It’s my last night as a delivery driver. The order is $12.98, and the customer hands me $13.

Customer: *Laughing* “Keep the change.”

I rummage through my change pouch, take out two pennies, and toss them back.

Me: “If I wanted your two cents, I would have asked you a f****** question.” 

I walked away. That was my final delivery ever and well worth it.

We have a regular caller who we all despise. He got into our bad books because he is rude, never tips, always finds something wrong with the order, and always demands refunds or discounts. He has “evolved” into saying a previous manager gave him a credit for a free pizza and we “had better give it to him if we know what is good for us”.

So far, par for the course. It’s annoying, but nothing we’re not used to in customer service. And then, the following call happens.

Caller: “My pizza is all wrong! I wanted double pepperoni, and I got regular!”

Manager: “Hello… again, sir. I made your pizza myself, and I put the pepperoni slices on personally. I can assure you that what you’re looking at is our double portion.”

Caller: “Then this is bulls***! Your portions are way too small! Did you get one of the r****ds to make it?!”

Manager: “Pardon me?”

Caller: “I was driving past the other day, and I saw who you got out front — one of them ‘Downs’ girls that people hire because they feel sorry for them. They better not have drooled over my pizza!”

Manager: “Sir, that is totally unacceptable. Your pizza is as ordered and—”

Caller: “I think I should get a credit for a free pizza for next time!”

Manager: “You know what? Sure. I’ll put in a credit for a free pizza for you.” *Click*

My manager goes over to the computer and put a credit into the system, but then he presses the big red button that blocks said customer from delivery. I walk over as he’s typing some customer notes into the system. 

Me: “What are you doing?”

He explains the gist of the conversation he had.

Manager: “I didn’t want to waste any more time on that a**hole. Giving him a credit was the quickest way to shut him up, and I am no liar, so I am giving him a credit. I’m also blocking him from delivery, so he’ll never be able to use it.”

He made sure he was there to pick up the phone the next time the regular called, and he delighted in informing him that he was banned as a customer for being recorded using hate speech in a previous phone call. The caller was not happy.

The recorded call where he was informed of this was then played out loud for everyone in the back room when we took our breaks. This made all of us happy.

Don’t ask me why this story reminded me of this old incident, but here we go.

Back in the late 1990s, I was in the US for the first time. Back then, our passports were blue and had those thick leather-like covers with embossed gold writing, really fancy, not the embarrassingly flimsy red things we have now. (Thank you, EU!) I stayed with some friends, and we ordered pizza — my treat.

The delivery driver came, and he REEKED of weed. I swear, we smelled it through the door. Now, I don’t mind; anyone can do what they want, and in that line of work, you probably need something to deal with the people you get to encounter.

He took my credit card and asked to see my ID. I pulled out my passport, opened it, and held it out for him to see.

And he FREAKED out. He dropped the pizzas, dropped my card, and bolted for the door.

I stood there and stared at the open door, listening to the squealing tires and the laughter of my friends. 

Friend: “Dude, really?”

Me: “What? What did I do?”

Friend: “You flicked that open like they do in the movies when they show some FBI badge. Poor guy probably thought you were a narc or something.”

In case the driver reads this, I really just wanted to show you ID. Honest.

Related:
We Wish Her A Lifetime Of Cold Soggy Two-Day-Old Pizza

I work for [Pizza Place #1] as a delivery driver. I pull up to a house and notice another car pulling up right in front of me from [Pizza Place #2]. We get out at the same time and look at each other.

Other Driver: “100 Fifth Street?”

Me: “Yeah, same here!”

At that, the homeowners — a couple — step out of the house. One of them is carrying a stopwatch.

Customer #1: “Ah, man! It was too close to call!”

Customer #2: “You both arrived at the same time!”

Me: “Did you bet to see who would arrive first?”

Customer #1: “Yeah! My wife insists that [Pizza Place #2] is faster, and I said it was [Pizza Place #1], so we thought we’d test it.”

Other Driver: “Well… if it helps, I had two other stops on my route before you, so I could have been here quicker.”

Me: *Laughing* “I had two others, too.”

Customer #1: “Darn it! We’ll have to try another time!”

We all laugh, and they accept both pizzas and tip us both generously. I tell the store about the funny interaction, and we all laugh about it.

A few weeks later, we get an online order through, and one of us notices that the address looks familiar.

Me: “Oh, my God! It’s them again! Quick! Get that pizza prioritized! I have to beat the other guy!”

Laughing as we go, their pizza is pushed to the front and I am out the door within minutes, making sure they’re my first call this time, not my last.

I pull up to their driveway, and about twenty seconds later, I see my rival pulling up, too.

Other Driver: *Laughing* “D*** it! You beat me! I figured I would try to get out here faster, but—”

Me: “Yeah, I tried the same thing!”

The customers laughed with us again, and I was proclaimed the winner! They promised not to make us race again (it’s not safe), and we each got tipped $100!

Now, every time they put an order in, I don’t rush over, but I do make sure they’re first on my route… just in case.

A few years ago, I worked at a wing delivery place after moving across the country for college. I accidentally left my microwave at home, but luckily, my mom had some business in the town I was living in, so she tossed it in her car and brought it with her to her hotel.

We’d discussed it beforehand, and she got a hotel in my delivery radius. She ordered some wings, and I was the driver for it. I got the wings, headed over, and started going to the elevators. I gave the front desk workers a small wave as I went by.

I got up to her room, made some small chat, and took my microwave from her. I made my way back down to the lobby, and the front desk workers called me over.

Worker: “What are you doing with that microwave?”

Me: “It was my tip from the customer!”

That hotel didn’t have microwaves in the rooms, so they let me go. I loved the confused looks on their faces.