A Vertical Slice Of Bad Customers

, , , , | Right | June 14, 2018

(I’m delivering a pizza. At the time, the standard tip is $1 to $3. Also, for safety reasons, we only carry about $20 in small bills for change.)

Me: *starting my standard spiel as the door opens* “Good evening. Your order comes to…”

(Instead of an adult, a little boy of about three has answered. He’s got a bunch of money in one of his fists.)

Mother: *from far side of apartment* “Give him the money, sweetie.”

(The boy holds up his fist with the money, and I take it from him. With bills and coins, the amount he’s given me is the exact total; no tip is included.)

Me: *not wanting to give a hot pizza to a little child* “Ma’am, do you want to come get this?”

Mother: “No, give it to [Boy]. He can handle it.”

(I hand the pizza to the boy as carefully as I can. He turns away, holding the pizza vertically, and the door closes. I resign myself to getting no tip; it happens.)

Mother: *opening door as I’m walking away* “Oh, wait! Do you have change for a $20?”

Me: *thinking she’s going to tip me from breaking her $20* “Sure, ma’am. Here’s 5, 10, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, and 20.”

Mother: *recounts change* “Okay, thanks! Bye!” *closes door without tipping*

(I then had to continue to my next delivery without any change, and without a tip.)

Not The Hardest Pickup Line

, , , | Right | June 9, 2018

(Like most pizzerias, we take orders over the phone.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Pizzeria]; pickup or delivery?”

Customer: “Hi, is it possible that I can order something to be ready when I get there?”

Me: “So… a pickup?”

Have Some Mini Problems Here

, , , , , | Working | May 31, 2018

(My friends and I are at a pizza restaurant. We’re all students, so we don’t have loads of money to spare.)

Friend: “Could I get the chicken pizza vita, please?”

(They are half-size pizzas which come with a side salad.)

Waiter: “That won’t be enough to fill you up! Have a look at the classic pizzas.”

(He points at the more expensive classic pizzas.)

Friend: “Okay, I’ll have the classic margherita, then, please.”

(The waiter walks away.)

Friend: “Wow, he managed to upsell me a less expensive pizza.”

(Our meal is good, and we decide to look at the dessert menu. We see they do sets of three “mini” desserts, which seems like a good option for the three of us.)

Waiter: “They’re very mini, too small to share. You need to look at these full-size desserts!”

Me: “We’d like the mini desserts, please.”

Waiter: “You need three sets, though. They’re too small to just have one each!”

Me: “Okay, never mind. We’ll just get the bill, then, please.”

Things Are About To Get More Than Heated

, , , , , | Working | May 28, 2018

(I work at a huge chain pizza place, and all the stores are supposed to get an upgrade within the next few years. I have just stepped down from the assistant manager position a couple weeks ago. It is the middle of summer on a Friday.)

Manager: “[My Name], I need you to work ovens tonight.”

Me: “As long as I can get a break every hour, I should be okay.”

(I’m always put on ovens as I’m typically always freezing, I’m fastest on it, and I don’t complain about the heat.)

Manager: “Why do you need a break every hour? When it’s not busy you can grab a drink, but we don’t do breaks here.”

Me: “It’s well over 100 degrees in here, and I’m not risking heat stroke during the rush.”

Manager: “It’s only a projected three-hour rush. Get over it.”

(I glare at him as I go to the oven. An hour later I turn to my manager again.)

Me: “Can someone grab the oven? My shirt is soaked with sweat and I would prefer going and grabbing a drink in the walk-in.”

Manager: “It’s too busy. You can’t see the bottom of the screen, so no.”

Me: “Fine. Since the oven is empty and you’re only ten pizzas down, I’m going to the walk in.”

(I go and drink a full bottle of water before returning to the oven.)

Manager: “I’m writing your a** up for that.”

Me: “For preventing heat stroke? F*** you.”

Manager: “For walking off. F*** you, too.”

