lunch yet. Eat some damn Pizza and get back to work. Yer jus’ hungry. Fuckin’ idiots, I swear to God. Here, take two slices with you and eat on the way.”

I took the food he proffered, then grabbed my next delivery. He hadn’t answered my question, but talking to Larry about anything he wasn’t in the mood to talk about was frustrating to say the least. Besides, I’d been curious about all these Pizzas that everyone was ordering. They smelled amazing. What would it be like to eat real, healthy American food? Something I’d seen and been curious about for my entire life? I set the box down on the hood of my car, then hefted one of the large slices. Pepperoni - or at least I was pretty sure that’s what the red circles were. I sniffed at it, enjoying the smell for the hundredth time today… then took a single bite.

It was… absolutely glorious. 

Better than fresh oil in my engine. Better than new steering fluid. Better than a tank of high octane gasoline. Better than a tuneup. I took another bite, and it was somehow even better than the first. My mouth was sending me so much information that I could hardly stand, and I had to lean forward, resting my hands on the car. I finished the slice quickly, both because it rapidly made my stomach feel better and also because I could not get enough of the flavor. No wonder so many people ordered this… it surely must be among the most delicious things that a human could eat.

Holy steel factories above. Maybe this is the Great Scrapheap after all.