I used to work in a little privately-owned pizza place. We ran this offer where you would purchase a “Groupon” and get $30.00 worth of food for the $15.00 you bought the Groupon for.

I’m working one night, and it’s getting pretty close to closing — an hour before we’re supposed to be done cleaning. (They had this weird policy that “closing” meant not when you stopped serving to customers but rather when everyone had to get the f*** out.)

I get this call. An African American woman orders something like eleven pizzas.

Me: “That’ll be forty-five minutes and will be $115.”

I start making the pizzas. She walks in just as the last pizza is coming out of the oven, and I have my employees start stacking them for her to take out to the car. I then ring up the order.

Customer: “I have a Groupon.”

She passes me three. It’s important to note that Groupons carry very clear labels that say, “Limit One (1) per customer, per order”.

Me: “Ma’am, I can’t accept all three.”

Customer: “Yes, you can. Split it into three orders if you have to.”

Me: “Because the order was taken as one order, I can’t change it in the system, and corporate doesn’t allow us to do it anyway.”

She stared daggers at me and called her friend, calling me a (and I quote) “dumba** white boy”. She then refused to take the pizzas, leaving empty-handed, and leaving us wondering if we could each take a couple of free pizzas home at the end of the night.

After a few military deployments, I am back to civilian life after some (mostly recovered) injuries, and a slight but manageable case of PTSD. I am not one to sit idle, and I enjoy driving, so I am doing pizza delivery and ride-sharing while I look for a new job.

It is a weekend in the daytime, and I get a delivery order for twelve pizzas! I guess it’s for a nice big summer party or something. I load them into my car and get to the address. I carry all twelve boxes to the front door and ring the bell. I hear a little voice from inside.

Voice: “Can you bring the pizzas around the back? We’re all outside!”

Me: “You got it!”

I carefully make my way to the side of the house, where the side door to the back garden is open. I walk through and immediately get a blast of water to the face. 

I’ve walked into a firing squad of children holding water guns. There must be at least fifteen of them, all aged between five and ten I would guess, and within seconds I am absolutely soaked.

Me: “Please! Stop! This is my uniform and I need it for my shift!”

The kids are wailing maniacally and aren’t stopping. In an attempt to save myself I block them with the pizzas. Finally, an adult shows up and the children stop for a moment. Ominously they all run over to a bucket and start refilling their weapons.

Adult: “About time, we ordered those over an hour ago. You can put them on the table.”

Me: “Sir! Your children just soaked me completely!”

Adult: “Oh, no! Did they get the pizzas?”

Me: “Sir, I protected the pizzas with my body, which is now soaked! I need to wear this uniform for the rest of my shift and I need to now drive back and get my car wet, dry my clothes, delaying any more runs and tips I can get tonight.”

Adult: “Oh my god! So sensitive! They’re just kids, god! Here, take this for your troubles.”

On top of the cash for the order, he hands me a single five-dollar bill, on an order of twelve pizzas and after the liquid firing squad.

Me: “Are you serious?”

Adult: “You’re lucky you even got a tip! You took so long!”

Me: “And you were lucky I saved the pizzas. Not anymore!”

I throw all the money at him, pick up the pizzas, and start walking out.

Adult: “Hey! What are you doing?!”

Me: “Going home to dry my clothes, and throw my own pizza party. I quit, and it’s because of customers like you!”

Adult: “Hey! Get back here! I need those pizzas! I need to feed all these kids!”

Me: “Not my problem.”

I storm out fuming, with all the pizzas. I follow through on my threat and go home. I get an angry call from my boss, but after I explain what happened and my PTSD, he calms down (he had also served). He says he will have to still charge me for the pizzas, but will give me a staff discount, and he asks if I will be back tomorrow. 

I tell him thanks, but that wasn’t happening. I was back the next day with my (dry) uniform, the money for the pizza, and the happy news that the house I delivered to yesterday had been blacklisted.

My husband and I order pizza for delivery using a deal code, plus some extra sides. When the delivery guy shows up, he gives me everything except the drink I ordered.

Me: “What about the drink?”

Driver: “Drink? What did you order?”

Me: “A 1.25-litre Coke.”

Driver: *Looks at the receipt* “There’s no drink on here.”

Me: “In the deal?”

The driver rolls his eyes, starts getting grumpy, and admits there is a drink on my order. He checks his car but confirms he forgot it. 

Driver: “I’ll have to go back and get it for you.”

He lingers for a moment like he’s hoping I’ll tell him not to worry about it, but I just nod and thank him.

Husband: “He’s not coming back. Hear how he was talking? Let’s keep an eye on the time so we can call the shop if he doesn’t show again.”

But to my husband’s surprise, there is a knock at the door twenty minutes later, and the grumpy driver slams a bottle of soda into my husband’s hands and storms off.

My husband begins to say the driver must not be too bad after all, but then he opens the Coke and it begins to spray foam all over the bench, obviously shaken up just before delivery.

Thankfully, we opened it in the kitchen, so it is quick to move to the sink, and the benches and floors are easy to clean.

Husband: “I wish he hadn’t come back.”

I work as a manager at a pizza place in a less-than-wealthy area. One night, about ten minutes before we close, a middle-aged woman comes into the store. At this time of night, all of our doors are supposed to be locked, the kitchen is shut down, the registers are off, and all that’s left is counting the money and cleaning up.

Apparently, someone forgot to lock a door, and this woman just took the initiative to come in. After she rings that little bell on the counter — yes, we have one of those for some reason — about a hundred times, I come out of the back office to handle the situation.

Me: “Hi there. I’m sorry, but we’re closed—”

Customer: “Then why are your lights on and your door unlocked?”

Me: “Well, it looks like one of my employees forgot to lock a door. I apologize for the confusion.”

Customer: “That’s stupid. Y’all’s door is open, so y’all gotta serve me.”

She walks over to the soda refrigerator and grabs a two-liter bottle of Sprite.

Customer: “This is all that I want. How much?”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we’re closed. I’d love to sell you that, but our registers are already off for the night, and I therefore can’t process your order or take your money.”

Customer: “So, I can just have this, then?”

Me: “No, you can’t just have it.”

Customer: “Y’all’s is just f****** stupid. Why y’all leave the f****** door open if y’all ain’t gonna sell me s***? F*** y’all.” 

Me: “Again, I apologize for the confusion.”

Customer: “F*** you, stupid f****** idiot.”

This is where my night really went downhill. Instead of accepting that we were closed and I couldn’t take her money, putting back the soda, and leaving calmly, she decided the right course of action was to throw the soda at me, hitting the wall behind me. The soda exploded everywhere, and she left.

End result: we lost money on the soda, and I lost time dealing with the customer and cleaning up her mess. Some people, man.

I am waiting for my pickup order on a busy Friday night, and my name gets called.

Employee: “David! Pepperoni for David!”

Before I can even take a single step, another waiting customer grabs my box, opens it, and grabs one of the pepperoni slices with his fingers.

Customer: “I didn’t order pepperoni!”

Employee: “What did you order, sir?”

Customer: “The garden party!”

Me: “Tell me you didn’t just stick your fingers in my pizza.”

The employee realizes what has just happened, sighs, and expedites another pepperoni. The next pizza comes out.

Employee: “Meat supreme for George!”

The same customer lunges forward, but the employee is quick on the draw this time and pulls the pizza back.

Employee: “Is your name even George?”

Customer: “No, why would it be?”