I take a call at our pizza place.

Customer: “My pizza is fifteen minutes late! I was told you might be taking longer, but this is ridiculous!”

Me: “Yes, sir, I am sorry. We are receiving a lot of orders tonight, and we’re short-staffed, so we’re trying our best with the backlog.”

The truth is that we’ve been short-staffed for a year, but it’s been difficult to retain staff and now the cracks are showing.

Customer: “Then hire more people! That’s not my problem! Get my pizza to me in five minutes or I’m demanding a refund!”

I hand the phone over to my manager, who apologizes and tries to explain the situation. As he’s listening to the customer rant and rave, something inside him snaps, and he decides he has had enough. This is the conversation as relayed to us:

Customer: “Ugh, it’s because no one wants to work anymore!”

Manager: “No, sir. At the moment, I am the longest-serving manager here, and I have been here for fifteen months. I am singlehandedly holding the store together, but I am overworked and tired of losing employees because Corporate won’t allow me to give out raises. Any raises.”

Customer: “Well, you’re fine! I was talking about—”

Manager: “My assistant manager is part-time because he found a better job and the only reason he’s sticking around at all is to help me out as some kind of favor, which I hate asking of him, but I have no other options. And I know he’s leaving soon. The other two assistant managers have said that when he leaves, they leave, as they know what a s***-storm is going to be coming our way when that happens, and we can’t retain staff because of s***ty wages.”

Customer: “Look, I didn’t mean to—”

Manager: “And as far as our drivers go, we have one closer and one other who is possibly sticking around but who also will need to leave if their current schedule isn’t honored after the mass exodus, which it won’t be because, again, I can’t hire anyone, and who expects them to prioritize this job over college?”

Customer: “I’m sorry, I was just ven—”

Manager: “You were just venting. Yes, well, so am I! The next time you walk into a place or call a place and say, ‘No one wants to work anymore,’ what you should be saying is, ‘No one wants to be a slave for minimum wage, but that’s all that Corporate is allowing us to offer, and those that are left are trying to keep going with fewer and fewer people.’ Unless you’d like to come and do twelve-hour shifts for $7.25 per hour?”

Customer: “I’ll… be sure to tip my driver when he gets here.”

Manager: “Thank you” *Click*

The mass exodus happened two weeks later. We all walked out, apart from one assistant manager who was desperately retained by Corporate with a raise, but he told us in our old chat group that, a month later, they still can’t reopen the store because they won’t budge on minimum wage.

Related:
The Great Resignation, Part 3
The Great Resignation, Part 2
The Great Resignation

The way my mum and dad got together was like something out of a cheesy romance movie. Mum was eighteen and Dad was nineteen when they met at a house for a party. At the time, my mum had a boyfriend, but after talking to her, my dad could not get her out of his head. He then spent a month searching for her, only knowing her first name. He found her boyfriend, who was now her ex, but he told my dad that he had no idea who he was talking about.

At the beginning of the next month, my dad was out on a date at a pizza parlor… where he saw my mum on a date, as well. They all decided to sit together. Halfway through, my mum’s date ditched her, so my dad decided to take both girls home. He dropped off his date first so he could talk to my mum for a little longer.

They came to a stoplight, and the radio was playing a song called “Little Arrows”, which is about Cupid shooting arrows at random people so they’ll fall in love. My dad leaned over the steering wheel and looked up at the sky.

Mum: “Um… what are you doing?”

Dad: “Lookin’ for arrows.”

Mum tells me that she knew right then that this was the man she would marry. Two weeks later, Dad proposed. They were together for almost thirty years before Dad passed away.

I’m walking into my friendly neighbourhood pizza place to get a takeaway pizza for dinner. The staff know me well and know what I usually get. 

Me: “Hi! The usual, please, to go.”

Employee: “Hi, [My Name]! Actually, we have a to-go order ready; the customer called and cancelled it twenty minutes ago after we’d already made it. It’s your usual order, except it’s got onions, and we’ve kept it warm.”

My usual order is this exact pizza, but I always specify that I want it without the onions because they give me an upset stomach. Still, I could always pick them off, and it might save me a little money.

Me: “I guess. What kind of discount are we looking at?”

Employee: “That’ll still be [full price], but on the plus side, you don’t have to wait for it!”

Me: “[Full price] for a pizza that’s been kept warm for over twenty minutes, with a topping I try to avoid? Nah, I think I’ll just wait for a freshly made [usual order], instead.”

Employee: “That’s fair. The boss said we had to try and sell it, and now I’ve tried. Anyway, [usual order] to go — that’ll be [full price], and it’ll be ready in ten to fifteen minutes! Help yourself to a cup of coffee while you wait!”

The owner of that place is an ***, but I love the employees!

I take a call for a delivery order. I give him his total.

Caller: “Why is it so much?”

Me: “Well, it’s [amount #1] for this pizza, [amount #2] for the delivery charge, and then [amount #3] in sales tax.”

Caller: “Sales tax? I’ve never heard of that!”

Me: “Sir, all goods and services are taxed, except in some states where there is no state sales tax, but unfortunately for us, we’re not in one of them.”

Caller: “Sales tax?! You’re just making that up!”

He hangs up. A moment later, the same number calls back.

Caller’s Wife: “I’m sorry for my husband; he’s an idiot. We’ll take those pizzas, please, with a side of sales tax.”

A customer comes in to collect an order they made online, but I am having trouble finding it. They are getting frustrated with me.

Customer: “I knew I should have gone to Domino’s, instead!”

Me: “Sir, this is Domino’s.”

Customer: “Oh, so you’re not Pizza Hut?”

I point to the massive Domino’s poster behind me.

Customer: “Oh… well… can you make my pizza for me anyway?”

Me: “I think we can try to match it, but if it’s a customized pizza, it might cost more than what you ordered at Pizza Hut.”

Customer: “Oh… you’d still charge me?”

Me: “Well, yes, sir. We need to charge for the pizzas we sell.”

Customer: “But I already paid Pizza Hut. Can’t you just… get it from them?”

Me: “That’s not how it works, sir.”

Customer: “I don’t understand.”

Me: “I’m not surprised, sir.”