A Hot Slice Of Justice

(We’re getting pretty close to closing time. We’ve barely had any orders today. I’m working the kitchen with two others. Everything’s been cleaned and there’s nothing to do until another order comes in, when suddenly a customer comes storming into the store, shouting things exceptionally hard to understand, and possibly drunk.)

Me: “Oh, lord, here we go…”

Customer: “Where’s the kitchen guy! I WANT TO SEE THE KI—”

Me: “Right here. You can stop yelling now. I can hear you.”

Customer: *does actually stop yelling, probably because he had to look up to me* “Where the f*** is my pizza? I ordered a pizza over an hour ago. Now, where is it?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about. We haven’t—”

Customer: “WHERE IS MY ORDER!? I DEMAND TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER!”

Me: “Well, the manager is asleep. If you want, I can go back there and see if we have your order.”

Customer: “Yeah, you do that. I want my free f****** pizza!”

(He gives his name and address. I go to where we keep the order slips.)

Me: “Sir, there’s no slip under either of those.”

Customer: “WHERE IS MY GOD-D*** PIZZA! I ORDERED A PIZZA FROM THIS STORE!”

Coworker: “Hey, why don’t you call again?”

Customer: “What?”

Coworker: “If you did call this store, and we took your order, it was never filled. Go ahead and call the number again. If the phone rings, we’ll give you a free pizza.”

(He whipped out his phone, mashing the buttons until he got to the recent calls, and called the store. Our phone didn’t ring, but somebody on the other end picked up. He had placed an order at the store on the other side of town. The customer shoved his phone in his pocket and stormed out of the store without a word.)