I used to be a shift leader at a corporate pizza place. We had this customer who would constantly complain every time he ordered. He complained that we made his pizzas on the wrong crust or with the wrong toppings, that we gave him the wrong wings with the wrong sauce on them, and/or that we didn’t include his breadsticks. This went on for a long time until we caught on to what he was doing. My boss told him no more credits, no more refunds.

After that, we didn’t hear from him for months until one day, when he ordered carryout. The next day, he called to complain. That day, I was the manager on duty, and my server was the sweetest, most bubbly person you can imagine. Our customers LOVED her. We also had a visit from a higher-up, which comes into the story later.

The phone rang, and [Server] answered with a perfect customer service smile.

Server: “Thank you for calling [Pizza Place]. This is [Server]. Will this be for delivery or carryout?”

She listened for a moment, and the smile dropped from her face. 

Server: “I’m so sorry to hear that. Let me hand you to my manager. Please hold.”

She very quickly filled me in, rattled off exactly what the customer had ordered, and told me that she had made his wings herself, had cut the pizza, and had also been the one to give him his order, so there was no way it was wrong. I believed her; she was a good employee and she didn’t make mistakes. I also had my suspicions that it was that customer, but I had to confirm it.

Me: “Thank you for holding. This is [My Name]; I’m the manager on duty. [Server] told me there was a problem with your order from last night? Can you tell me what happened, please?”

Customer: *With an attitude* “Yeah, I ordered [wings], but I got [other wings] instead, and it was the wrong sauce. The pizza was supposed to be a [premium crust] but it was a [cheaper crust], and it was supposed to come with three toppings, but it only came with one of them!”

I recognized his voice, but decided to make absolutely sure of it. 

Me: “Thank you for bringing this to our attention. That’s definitely not what we strive for here at [Pizza Place]. Let me see what I can do. Can I get your phone number, please?”

He rattled it off, and I recognized it at this point. 

Me: “Okay, so here’s the thing. I know who you are. And I know that our store manager told you the last time you complained that you wouldn’t get any more credits or refunds from us, so no, I’m not going to remake your food, I’m not giving you a credit, and I’m not refunding you.”

Customer: “Oh, you know who I am? I bet you’d know if I came up there and spat in your face!”

Me: “Sir, I wouldn’t recommend that, because that’s assault. And you should also know that this call is being recorded. Tonight, you are not getting anything from us. You can call in the morning and talk to my manager, but I guarantee you she’ll tell you the same thing I did. Pretty sure you’re done at this [Pizza Place], the same as you’re done at the [Pizza Place] at [Location]. I told you: I know who you are. Have a great night!”

And I hung up the phone. Just then, I remembered that the higher-up was there. And he was staring at me with his mouth wide open. 

I filled him in on this customer, with the server and several others backing me up, not that I needed them; this higher-up knew me quite well as I’d been with the company for several years at this point and had gotten several recognitions for extraordinary customer service, including from the CEO’s wife, so I knew I was good.

And I was. He had no problem with what I’d done because that wasn’t a customer. 

As far as I know, that “customer” has only attempted to order once since I left for greener pastures, and he was told absolutely not by the very same store manager. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

I work as a cashier and shift manager at a sit-down pizza place known for its buffet. The lunch buffet ends at 2:00 pm, and the dinner buffet starts at 5:00 pm. We’re still open to customers between two and five; they just have to order from the menu. We rarely get a huge amount of business during this time, and often it’s people needing to speak to our manager.

A customer walks in at 3:00 pm. Seeing as I don’t know if she is here to eat or speak to the manager, I politely ask:

Me: “How may I help you?”

She responds by looking at me and speaking to me as if I have a mental condition.

Customer: “I would like to eat. This is a restaurant, right?”

I show her to her table, she orders and eats, and at the end of the meal, I collect her bill. I notice she is exactly $1.00 short. I bring the bill back.

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, I know my handwriting is terrible, but the bill is $31.”

She then looks at me in disgust and hands me the tip that she was going to leave me — $1.00 — and starts to leave, muttering:

Customer: “You would have gotten it anyway.”

Me: “Ma’am, were you about to pay for part of your bill with my tip?”

