Bobby Has A Different Calling

On a busy Friday night, we have a line of customers at the pickup window at my family’s pizzeria where I am the manager. I usually take care of the customers because I know most people’s names and orders so I can get them out quickly.

A man in his fifties is the last in line at the moment. He waits his turn, looking annoyed the whole time. Then, he comes up to pick up his order. He tells me it’s under “Theresa.”

We have two ticket rails for orders that are currently being prepared, and we have completed orders on top of the pizza oven to keep them hot.

The rest of the staff are busy either on the phone or preparing other orders, so I squeeze through and start looking for his order on top of the oven (ten to fifteen orders). After not finding it on top of the oven, I begin to look through the tickets that are currently cooking (twenty to thirty orders).

It’s a small place where you can see our entire kitchen, and the whole time I am looking, he keeps repeating:

Customer: “It’s under Theresa! Theresa! It’s a large [pizza] with a side of wings!”

Me: *Politely* “I am working on it, as you can see.”

I get through all the orders and there is no Theresa.

Me: “May I ask for your name to see if maybe she put it under that?”

Customer: *Agitated* “No chance! It’s definitely under Theresa! We order from you all the time!”

This happens a lot; one person will call the order in and put it under the name of the person picking it up. Usually, we get it figured out pretty fast, although some people have a hard time believing their food could be under a different name if their family/friend put it in. Weird.

I tell him we don’t have an order for Theresa and ask him again for his name. 

Customer: *Almost screaming at this point* “ROBERT!”

Me: “I don’t have an order for Robert. Is it possible you called another restaurant? That happens sometimes. There is another place across town with a similar—”

Customer: “No! We called you! We always call you! Are you an idiot?! How hard is it to find our order?!”

He pulls out his phone, calls the number he used to order the pizza, shoves the phone in my face, and says, “Look!” Then, he points to our phone, expecting it to ring. 

Not. Our. Number.

The phone doesn’t ring. 

Me: “Who’s the idiot now, Bobby?”

Got in his car and sped off. Haven’t seen him since.