I was opening the store one day. About twenty minutes before we opened, the phone rang. It was a customer who wanted to order pizza.

Me: “We open at eleven.”

Caller: *Grumbling* “Well, why are you answering the phone, then?”

Me: “Because it could be my driver phoning to tell me that he was going to be late or out sick, or my supervisor with important information I need to know before we open, or…”

Caller: *Click*

I’m a manager at a new chain pizza place. Think Domino’s meets Chipotle; it’s the type of place where you go down the line and make your own pizza. It’s pretty good in theory, but pizzas cook at different rates depending on the number of toppings, and our ovens are calibrated to shoot out perfectly cooked pepperoni pizzas.

We have a lady come through building a pizza with double everything, and it’s in the middle of a rush, so there’s no room in the oven to push the pizza back. Around the eighth topping, I make the mistake of saying:

Me: “I can absolutely add that, but just to let you know, there’s a good chance the pizza won’t cook all the way through.”

Customer: “So, you’re telling me ‘no’? I’ve been here every day for weeks, and I’ve never been treated so rudely!”

Whatever… I add the toppings, throw it in the oven, and move on to the next customer.

Five minutes later, one of my employees tells me there’s a lady in the dining area requesting a manager. I sigh and walk over.

Customer: “No, not you. Go get your manager. You’ve said enough!”

Me: “I am the manager; how can I help you?”

Customer: “This is terrible service! The pizza isn’t even cooked!”

During her rant, I just smile and nod which, of course, angers her even more. She throws her drink at me, and some cops just trying to enjoy their meal escort her out of the building.

After this, she goes to Yelp.

The owner comes in and has a talk with me.

Owner: “If anything like that ever happens again, you can find a new job.”

Me: “Did you watch the security camera?”

Owner: “No.”

Me: “You should. The police got involved.”

Owner: “You’re in no position to be making demands.”

I finished my shift and never went back. I only finished my shift because we had a giant order (the local school was trying us out for catering with a hundred pizzas) in the morning when I was supposed to open.

Naturally, my phone was blowing up the next day. I called the store a bit after opening — knowing the owner would have to come in himself to open — to tell him I had taken his advice and found a new job.

Almost every Friday like clockwork, our pizza place gets a delivery order for 42 [Street]. I am new, so I am bringing pizza to this address for the first time. I knock on the door to 42, and it’s opened by a group of three wide-eyed kids. The children’s faces all light up when they see me, my uniform, and most importantly, the pizza box.

Children: *All in unison* “Mommy ordered pizza! Mommy ordered pizza! We’re having pizzaaaaa!“

Just as I think I am about to make these kid’s night, the mother appears. She looks very skinny, and I notice that the apartment looks a little… barren. I’ve seen this before when I was also young and had a single mother scraping by just to keep the kids well-fed and warm.

She looks at me, looks at her kids, and she looks like she is about to cry.

Mother: “Sorry, I think you’re looking for 42-B. This is 42-A. It’s the door just past this one.”

Me: “Oh, sorry. I didn’t see.”

Mother: “It’s okay. The doors aren’t very clear.”

The kids have put it together, and they realize the pizza is not for them. They don’t cry or have a tantrum, but I can tell their little hearts are broken.

Mother: *To her kids* “Remember your manners! Say goodbye to the nice man!”

They all manage a subdued “bye” as the mother closes the door, and I feel broken.

I successfully deliver the pizza to the correct recipient and head back to the pizza place. I instantly tell the manager about my encounter, and within minutes, I am out the door again for more deliveries.

Less than an hour later, I am standing in front of 42-A. The kids once again open the door and are surprised to see me, although they’re tempering their excitement this time after what happened before.

Me: “Hey, kids! Is your mommy here?”

Before they can answer, their mother has returned again. Her face is one of confusion when she sees me again.

Me: “Oh, hello again! After my mistake of knocking on the wrong door earlier, I wanted to make it up to you and bring you some pizzas on the house. One of these is a veggie supreme, and the other is a pepperoni as I didn’t know if you were vegetarian or not. You’re welcome to both if that’s not an issue.”

Mother: *Embarrassed* “I… I don’t have any money for a tip.”

Me: “That’s what ‘on the house’ means! My tip was seeing your kids behaving so politely earlier and wishing me an amazing goodbye! So… can I give you the pizza?”

The mother burst into tears as she happily accepted, and the kids almost exploded with excitement. I totally get it; I would have been elated to know we were getting pizza when I was a kid. They happily took both pizzas!

And they did so again the Friday after that when 42-B made their order again.

And again…

And sometimes when 42-B didn’t even order…

And for all the kid’s birthdays…

For two more years. 

That family kept my soul alive until I left for college!

I’m a pizza maker for a convenience store/gas station. I get an order online for a couple of pizzas. There’s a forty-minute wait time because it’s busy. I’m just starting on the order when the customer shows up thirty minutes early.

Cashier: “Sir, your pizza is not ready yet. It will be at least another fifteen minutes.”

Customer: “Why are you all so f****** slow? F*** this!”

He left as quickly as he’d come in.

I got a phone call from the customer’s wife telling me to cancel it because it was late. I explained that it was, in fact, not late, and I had gotten it done early, too. They refused to come and get it and canceled at the time when it was supposed to be ready.

I took the pizza home. It was delicious.

I get an angry call from an irate delivery customer.

Customer: “I didn’t say anything last time, but that’s twice now that you’ve completely gotten the order wrong. I want you to redo it.”

Me: “This was… the two deluxe with zucchini, right? They looked right coming out of the oven. Is something missing?”

Customer: “All of it is stuck on bread.”

Despite my years of experience, some of the stranger complaints still do shut my brain down for a few seconds while I catch up.

Me: “There’s… Do you mean a burger bun? You didn’t order any, so you shouldn’t have gotten any burgers…”

Customer: “No! All of the toppings, you stuck all of them into some kind of bread! I could barely get half the sauce back, and the mushrooms are all touching it, so I can’t eat them anymore.”

Me: “Huh? Wha?”

Customer: “Look. My husband really liked your submarines the other day. I don’t want to have to blacklist you. I haven’t eaten any of the pizza, so please, if you can just redo them, I’ll give these ones to your driver. Without the bread this time.”

Me: “Did you… you mean the dough?”

Customer: “Obviously not. It’s already been cooked. Are you new there?”

That, and the rest of that seven-minute-twenty-one-second call, will haunt me for a long time.