Decades ago, I worked for a popular pizza delivery chain. This was before their ordering system was computerized, so when someone called to place an order, we had to write the information manually on the form, which was composed of multiple carbonless copies; the bottom copy was used to track our stats. Friday and Saturday nights were our busiest times; with multiple phone lines, we’d get fifty to sixty calls an hour.

I clocked in early on a Saturday afternoon and answered the phone. The caller said he was an FBI agent, that he and his partner had been on a surveillance assignment the night before, that a pizza had been delivered to them (even though they hadn’t ordered pizza), and that he wanted me to remove that address from our records so nobody would know where they were.

1. We’re talking about one line, on a paper copy, buried somewhere among (easily) another fifty-plus sheets, each containing twenty lines.
2. Those sheets were locked in the file cabinet in the manager’s office until the franchise owner picked them up.
3. He wouldn’t tell me the address (for security reasons, of course), only the approximate time the order had been placed.
4. This was in a popular summer resort area, so house/apartment occupants changed about as often as hotel room occupants. I’m not going to permanently put a residence on our “Do Not Deliver” list just because the US Government is the current occupant.

I told the manager about it, and he said not to worry; it would be nearly impossible and with astronomical odds for anyone to decide, “Hey, let’s break into the pizza delivery storefront, break into the manager’s office, bust open all the drawers on their file cabinet, and go through all the order sheets to find the FBI agents.” Especially when it was obvious that somebody already had their location.

I thought it was like a comedic scene in a movie, actually: FBI sets up a stake-out, and the bad guys not only know they’re being watched but by whom and from where, so they order a pizza for them… but I’m supposed to destroy the record of the address so the bad guys can’t find the agents.

A customer calls to order pizza for delivery. She’s a new customer, so we don’t take the order until we verify it.

Customer: “I’m going to go to [Store], but I’ll be back before the pizza delivery guy arrives.”

Me: “We can’t place the order unless you stay at home until the delivery guy arrives. The odds are pretty high that we’ll be able to deliver it as soon as possible since we’re slow. Either that, or you could wait until after you get back from [Store] to place the order.”

Customer: “That’s fine. I’ll stay at home.”

Okay. I place the order. She pays with a credit card.

Me: “Ma’am, the credit card has to be present so we can verify it at the door.”

Customer: “Okay.”

Done deal. We hang up the phone. I send my roommate and long-time friend to go deliver the pizza. 

I’d like for you to understand something about this guy. This guy is quiet; you cannot get him to raise his voice when he is angry because he doesn’t get angry like you or I do. He’s the most mild-mannered, polite, hard-working, efficient person I know.

He gets there in twenty-five minutes, under the estimate of thirty minutes. As I said, we were slow, and I told the customer he’d likely arrive early.

She’s not there. Instead, there’s her fifteen-year-old daughter and no credit card because Mommy went to [Store].

Our driver is one of the only drivers I have that night, and I do have other orders. He made the delivery on time and cannot wait. He comes back, and I set the food aside and cancel the order. If she wants, she can come swing by after she’s done with [Store], since her house, the [Store] near her house, and the pizza place are all within three minutes’ drive of each other.

I get a call thirty minutes later.

Customer: “Where’s my d*** pizza?”

Me: “It’s here at the store because you were not home.”

Customer: “I was at home!”

Me: “The driver told me someone at that address answered the door.”

Customer: “I was at the store, but I was only gone but a minute.”

Me: “I reminded you on the phone that the delivery wouldn’t take very long. Your food is still warm, in our warming bags, and we’ll even be willing to make you fresh food if you just swing by the store in your car.”

Customer: “No, I want it delivered.”

Me: “Fine, I can take your order again. Are you paying cash or card?”

Customer: “I already paid!”

Me: “That payment was canceled when we couldn’t deliver.”

Customer: *Angry* “My money had better be back on my card tonight or else there’ll be h*** to pay!”

Me: “I canceled the payment on my end, but your credit card company or bank is in charge of the time frame it takes to get the money refunded; it’s something I cannot control. It can take about three business days, depending on the institution.”

But she’s not listening; she wants her money back NOW!

Me: “I have already done my part, which is to cancel your payment, but the charge already occurred, and it takes your bank or credit card company up to three days to do their part, something I have no control over.”

Customer: “Then why isn’t the pizza free since you screwed up?!”

Me: “Ma’am, the driver delivered the food on time with the promise that both you and the card would be there to receive it. I’ll make you fresh food and send it out to you, but you still have to pay for it.”

Customer: “I already paid for it! I’m paying twice for some late food.”

At this point, I give her options.