(It’s a very relaxed environment; so swearing among the staff at each other isn’t uncommon, especially after six out of ten hours on shift. After about another hour and a half with no breaks, my sixteen-year-old coworker comes over. She’s not legally allowed to work ovens.)

Coworker: “Hey, hun. You okay? You’re not sweating anymore. I can grab the oven for you.” *to manager* “Hey, a**hat, let her off ovens.”

(Our manager ignores her comment.)

Me: “It’s okay, but no. I texted my dad about two minutes ago. He should be here soon to take me to the hospital.”

(At this point, the district manager walks in and sees me.)

District Manager: “You look like you need to sit down. You’re really pale. I’ll take over.”

Me: “I’m going to the hospital; I’ll bring a note. But I also won’t be here Sunday, either. Adios.”

(I hand my district manager my apron and clock out.)

Manager: *yelling to me as I walked out* “You better be here Sunday!”

(I am diagnosed with a mild case of heat stroke. I am given fluids, and while I am in the emergency unit my internal temperature hits over 104. Against medical wishes, I go home that night. Fast forward to Sunday. I go into work to hand in my note saying I was off work for a week. My manager isn’t there, so I hang around talking to my coworkers. My district manager walks in with my manager in tow.)

Me: “Hey, here’s my note. I had a mild case of heat stroke.”

Manager: “What do I want this for? You already got written up. Where’s your uniform? You should’ve been on an hour ago.”

Me: “I was waiting—”

Manager: “No excuse. I said get to work.”

District Manager: “I’m pretty certain she can’t work—”

Manager: “F*** if I care. She got us shut down Friday. She should be making up for it.”

Me: “No, you should’ve fixed the air conditioning unit instead of forcing us to work in 100-degree temperatures.”

Coworker: “Actually, it hit 124 before we closed the doors.”

Me: “…”

District Manager: “…”

Manager: “Not my problem. Get your a** to work before I write you up again.”

Me: *shrug* “I guess write me up. That’s two. Then I no-call-no-show tomorrow, so that’s three. Then, I can go to the owner and let him know what happened.”

Manager: “So? Not like he cares. So, that’s a write up?”

Me: “Yeah. Go ahead and write up tomorrow’s write up and my paperwork saying I’m fired so I can take it all to the owner.”

Manager: “North Carolina has the right to hire and fire.”

Me: “Yeah? So do it. I got a special trick up my sleeve.”

District Manager: “Uh-oh… Please don’t say it.”

Me: “Fire me.”

Manager: “Wish granted.”

(I followed up with the owner after receiving and not signing the papers. Needless to say, I told him everything, including the time I caught him snorting white powder in front of his seven-year-old kid. [Manager] still works there, but he doesn’t have his kid anymore and is drug-tested weekly, as they didn’t have a replacement.)

This Customer Is A Fresh Change

, , , | | Right | May 17, 2018

(I’m waiting in line at a pizza place that is known for having certain pizzas ready. If you want anything other than these certain pizzas, the wait can get quite long. I ordered about fifteen minutes ago and I’m just waiting on my food when I hear this exchange.)

Customer: “Why the f*** is my pizza taking so long?!”

Cashier: “Sir, you ordered about five minutes ago, and that pizza takes about ten minutes to cook.”

Customer: “No, you guys advertise the pizzas being ready! I expect my pizza to be ready.”

Cashier: “I’m sorry. If you’d like, I can refund you.”

Customer: “No, I don’t want a refund! I just want my f****** pizza, you f****** moron.”

(I get my pizza. I grab a $10 bill out of my purse and drop it in the tip jar and loudly say:)

Me: “Thanks for the pizza. It was definitely worth the wait, because you are always so polite, and it is so tasty. I’d rather get it made fresh, anyway.”

(The customer stood flabbergasted. The next time I went in, about two weeks later, they gave me a free drink to go with my pizza and the cashier thanked me.)

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