Giving Bad Managers A Pizza Your Mind, Part 2

| Durban, South Africa | Working | September 30, 2013

(My girlfriend and I are at a casino, and decide to get pizza at the restaurant located within the premises. After about 15 minutes of being altogether ignored by the wait-staff, I get up and approach one of the waitresses. She apologizes and tells me she will call the waitress who is supposed to be serving our area. She goes up to a waitress who is standing by the bar chatting with the bartender. The waitress barely glances in our direction before walking lazily towards us with a sullen expression for having interrupted her chat.)

Waitress: “What’ll you have?”

(The waitress speaks without so much as an apology or even a greeting, while chewing gum. I let it slide.)

Me: “Um, yeah, can we get a large meat-lovers pizza with extra cheese, but hold the pork; I cannot eat pork without feeling nauseous.”

(The waitress writes down our order and walks away and proceeds to ignore us once again. After about 20 minutes, I walk up to her.)

Me: “Excuse me, but how long does it usually take to make a pizza?”

Waitress: “Look, sir, it’ll come when it’s ready.”

Me: “Yes well, can you please check for me?”

(Wordlessly, the waitress gets up and goes to the kitchen and comes out almost immediately with our pizza. She plonks it on our table and is about to walk away when I notice that the pizza has pork on it.)

Me: “Hold on, this pizza has pork on it. I specifically ordered it without pork.”

Waitress: “No substitutions, replacements or changes.”

Me: “Well you could have told me this before when I was ordering.”

Waitress: *shrugs shoulders* “Not my problem; it’s [restaurant’s] policy.”

Me: “Look, I can’t eat this. Take it back and just get us a chicken and mushroom pizza.”

(This pizza comes out fairly quickly. However, after looking at it closely, I see that it has obviously been spat on, and been poorly disguised with a piece of chicken on top of it. I call the waitress back and she pretty much stomps over and gives me the glare of death with her hands on her hips.)

Waitress: “What now?”

Me: “Call the manager.”

Waitress: “What for?”

Me: “Just go and call the manager please.”

(She leaves and comes back alone five minutes later.)

Waitress: “He’s not in at the moment.”

Me: “Bull! Are you telling me that a restaurant like this doesn’t have anyone in charge at any given time?”

Waitress: “Well actually I was being nice. He really told me that he was too busy to deal with petty issues and that you must pay up and leave.”

(She then proceeds to total our bill, giving a running commentary all the while.)

Waitress: “So, that’s two wasted pizzas and [drinks].”

(This is the last straw. What with the attitude of the waitress and the useless manager hiding in the office, I take matters into my own hands. I pick up the pizza and proceed to go to each of the tables showing customers the pizza with spit on it. While doing this, out of nowhere, a man runs up and yells at me.)

Man: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Me: “Who are you?”

Man: “I’M THE MANAGER; HOW DARE YOU DO THIS!”

Me: “Oh I’m sorry. I was under the impression that you were very busy. Never mind though, I’m simply showing the other diners the wonderful cuisine served at your restaurant. Well I’m pretty much done here; how much do I owe you?”

Man: “JUST GET OUT!”

(The other diners leave quickly after us, and we never eat at that restaurant again.)

 

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