Sign With Smoke Signals

, , , , , | Working | September 19, 2019

I’m the idiot in this one. A last-minute order comes in for delivery and I am the one who takes it to the customer. By the time the order is ready to go, it is past our weekend closing time of 1:00 am. I have been at work since 5:00 pm and am very tired and eager to get back so I can finish my duties and go home. It is also important to note that I have severe anxiety and sometimes use a CBD-filled vape to help calm me on worse days.

The transaction with the customer is uneventful until it comes time for them to sign their credit card receipt. I hand them the receipt, then reach into my pocket and hand them what I think is a pen to sign with. It isn’t until the “pen” is in the customer’s hand that I realize I’ve accidentally given them my vape!

Cue awkward apologies and silence for the rest of the transaction. Luckily, my manager is super chill and laughed at the whole thing when I told him about it, but to this day I have not lived it down.

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Benjamin, Cousin To Ruprecht  

, , , , , | Right | September 8, 2019

(I work at a family-owned pizza parlor. I receive a call for delivery, and I swear the caller is housing an angry demon, based on the crashing noises in the background.)

Me: “This is [Restaurant]. How may I help you?”

Caller: “Um, yeah, can I order a pizza I don’t want?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Caller: “Like, I don’t want it now…”

Me: “Oh, you want to order ahead?”

Caller: “Yeah!”

Me: “Okay, we can do that.”

Caller: “I need it ready by seven… o’clock… pm.”

Me: “Sounds good. What did you want to order?”

Caller: “Oh, uh, a small cheese pizza.”

Me: “Okay! We’ll have it ready for you!”

(There’s a huge crash from his end.) 

Caller: “Good Lord! I need to make that a large, please!”

Me: “Yes, sir… Um, can I have a name for that order, please?”

Caller: “Ben.” *another huge crash* “Fine! Benjamin if you want me to be formal.”

Me: “Thank you, sir. Your pizza will be ready at seven.”

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Can’t See The Wood For The Cheese

, , , , | Right | September 7, 2019

(I work at a family-owned pizza parlor. An older lady orders a supreme with extra-extra cheese. This is about thirty minutes after she left with her pizza.)

Customer: “You gave me the wrong pizza!”

Me: “I’m sorry about that, ma’am. What did you order and what did we give you?”

Customer: “I ordered a supreme and you gave me a f****** cheese pizza!”

Me: “Ma’am, were you the order with extra cheese?”

Customer: “Yes!”

Me: “Did you look under the cheese?”

Customer: “What? Why would I… Oh, sorry about that.”

Me: “That’s quite all right, ma’am. Have a nice day.”

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We Are All But Saplings, At The Mercy Of Bad GPS

, , , , | Right | September 4, 2019

(I deliver pizzas, and the system we use has a map feature that shows where a delivery is supposed to go and what the best route would be to get there. It also has a feature that suggests locations if an address is entered incorrectly. Late one night, a customer phones in and has a very soft, high-pitched voice that is very difficult to understand. My coworker tries her best to put in what she thinks she hears, but the system doesn’t recognize the address. As it’s my delivery, I call the customer back to try to get her address fixed.)

Me: “Hi, this is [Pizza Place]. Our system isn’t recognizing your address, so I’m calling to see if we can fix that.”

Customer: “Okay.” *to someone in the background* “What’s our address?”

(I hear an unintelligible background voice.)

Customer: “It’s 1234 [mumble] Drive.”

Me: *pause* “Could you spell that out for me?”

Customer: “I think it’s S-A-T-O-I-N-G.”

Me: *pause* “Okay… let me read that back. That’s S as in ‘sierra,’ A as in ‘apple,’ T as in ‘tango,’ O as in ‘octagon,’ I as in ‘igloo,’ N as in ‘November, G as in ‘grape.’”

Customer: “Yeah, that’s right.”

Me: *now thinking this might be a prank* “Okay… We’ll get that out as soon as we can.”

(I typed in the address she gave, and the first address the system suggested was 1234 Sapling Drive. Thankfully, that was the correct address, but I had to really bite my tongue when I arrived. Someone CLEARLY wasn’t paying attention.)

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Never Get Between Me And My Pizza

, , , , , | Working | September 4, 2019

(I am eighteen. My family moved to Ottawa when I was ten, and our home only has one pizza place close enough to walk to. This means we have been ordering from this place two or three times a week for about eight years, and the whole time we have always ordered the exact same thing. It is a small, family-run business. It has gotten to the point where they start to recognise our voices on the phone and we both stay up to date on each other’s families. I always go pick the food up. Often it was the same two people working at the cash register, but this time, it is someone new. I recognise him from the walk-in kitchen, but have never talked to him.)

Me: “Hey, I’m here to pick up our regular.”

Cashier: “What was your order?”

Me: “One extra-large, three-topping walk-in special with bacon, sausage, and pepperoni. Two Pepsi, and a small poutine.”

Cashier: “What is your address?”

(I’m confused. I have never been asked my address before, and I do not know it because I have never been asked before.)

Me: “Um, I don’t know my address.”

Cashier: “Well, you will need to get an adult to confirm your order.”

Me: “I am a regular here; I always get the same order. But I don’t know my address, nor do I have a phone. Can I just get my order?”

Cashier: “We can just call home. What’s your phone number?”

Me: “I don’t know my phone number. Please, can you just give me my order?”

(We are both becoming frustrated as neither of us will budge.)

Cashier: “You need an adult to confirm your order, or I can’t give you your order. Go home and confirm your order.”

Me: “Sir, I just want my pizza.”

Cashier: “Leave.”

(He points towards the door, and by this point, he is yelling at me. I am shocked; I have never had a bad experience here before.)

Me: “Excuse me?”

Cashier: “I said leave. Get out of here! Your business is not welcome here.”

Me: “Do you know who I am?”

Cashier: “I don’t care who you are. Get out of here right now!”

(Now I am also angry, but I know he has no right to kick me out. Due to me having authority problems, I refuse to leave.)

Me: “I would like to talk to your manager.”

Cashier: *about to speak, but I cut him off*

Me: “I would like to speak to your manager and/or the owner of this place.”

(The cashier heads to the back, and brings the owner. I instantly recognise him, and he recognises me. Due to it being a family-run business, he has been the cashier before for me.)

Boss: “Is there a problem? What’s going on here?”

Me: “Your employee here is trying to kick me out of here because of a misunderstanding. He would rather deny the business of a regular than do his job and give me my pizza.”

(The boss took the cashier to the back, and a few minutes later, he returned and served as my cashier. After the boss got me my pizza, I went home, not tipping, despite the fact I very often do. Next week, when I was back again, I saw one of my normal cashiers. I asked him what had happened to the other guy, and he said that he was on leave. I didn’t see that cashier again until about six months later, and he was back to working in the kitchen. I have never seen that man working as the cashier despite it being about a year since the incident. That was the only time I ever had to use the “I wish to speak to your manager” line.)

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