About a year ago, I was delivering for a pizza place, and I had to deliver about twenty pizzas for a last-minute order during a football night in town.

I was already annoyed because they made me help make it even though we had plenty of people in the kitchen and three other deliveries that needed to be taken, as well. I knew my way around the kitchen but had no clue how to portion properly because, you know, Not My Job. But I guess I made the five specialty ones wrong, and they had to be remade, which was another twenty minutes because we were very busy.

Well, those twenty minutes turned into almost two hours because I “was needed here”. Okay. Don’t blame me when we get angry calls.

After a bit, I was finally free to do my actual job and deliver the pizzas. After all this hassle and my stressing about angry people, I saw a whopping three-dollar tip on the ticket and a twenty-minute drive on my phone. Needless to say, I used some fun words on the road that day.

One twenty-minute drive later, I pulled up to a house with about eight cars parked in the already small driveway and in the yard. As I was carrying the first of two large bags to the door, suddenly, a wild Fratboy popped up from a truck bed — similar to how the WWE wrestler Undertaker would sometimes get up if that helps anyone visualise. Undertaker got up, hopped out very excitedly, and walked up to me.

Undertaker: “I’ll help!”

In hindsight, letting a clearly drunk man carry ten pizzas fifty feet wasn’t a good idea, but $3 doesn’t get my full effort.

I went to my car, grabbed the second bag and the receipt to get the company-mandated signature, and headed up. Who answered the door?

That’s right: ANOTHER COMPANY’S DRIVER. We shared a glance before he helped me set my pizzas up in the kitchen area. Undertaker came in.

Undertaker: “Pizza man and pizza dude!”

He was followed by about thirty people who basically just kept tipping us like it was a cover charge to a bar.

Pizza Man and I went our separate ways with free drinks and a good amount of cash as a prize.

I still think about Fratboy Undertaker sometimes!

My daughter is a teacher, and one of her fellow teachers wanted to teach how to calculate the area of a circle. She decided to make it fun and educational with more than just some math formulas.

She put the price and size of pizzas from several local shops on the board. She then taught them how to calculate the area of a circle and had the students calculate the price per square inch of the pizzas. Her students had a good time and were amazed at the differences in value based on both size and company.

I always wondered how many of those students sat down with a calculator the next time the family ordered pizza, and how many carried that over into college.

Our servers take phone calls for carry-out or delivery orders. It’s about 10:30 pm, and I’m closing up the salad bar and getting ready to wheel the cart into the back. The phone rings. I answer it.

Me: “Hi, thank you for calling [Pizza Restaurant]! Is this order going to be for delivery or carry-out tonight?”

Caller: “Delivery.”

Me: “Awesome. Can I grab your phone number, please?”

For orders, we take the phone number, name, address, and apartment number, if needed. The customer gives me their number. 

Me: “And your name?”

Caller: “Dave.”

Me: “Address?”

He gives me a street name I’ve never heard before.

Me: “Awesome. One sec, please.”

I try to submit the order, but the computer tells me the address isn’t in our delivery zone. I relay this information to the customer and he sighs.

Caller: “You must have put my address in wrong.”

I read it back to him.

Me: “Is that correct?”

Caller: “Yes.”

I try again. The computer tells me that it can’t connect to the server and verify the address.

Me: “My computer is telling me the address doesn’t exist.”

Caller: *Frustrated* “Is there someone else to speak to?”

I ask my manager to help, but he’s very busy with something else and tells me to help to the best of my abilities. I tell this to the customer.

Caller: “I’d like someone who isn’t incompetent to take my order.”

Me: “Sir, I—”

Caller: “Someone. Else. Get someone else.”

My manager comes outside at this point and sees me struggling with the address. He gives me a questioning look and then says:

Manager: “That address isn’t in our zone.”

I tell the customer to give me a moment, and I cover the mouthpiece.

Me: “I tried telling him that, but he just called me stupid.”

My manager then takes the phone and deals with the man.

Manager: “If anyone ever calls you stupid, tell them to have a nice day and hang up the phone. You guys are people, too, and I won’t have my people treated badly.” 

My manager is a good man.

I’m the manager of a pizza place. The ridiculous things customers have screamed at me over have quickly taught me to be as tactful as possible with my responses. Then, I got a phone call from this customer.

Customer: “Hi. I just saw a commercial, and I see you have a new pizza on special.”

Me: “That’s right. Our new double-pepperoni pizza. You can get a large for $10 right now.”

Customer: “How much is just the regular pepperoni pizza?”

Me: “It’s $12. So, the double-pepperoni is a better deal at the moment, for sure.”

Customer: “So, other than the price, what’s the difference between the regular pepperoni and the double-pepperoni?”

Me: “…”

Customer: “Hello?”

Me: “I’m truly sorry, ma’am, but I’m really not sure how to answer that without sounding like a smart-a**.”

Thankfully, she laughed.

Back in my waitressing days, we had a nasty couple who would come in at least once a week and only order coffee and ask for handfuls of peppermints. They’d sit there for two hours, just drink coffee, leave a mess of spilled creamer, sugar packets and mint wrappers, and not tip.

Seriously, who goes to Pizza Hut for coffee?

Finally, my manager got tired of them taking up space for $3 worth of coffee:

Manager: “If you’re not going to order food, you’re no longer welcome.”

We never saw them again!