Pie-Dentity Crisis
I work in the kitchen of a small family-run pizza place. One night, we’re short-staffed, so I’m helping out at the front counter. A young guy walks in and says he’s here to collect their usual. I check the orders, but we have multiple similar tickets.
Me: “What’s your address?”
Customer: “I don’t know.”
Me: “Okay… what’s the phone number on the order?”
Customer: “I don’t know.”
Me: “Can you get someone to confirm the order?”
Customer: “No.”
At this point, I have a teenager standing in front of me claiming a pizza belongs to him, but he can’t tell me his address, his phone number, or the name on the order. He just keeps insisting it’s “his regular.”
Me: “I need some way to verify the order.”
Customer: “I’m a regular here!”
Me: “That’s great, but I’ve never personally served you before.”
Customer: “Just give me my pizza.”
Me: “I can’t hand out food to anyone who walks in and claims it’s theirs.”
The customer becomes increasingly irritated.
Customer: “I don’t know my address. I don’t know my phone number. I don’t have a phone. Just give me my order.”
I honestly don’t know how I’m supposed to verify anything with that information.
Me: “You’ll need to get someone to confirm the order.”
Customer: “I just want my pizza!”
What I hear is: “Trust me, bro.”
After several minutes of going in circles, I asked him to leave until he could verify the order. Instead, he plants himself in the lobby and refuses to go.
Customer: “Do you know who I am?”
And there it is.
Apparently, the answer was yes; everyone else did. The owner came out, immediately recognized him, and thankfully took over.
Afterward, I learned this customer had been coming in for years and was genuinely there for his family’s order. But I still maintain that if you’re old enough to demand special treatment, you’re old enough to know your own address, for god’s sake.
Or, failing all of those, maybe don’t act offended when the employee doesn’t recognize you from a description that amounts to, “Trust me, I’m the pizza guy.”