A Pizza With A Side Of Racism

I’m delivering a pizza during our last hour of operation one night, approaching midnight. I have one other driver working with me and an assistant manager who rarely delivers. I’m a white male, and my assistant manager is a Japanese-American male.

I go out on one final delivery. An elderly man, who could very easily be a World War II veteran, answers his door.

Me: “Good evening, sir. I have your [toppings] pizza here. That will be $15.67.”

Customer: “Thank God it’s you!”

I’m confused; the customer continues.

Customer: “I usually get one of those [Hispanic slur]s or [Asian slur]s delivering. I can’t understand a word they’re saying, and I suspect they’re ripping me off for the change.”

That’s unlikely since the price is printed on a sticker on the box.

Me: *Uncomfortably* “Umm… so, that’s $15.67.”

I point at the price, just in case.

Customer: “Here’s $20. Keep the change!”

I drive back to the store and talk to my assistant manager.

Me: “Jeez, you wouldn’t believe the racist crap I had to listen to with this last delivery. At least he tipped well; I just had to grin and bear it.”

Assistant Manager: “What’d he say?”

Me: “He was glad I wasn’t a ‘[Hispanic slur]’ or a ‘[Asian slur].’ He was afraid, if I was, that I wouldn’t give him the correct change.”

Assistant Manager: *Brightly* “Oh! Do you have his phone number?”

Me: *Showing the number* “Here. What’re you going to do?”

Assistant Manager: “I’m making a notation on his account. If he orders again, I’ll make sure I’m the one delivering.”

My assistant manager then stretches the corners of his eyes.

Assistant Manager: *In a mock accent* “I’m sorry, sir. I canna read box. What is price?”

I don’t know if he ever got the chance to meet the customer, but I hope so!