A Very Heated Argument

(I work at a pizzeria with a counter for selling individual slices. It’s late in the day but I still have four fresh pepperoni pizzas for sale. They just came out of the oven as per my request to the baker, to minimize the transition between lunch and dinner. It’s three pm and my coworker will be handling the counter when she arrives at four.)

Customer: *approaches the counter* “I’ll have four pepperoni slices and a [Drink]!”

Me: *inputs this into the computer* “That’ll be [price].”

Customer: *drops money into my hand* “Make sure they’re hot!”

Me: “The baker just made these.” *I carefully touch the pizza on top with my gloves on; it feels hot*

(I dish up the slices and get the customer his Drink from the fridge. The customer sits down to eat at a table, while I begin restocking the pop and juice in the fridge. The customer then screams at me and throws a slice of hot pizza at my head; luckily, I’m wearing a hat, but there is now cheese in my ponytail. I feel something hit the back of my head; the boiling hot cheese.)

Me: “Umm, can I help you?”

Customer: “These! Are! Cold!”

Me: *startled* “Um… umm.. sir… sir… actually… the cheese in my hair feels hot… ummm… and it really hurts.”

Customer: “I demand to speak to the manager!”

Me: “Actually… the owner is… right here.”

(The owner had been sweeping in front out the counter. He’s a short Italian man with a temper, but is always nice to me. He refers to all of the teenage and early twenty-year-old staff as “his kids.” He saw the whole thing.)

Owner: “Did you just throw a slice of pizza at one of my kids who was nothing but nice?”

Customer: *stammers* “But… she… It’s… It’s cold.”

Owner: “Get the f*** out of my restaurant.”

Customer: *scampers out*

Owner: *to me* “Go wash the cheese out of your hair; I’ll watch the front. You’re on break. And ya can’t let anyone talk to you like that!”

(I return from cleaning my hair and hat to find my food upstairs, paid for already. Apparently the guy came back to apologize and paid for my lunch!)