Me: “Even though it wasn’t our fault, I am willing to give you a discount if you come to pick up the food at the store, and you can pay cash or card. You can also pay by credit card again and we’ll deliver it again, at full price. Or, you can pick up the food that’s still warm, and I’ll give it to you for free, but I’m not going to remake it fresh.”

Customer: “I’ll pay to get it d*** delivered!”

I say fine. And then, it happens.

Customer: “And by the way, your driver said horrible things to my daughter. He was hitting on my fifteen-year-old underaged daughter and probably was gonna molest her, and you’re charging me for some late pizza. I should call the police on your a** for having a sexual predator out there delivering pizzas!”

At that moment, I feel a quiet but unfathomable rage boiling up from within. She has gone too far.

Me: “No, ma’am. Not only would my driver never, ever, ever do such a thing, but if you were a mother who cared about your daughter, your first action would have been to call the police if my driver injured or touched your daughter in any way, shape, or form. You do not use sexual harassment accusations as a way to bully people into giving you some free pizza. If you believed any of that actually happened, and you were a mother with any soul or conscience, what you just said to me would have been the very first thing you said to me in this phone call, as it would have been your top priority, not getting a discount on pizzas. If it had actually happened, you wouldn’t be ordering pizza from this establishment at all, let alone haggling with me over the price of it. You are a horrible mother and a horrible human being to use your daughter in such a craven way. Don’t ever order from us again. Don’t ever accuse anyone of sexual assault or sexual harassment again unless it is actually true. These phone calls are recorded, and I stand by everything I just said to you. I don’t want your business. Don’t ever call back.”

I’m supposed to be polite to customers, even when they upset me. I think I succeeded just then; I promise you, that was the polite version. 

Strangely, my roommate never got that police report filed against him. How odd.

I deliver pizza on Saturday nights for an independent shop, and this is my last order of the night. The counter employees will sometimes mark a slip if the customer is paying cash and will need change for a large bill, but as it gets later, they’re less likely to do so, figuring I’ll have enough cash by then. And I do, but I always keep larger bills locked and hidden in my car, with ones and fives only in my pocket.

I get to the address and have to spend a few minutes figuring out which house it is, as it’s after dark and not a well-lit neighborhood. The customer has no porch light on and no house numbers on the side of her house, but I end up determining that it’s the house a few houses up from where I parked, and I climb up her very dilapidated steps and knock.

Customer: “Who is that? Who’s there?”

Me: “It’s [My Name] from [Pizza Place]. I have your order.”

I hear multiple locks being opened, and then she opens the door. She’s a middle-aged, bordering on elderly, woman.

Me: “Your total is $72 [and change].”

She gives me a $100 bill.

Customer: *Snarkily* “I told them I would need change; just give me $25 back.”

Well, lo and behold, I only have about $20 in my small bills, so I let her know I have to go back to my car for change. When I come back and give her the change, she starts going on a tangent.

Customer: “You need to be careful out there! I can’t believe they have a woman out delivering after dark. You could get robbed or attacked!”

And so on.

So… you placed this order late at night, expecting the driver to have a larger amount of cash on their person. You obviously have concerns for your own safety, but you seem okay with me potentially falling on your s***ty, steep steps since you didn’t bother turning the light on until you had to come to the door, and you don’t even have a number on your house. Then, you proceed to lecture me about safety.

But thank you, so much, for the 3% tip.

I work at a pizza chain in a small town.

Me: “Hi, welcome to [Pizza Place].”

The customer glares at me.

Customer: “I’m picking up an order.”

Me: “All right, what’s the name?”

He gives me the name. I look it up and read off the order to double-check it, and he gets upset.

Customer: “Where’s the small pepperoni? I ordered a small pepperoni!”

Me: “Well, there’s not one on the ticket, but I can have one made for you.”

Customer: “How long will that take?”

Me: “We are pretty busy right now, so probably about twenty or so minutes.”

He curses at me and tells me to add it. He pays for the order and goes to sit down in our dining room to wait while I deal with the line that built up behind him.

I finish up with the line and see his pizza has come out. I grab his order and call his name.

Customer: “That has been out for five minutes! It’s probably cold by now!”

He flipped open the lid and stuck his finger right in the hot pizza sauce, burning his finger. He glared at me and stomped out the door.

I still told him to have a nice day, and he got in his car and drove away.

I work as a pizza delivery driver. Around Christmas, I deliver to a woman who has holiday-themed nails.

Me: “Oh, wow! Your nails look amazing!”

Customer: *Pleasantly surprised* “Oh… Oh, thank you!”

Later, my boss got a text from her.

Text: “I know people usually use this number to complain, but I am going through a really tough time, and your delivery driver really made my day. I really needed that, so thank you, and thank her!”

That was the best “tip” I’ve ever made.