Underneath his red high-top Nikes, the tiles gleam beneath traces of flour inside the new D.P. Dough location downtown.

"This is where the magic happens," Joey Syta says as he enters the kitchen area where his fellow co-workers keep up the pace of the Friday night orders.

"I look really tired. I've worked seven days in a row for about 10 to 14 hours a day," he says, but Syta doesn't look fatigued when he picks up three bags of orders.

Seconds later, he's out the door, sliding into the front seat of a green Jeep Liberty, the Pittsburgh band Girl Talk blasting on the radio.

His night began around 5 p.m. and probably won't end until 4:30 or 5 a.m. The car's clock reads 7:30 p.m. On a busy night like this he'll deliver about 75 calzones.

"Soon Turtle will teach me how to drive that bad boy," he says referring to the store's red Mini Cooper. Turtle Patterson is the co-owner of the State College D.P. Dough, located at 401 E. Beaver Ave.

Syta, a 2004 alumus who majored in film and video, has returned to D.P. Dough after a brief stint working as a television location assistant in Brooklyn. Rent was too high there, so he returned to the college job that he acquired his sophomore year.

During his D.P. Dough tenure, he has experienced more than a smile and tip.

"I've been flashed on delivery. I've been asked to participate in sexual [acts]," Syta says. "And, I've been surprised by the Hulk [on Halloween].''

Syta picks up his cell phone and dials the number of his next delivery.

"Yo, this is the driver from D.P Dough. I'll be there in about a minute. Alright man," he says.

As he speeds up South Garner Street, he gets lost in the tangle of small roads and fraternity houses. Then he realizes the fraternity house he is looking for is one street over, on Hamilton Avenue.

"So, yes deliverers do get lost," Syta says, but he assures his customers will get their food.

On the way to his next stop, he points out the The Central Pennsylvania School of Massage, 336 S. Fraser St. He's also a certified massage practitioner, as well as graphic T-shirt designer.

"I'm all over the place, but that's how I am," he says.

Syta plans to move with his uncle to Los Angeles, where he hopes to get his hands in the film industry, draw street art and expand his clothing line. But for now Syta enjoys delivering calzones and slipping into neuroscience lectures just for fun.

"It was a pain in the ass when I was an undergrad," he explains. "Now I want to actually go."

While delivering his next order, Syta runs into some other location problems.

"You got to be kidding me," Syta says, looking at all the door numbers. There's no room number one. "I'm not going to knock on every person's door," he says.

Syta leaves the apartment building and realizes he has the wrong address after asking a passer-by. He then finds the house, but it has more than one door.

"I love when nothing is labeled," he says.

After a few tries, Syta finds the correct door, apologizes about a credit card mishap and tells the customer not to worry about a tip.

"How can I not give a tip?" the smiling customer says.

On a typical night, Syta says he makes about $80 to $100 in tips.

Syta is not one to be embarrassed to ask for tips. He says that in his first years working as a delivery boy, he would take revenge on the non-tippers.

"When I was a more immature driver, their cans of soda would be shaking," he says while showing a motion with his hand. "I would be shaking it like this [in the car].''

When doing his job, it's all about matching his mood with his customers.

"I don't want to be a faceless delivery driver," Syta says.