Customer: “It’s more than you deserve!” *Stomps out* 

Related:
Tipped To Be An A**hole

It has long been a complaint of service workers everywhere. A bad job plus no sick pay equals coming to work sick! That gets the spotlight often enough that some semblance of awareness circulates somewhere. What doesn’t get the spotlight so much are the injuries employees suffer from and still have to work through.

We visited family in Southern California for the holidays and had a lovely time. However, when we decided to visit the mall to explore, shop, and have dinner, we encountered a very injured employee that broke my heart.

At [Pizza Cookhouse], we encountered a young lady who was bustling about to the best of her abilities but walking with a very pronounced limp. Our request for a booth was granted, as Dad explained that Mom needed one due to pain from health issues related to a car accident.

The young lady was soon in quite a conversation with Mom, and it came out that the Friday before our visit, the young lady had been in a car accident, too. The recent rains had flooded the street, and her attempt to turn a corner had resulted in a terrible accident with another car that had hydroplaned and smashed into her. Her car had been totaled, and she had been hospitalized with internal bleeding.

The fact that she was working meant that the day after she had been released from the hospital, she was back on the floor, injuries and all. She was still on antibiotics to prevent an infection from her injuries (and, no doubt, a pain pill or two).

Mom, ever the empath, gave her specific advice on ways to manage her pain.

Our server did her absolute best throughout the time we were there, and she even retrieved some bread from a nearby restaurant when the kitchen had run out. Her limp slowly became more pronounced, but she stayed friendly and positive sounding — a herculean effort if ever I saw one — the entire time we were there.

My aunt is very well-to-do and generally kind, but she has no concept of the problems endured by people who struggle to make ends meet.

She could not understand why our server had come to work while injured.

I told her that many restaurants don’t offer sick pay and that the server we had probably just couldn’t afford to take injury time off. Since her accident didn’t happen in the restaurant, the company was under no obligation to give her any sort of compensation or time off. I pointed out the names of several restaurants that were under fire for exposing their guests to sick employees due to lack of sick pay.

My aunt chided me for “thinking negatively.”

I bit my tongue until it bled in an effort to not make a scene.

She did leave a generous tip before wandering out, but I was left with the feeling that no lessons had been learned. I wished there was something more I could have done for the poor server.

I work at a take-and-bake pizza shop.

Customer: “I’m here to pick up [pizza]; my name is [Customer].”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t have a pizza under that name.”

Customer: *Adamantly* “I placed my order online! I’m here to pick it up!”

Me: “Ma’am, we don’t do online orders here.”

Customer: “Yes, you do! I’ve done it many times before, so where is my pizza?!”

Me: “Do you have a receipt?”

Customer: “Yes!”

She shows it to me.

Me: “Ma’am, this isn’t from our store. This is from [Other Pizza Chain].”

Customer: “Well… can you give me a [pizza] anyway?”

Me: “No, ma’am.”

She left.

One of the things we do as delivery people is pick up the phone to take orders. The phone rings:

Me: “Hello, this is [Pizza Store], [My Name] speaking. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Hello, [My Name]. I ordered two pizzas for my kids and myself today, and I have a complaint.”

Me: “Oh? I’m sorry to hear that. What’s the problem?”

Customer: “I got our pizzas, and one of them was perfect like always, but the other one has too many jalapeños on them! There are like seven on every slice! My kids don’t want to eat it now.”

Why would you order an explicitly spicy pizza (it’s stated very clearly on the website) if you know your kids don’t eat spicy things?

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s very busy at the moment so it might have happened by accident.”

Customer: “I’m very disappointed. Is there nothing you can do, like send a new pizza or something? Because my kids don’t want to eat the other one now, either.”

Me: “I can ask; give me a second.”

I turn to the shift lead, who tells me we can’t send her a new pizza just because she thinks it’s too spicy.

Me: “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do. I’ll pass it on to the kitchen so they can keep an eye out for it in the future so things like this can be prevented.”

Customer: “I’m just very disappointed. Are you sure there’s nothing you can do?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I don’t think so.”

Customer: “That’s disappointing.”

She says this a lot.

Customer: “Well, thanks, I guess. I wish you could’ve done something.”

Me: “Like I said, I’m sorry. Have a good day!”

I must say this was the most ridiculous complaint I’ve had to deal with next to the person who got mad that she got the pizza that she ordered.

Related:
Jalapeño-No-No