So, THAT’S The Hill You’ve Chosen To Die On?

I’m a shift lead for a liquor store chain that was recently purchased by a delivery company. Times are hard for tech execs who were counting on an IPO to make them billionaires, and there have been cuts. Now, we use drivers from the main delivery company’s network instead of our own.

This causes miscommunications, which is fine. One of the most common is a customer ordering some food or ice cream for delivery. Without alcohol or tobacco in the order, we sometimes get underage drivers, who cannot legally enter our store on account of our tasting room. Liquor laws are archaic but inviolable, so we turn those drivers away politely and wait for the next.

Tonight, I get a driver who has left his ID in the car.

Driver: *Annoyed* “You mean I gotta walk back out to the car?”

Me: “I’m afraid so.”

Driver: “I’m just gonna cancel the pickup.”

Me: “Fine by me.”

And off he goes. Ten minutes later, he walks back in, on his phone.

Now, this puts me in a tough spot. We don’t card everyone who walks in, but this is an individual whom I’ve asked for ID and received excuses instead. It’s probably innocuous, but maybe it’s not. So, I find him in the store.

Me: “Do you have your ID now?”

He’s still on the phone and pretty pointedly ignoring me, so I ask again, loudly enough for whoever’s on the other end to hear. Now he responds.

Driver: “I have my ID, but I won’t be showing you!”

Well, that makes things easier.

Me: “You’ll need to leave, in that case.”

Driver: “Fine.”

He seems to be waiting for me to walk away, but I gesture toward the door.

Me: “Let’s go, then!”

He scoffs but starts walking, stopping to tell my fellow shift lead how unreasonable we’re being. A kid getting some soda while his parents get their drinks drops a bottle, and the dude crows about how Karma is instant as he finally leaves. That finally pushes me enough to fill out the corporate driver complaint form.

Sometime later, the phone rings. When I realize who’s on the other end, the last bits of my customer service finally come untethered.

Driver: “We need to apologize to each other.”

Me: “You can do whatever you like. I’ve already pushed this up to the corporate level and do not care anymore.”

Driver: “When will the general manager be in?!”

Me: “I will not be providing any other employee’s schedule to anyone, much less you.”

Driver: “You’re enjoying this!”

Me: “Actually, I am. You are free to do as you please.”

I end the call.

Half an hour before close, who should roll through the door but the driver who didn’t have time to go get his ID two hours ago.

Driver: “Call the general manager.”

Fine. Fine. I am only too happy to pass this one up the chain. I call my boss on the store phone, tell her a customer wants to complain about me, and pass him the phone.

He spends a full ten minutes telling her how incredibly unprofessional I am without naming any specifics, tells her she needs to hire a better manager, and finally resorts to repeating how “unsafe” I made him feel. He hammers the “unsafe” line for at least half the call’s runtime, and I start grinning as he strikes out over and over. He looks up at one point and angrily tells my boss that I’m ENJOYING making him come back to complain, and I give him a big thumbs-up. He hurriedly relates my thumbs-up to my boss, hoping for a kill shot. It is not.

He finally peters out and sets down the handset without any kind of goodbye. I pick it up and check: the line is dead. I suspect my boss hung up on him. The driver turns around and goes to walk not outside, but deeper into the store!

I come around the counter to follow him.

Me: “We’re closing, and it’s time for you to go.”

He turns around and sneers.

Driver: “You’re still open for fifteen minutes—”

Me: “You’ve been asked to leave and refused, and so you’re now trespassing.”

He finally left for the last time. Two hours after close, my fellow manager and I were cleaning the store and filling delivery orders, and the phone rang. I let her answer. I already knew who it was.