I work at a pizza restaurant, and I have just picked up the phone.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Restaurant]. Is this a pick-up or delivery?”

Customer: “It’s a pick-up.”

Me: “Okay. What can I get for you?”

Customer: “Do you have a six-piece?”

Me: “Yes, our smalls are six pieces. Did you want a deep dish or round?”

Customer: “Deep dish. And how many pieces is that, three?”

Me: “No, sir, it’s a six-piece. What would you like on it?”

Customer: “Pepperoni, and how many pieces is that?”

Me: *Exasperated* “Six.”

Customer: “Okay.”

I think that is the end of it, but then I am the one who helps him when he comes to pick up his order.

Customer: “I had a deep dish. I think it was an eight-piece.”

Me: *Fully dead inside* “No, sir, as I said on the phone, the small is a six-piece.”

I am delivering pizzas to a farmhouse. The door opens ever so slightly, and the customer is trying to get the (paid-for) pizzas without opening the door too much. Suddenly, there’s the sound of something smashing in the background, distracting the customer, who releases the door an inch or two.

This is all the space required for ten — yes, TEN — golden retriever puppies to make their escape and swarm all over me, eager to meet their new friend.

Me: *Squealing in delight* “Oh… my… GodThey’reAllSoFrickinCuteOhMyGoooood!”

Customer: “Sorry! I took in a foster dog, and she was way more pregnant than we realized. I’m glad you’re not scared of dogs.”

Me: *Still squealing* “Are you kidding? They’re all adorable!“

Customer: “Do you… do you wanna play with them?”

I quickly shoot my boss a message saying I’m going to be ten minutes longer than expected to be back.

Boss: *Texting* “Traffic?”

I send him back a picture of myself with the puppies.

Boss: *Texting* “Take twenty.”

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I work for a local mom-and-pop pizza place, all takeout or delivery. The owner is great, and maybe the pay isn’t the best, but I’ve literally left his place for a better job like four times, and every time I’ve needed employment, he’s welcomed me back with open arms.

I’m taking a delivery to one of the richer neighborhoods, where many homes have all the neighbor kids playing in their driveways. I drive up to one of these houses, park my car, and see the silhouettes of kids playing through the front door. I walk up to the door with three pizza boxes and a bag of fries and knock on the door, expecting one of the kids to open the door and snatch the order out of my hands (and for me to leave with no tip, because the order was paid by card but said they’d tip in cash).

Instead, a little girl, maybe four or five, opens the door and announces TRIUMPHANTLY to her older brother:

Little Girl: “See?! I told you pizza people could be pizza PEOPLE and not just pizza GUYS!“

And then her father rushed over to the door to accept the pizza and give me a nice tip, telling me he hoped his kids didn’t bother me.

Yeah, girl, maybe set your sights higher than pizza delivery girl, but if you wanna do that, that’s fine! You can be a pizza delivery GIRL, too, and you tell your brother that!

Back when I used to deliver pizzas, I drove out an order that came to total of $14.97. The lady pays cash, $15 even. I take it, give her the pizza and cheese sticks.

Me: “Have a good evening!”

With that I turn to return to my car. Halfway there, I hear her yell from behind:

Customer: “Hey!”

As soon as I turn to face her, she continues in a somewhat upset tone:

Customer: “Where I was raised, we were taught to say ‘thank you’ when given a tip!”

I stare at her a moment, a bit speechless at both the tone and her belief that three cents is a tip, before turning back toward my car again without saying anything. She starts going into a rant about young people, lack of manners, no respect, blah-blah-blah to my back as I open the door, put the delivery bag inside, and reach for my center console.

I get what I am after and return to her. She pauses in her rant as I walk back, and I hold out my closed hand to her, palm down. She looks confused, but puts out her hand and I drop three pennies into it before looking her dead in the eyes.

Me: “Obviously, you need this more than I do.”

I turn and leave as she stares, speechless in shock. As soon as I was out of sight of that house, I called manager to let him know he was probably going to get a call. He did.

Totally worth it.

We are jam-packed on this particular day, and I am over-seated. I get a group of seven women who look like they just came from a tennis match.

Woman #1: *Whispering* “It’s [Woman #2]’s birthday today, and we want you to bring out a cake; we already talked to the hostess.”

Me “Okay, sounds good.”

The food comes out a little late, and the entire time, the women are yelling at me as I’m rushing all around the restaurant to try and please everyone. (As I said, I am way over-seated.) I walk up to the table as they finish their meal, and it’s cake time.

Me: *Whispering* “Okay, so I am about to bring out your cake. You said you left the cake with the hostess, correct?”

Woman #1: “Yeah, we already talked to her.”

I go over to the hostess.

Me: “Where’s table twenty’s cake?”

Hostess: “I don’t know; they didn’t give me one.”

I go back to the table.

Me: “Ma’am, the hostess says you never left a cake with her.”

Woman #1: “I know that! I want you to make one.”

Woman #3: “You are a restaurant. You can’t make us a cake?”

Me “Ma’am, I understand that you want a cake brought out to you, but we do not offer desserts like that here. We are a pizza restaurant.”

Multiple Women: “You have ruined [Woman #3]’s birthday! What kind of restaurant doesn’t make cake? We want a manager now!”

Our spineless manager offered them free ice cream, and they left with a smug look. I can’t wait to quit this job after graduation.