(At the pizza delivery place where I work, when customers order online, there is a system that shows them the progress of their order, from cooking to dispatch as we do it in the kitchen. It does this automatically, but occasionally, it stops working and needs someone to press a button to start it, but depending on how busy we are, we don’t always notice. It doesn’t affect the order but some customers seem to rely on it. One night, I get a call from our delivery driver who says he has a customer who won’t pay for her order.)

Driver: “She won’t accept the pizza; she says it’s not hers as hers hasn’t been made yet.”

Me: “Ma’am, I can assure you that the order the driver has in his hands is exactly what you ordered.”

Customer: “I’m telling you, my pizza hasn’t even been put into the oven yet!”

Me: “Ma’am, I cooked the pizza myself and boxed it and handed it to the driver who is at your door right now.”

Customer: “Now I know you’re lying! You didn’t say you had gone through quality control before you dispatched the pizza!”

Me: “Ma’am, please confirm what you ordered and what time you ordered it for me.”

Customer: “I ordered an XL deep-pan meat feast with extra cheese at 8:30 pm.”

Me: “And who did you speak to when you ordered the pizza?”

Customer: “No one. I did it online.”

Me: *suddenly catching on* “And do you have the progress screen on your computer now, ma’am?”

Customer: “Yes, and I can see you haven’t even started my order!”

(I check my screen and sure enough, the button to start the progress needs pushing. I push it and the computer rushes through each stage until it is marked as dispatched. This takes about ten seconds.)

Me: “If you look on your screen now, you’ll see I have expedited your order and it’s been dispatched to you. The driver has your pizza for you now, ma’am. We’re sorry about the delay.”

Customer: *takes pizza from driver* “That’s okay. I appreciate the quick delivery!”

(I work in a pizza delivery store. The people I work with are great; it’s like a small family. We have a customer who is semi-regular, ordering every three weeks or so, but she always gets delivery. She lives twenty minutes out of town but pays an extra $5 on top for us to deliver to her. For the past three orders, she has called the store to complain about her pizza being cold, so this time the owner made, cooked, cut, sauced, and delivered it himself to make sure it was right. Sure enough, she calls again and this is one side of the conversation.)

Owner: “Well, ma’am, I am sorry that you feel that way… Yes, yes, it was… Yes, I did that all myself… No, there is no one higher up than me; I’m the owner… There is no corporate… What would you like me to do, ma’am?… I’d suggest that you come get it yourself if that’s the problem… Yes, I know you pay extra to get it delivered… I’m not going to ask my staff to speed for you… Hang on.”

(He starts searching on the computer.)

Owner: “Okay, ma’am, for an extra $390 I can get it to you in ten minutes… Well, that’s the going price of a speeding ticket… I’m sorry you feel that way… I am going to write a note saying we won’t deliver to you anymore… Goodbye, ma’am.”

(I work for a local restaurant as a delivery driver. I am given a credit card reader for deliveries, and it is company policy for all payment to go through me, cash or card, though there are some exceptions.)

Me: “Hello, [Restaurant] delivery.”

(A customer walks up with a pen in his hands and no credit card.)

Customer: “Hello.” *makes no move to take food or pay*

Me: “Your total is [amount].”

Customer: “Yes.”

(The customer makes no move to pull out a card or cash but just stands there with a pen, smiling.)

Me: *running through the situations where the customer already paid* “Sir, did you order through an online service?”

(Sometimes customers order and pay through a third-party online service. The cashier is supposed to let me know, but it has slipped his mind from time to time.)

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Sir, did you request to pay over the phone?”

Customer: “No. I told [Cashier] that I wanted to pay with a credit card.”

(The customer remains standing there with a pen, smiling innocently. I hold up the credit card reader slightly, and continue waiting for him to give me his card. The customer seems to realize I’m waiting for payment.)

Customer: “Well, last time I ordered, they’d already charged me when the driver got here.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but unless you gave the cashier your credit card information, we can’t charge you unless we run your card.”

Customer: “Oh. Last time they’d already charged me. Don’t worry; we’ll just figure this out.”

(The customer finally got his credit card, and I was just stunned for the rest of the drive home. How did he expect us to charge him without giving us his card to charge?)

(I’m on a delivery, after handing over the food and waiting for her to hand back the credit card slip.)

Customer: *holding out a $10 bill* “Can you change this into quarters for me? I need money for the laundry.”

Me: “Uh… I’m sorry. I don’t carry coins on me.” *definitely not forty quarters!*

Customer: *looking completely shocked* “Oh. Okay, then. I guess I’ll have to get them somewhere else, then. Come on in.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. For safety reasons I’m not allowed to enter the homes of customers.”

(The look on her face is such complete horror and appall I realize she must have misheard me say something fantastically offensive.)

Customer: “EXCUSE ME?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but our company rules do not allow us to enter people’s homes.”

Customer: “I have never had anyone have a problem coming into my home before!”

Me: “I’m sorry. I just have to follow rules or I could get fired.”

Customer: *thrusts my receipt back at me* “Funny how your ‘rules’ don’t stop you from taking tips.”

(By the time I get back to the store she has already called to complain two times — first, about how horribly rude I was and how I wouldn’t come in. The manager she spoke to supported my actions and explained that this was indeed our policy. Then, she called back to complain that our pizza looked like crap. I am lucky enough to catch the third call.)

Customer: “You gave me a frozen pizza! There is still ice in the middle. Come pick this up!”

Me: “I’m very sorry about the pizza, ma’am. We will remake a hot, fresh one for you right now.”

Customer: “Oh, h*** no. I owned a restaurant. I know what you do to people’s food when they complain.”

Me: “I’m sorry you were forced to work in such unprofessional conditions, but I can assure you that no such things will happen here. Let me make you a pizza that is hot.”

Customer: “No. You will just spit in it; I’m not stupid. Just come here and give me my money back.”

Me: “Since you paid with a card, I can refund it from here and the money will go straight back into your account.”

Customer: “You’d still better come out here and pick up this pizza, then.”

Me: “If you don’t like it, you can just throw it away; we don’t need it back.”

Customer: “H*** no. You come and pick up this crap you tried to give me; I’m not throwing away your garbage for you.”

(Yes, I went back to retrieve the pizza and yes, it was thrown at me.)

(My phone rings.)

Delivery Guy: “Hi. I can’t find your flat.”

Me: “It’s the red metal door. It’s the only one on the street. I’ll come down and meet you halfway.”

Delivery Guy: “But how do I get in?”

Me: “There’s a code in my delivery notes — [code] — along with a description of the door.”

(Silence.)

Me: “Hello?”

Delivery Guy: “Hi. When are you coming down? I don’t think I can get in. The door is locked.”

Me: “Okay. I guess since I was meeting you halfway, anyway…”

(When I got down, I opened my red door and saw the delivery guy stood on the other side of the street trying to get through a wooden fence that wasn’t red, nor had any indication that it could be opened. The gate wasn’t even on my street. I had to take him by the hand to my door. He was still confused and wouldn’t give me my parcel, even after he rung my phone again and had a conversation with me ON THE PHONE while I stood right in front of him. He left and my parcel was delivered the next day by a guy who was much more together.)