Unfiltered Story #91481

, , | Unfiltered | August 15, 2017

(I work at a pizza place as an expediter for take out. We have a little intercom that carries messages across the kitchen to tell the wing guys what we need. They are usually barked at all night, we just ask them if they want a drink and thank them when they bring orders to us.)

Me: *into the intercom to the wing guys* “Hey wings, how’s it coming? Need a drink?

Intercom: “We’ll have ten boxes of wings up there soon for you, we’re fine back here and have water, but does [my coworker on the eat in side] need anything?”

Me: “I’ll ask.” *passes the mic over to my Coworker*

Coworker: *takes the mic, recites the McDonalds Rap and puts the mic down, and goes back to what he was doing as if nothing happened*

Me: *into Intercom* “…I think he’s fine.”

Too Late For Them To Get It Free

, , , | Right | August 7, 2017

(I work for a pizza place in a city as a delivery driver. We have a 30 minute policy that if we’re 30 minutes late, the delivery is free. I have to take a delivery across the whole city. As I arrive in the neighborhood, it doesn’t appear nice, and neither does the lady at the house I’m delivering to.)

Customer: “Jesus f****** Christ, there you are! We’ve been waiting for a f****** hour now!”

Me: *takes out phone to check time* “Ma’am, it’s only been 27 minutes; you need to pay for the pizza. The total comes to—”

Customer: “Excuse me? B****, I’m not paying for no god-d*** pizza! You’re late; we get the food for free.”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, but I can’t give you the pizza until you pay me.”

Customer: “How much is the charge?”

Me: “$67.84.”

(She ordered a lot of large pizzas, expecting me to be late.)

Customer: “No. No f****** way I’m paying some dumb b**** for some overcharged pizzas.”

Me: *takes out phone* ” Look, it’s now only been 29 minutes, and I came here two minutes ago, ma’am, so please pay or you won’t get any pizza.”

Customer: *grabs my phone and throws it as hard on the ground as she possibly can and proceeds to stomp on it* “I don’t see no f****** time. All I see is your destroyed property on my porch! Now and give me my f****** pizzas!”

Me: “You will NEVER get these pizzas, you hear me? NEVER! Because all you do is act like a f****** jackass. This isn’t a zoo, is it? NO, IT’S A F****** HOUSE. And guess what? This whole conversation is being recorded!”

 (I had opened the Voice Memo app on my iPod while she destroyed my flip phone. I went back to the restaurant and talked with the manager. I played the conversation and he listened intently. A week after the incident, the horrid customer was arrested for stabbing a delivery driver who didn’t bring her a Coke.)

It’s Not The Onions That Make You Want To Cry

| CA, USA | Working | August 6, 2017

(I’m a manager at a family-owned pizza place, and the owners have just hired a new girl for the morning prep team. They assure me that she’s the nicest girl, that they think she’ll be a good fit because she had food service experience, and then leave me to show her around. After a quick tour of the tiny restaurant, which seats barely 15 people, we get started on prep work.)

Me: “All right, so this is the walk-in refrigerator. Every morning I come in, I go through everything in the walk-in and see what needs restocking. Then I put it on this list we have taped to the outside of the walk-in. You pick an item off the list, cross it off, and go prepare that food. We have to complete all these things before we open every morning.”

New Girl: “Okay.”

Me: “So it looks like we need some green onions chopped. Let’s have you do that. Get washed up, and here are the onions, a knife, and a container to store them in.”

New Girl: “Okay.”

(I make sure she’s clear on what to do, and then go to finish my own prep work. Roughly ten minutes later, I come back to check on her and see that she has only cut up ONE green onion, and is slowly cutting another single onion. V E R Y. S L O W L Y.)

Me: “Err… [New Girl], why don’t we cut several of those at a time, like so? (I gather up a handful and make a few cuts as an example.) It’ll go much faster!”

New Girl: “Oh… Okay.”

(Thinking she understands, I leave her to it again… only to come back another ten or so minutes later from the back office, where I’d been counting out cash drawers, to see that she’s sitting out in the dining room, in the dark, just staring into space.)

Me: “So, uh, [New Girl], whatcha doing now?”

New Girl: “Well… I finished the onions.”

Me: “And?”

New Girl: “I didn’t know what to do next.”

Me: “So instead of asking for help from me or another employee, or picking another item off the list, you decided to sit down.”

New Girl: “I guess so.”

Me: *internally screaming*

(I made sure to tell the owners exactly what had happened, which they were able to verify via security tape footage. She was let go the next day.)

He’ll Get It… One Of These Days

| UT, USA | Working | August 4, 2017

(I work for a pizza place where most of the staff members were high school students, myself included. I like my coworkers, and we get along well, but some of them have more than their fair share of clueless moments. One Friday evening, Coworker #1 suddenly gets a thoughtful look on her face and looks up from the breadsticks she’s making…)

Coworker #1: “Hey, what day is it today?”

Coworker #2: “It’s Friday.”

Coworker #1: “It is?”

Coworker #2: “Yep. All day long!”

Coworker #1: *laughs*

Me: “Except for those two hours this afternoon when it turned into Wednesday. THAT was weird.”

Coworker #2: *laughs*

Coworker #1: *laughs* “Wait… It was Wednesday today?”

Gordon Be Gone!

| NY, USA | Right | August 1, 2017

(My phone number is only two digits off from a local pizzeria’s. I’ve spent my entire life getting occasional wrong-dials from people who accidentally fumbled and hit the wrong number, looking for pizza. One night, it is two am, and our phone rings. I let it go to machine, and am greeted by a rather amusing voicemail from a very drunk man called “Gordon”, who is practically begging for pizza to be delivered to his dorm room at the local college. I try to go back to sleep, but “Gordon” calls back again… and again. On the third call, I answer the phone.)

Me: *groggy* “Look, Gordon… you’re dialing the wrong number. The pizza place’s number is [phone number.]”

Gordon: *slurred speech* “Look, I don’t care… Can you deliver pizzas? Four pepperoni ones? I remember your voice. I got the stromboli from you the other day!”

Me: “No, I just said you’re dialing the wrong number. This is not the pizza place, and I certainly don’t work there.”

Gordon: “Whhhaaattt? Well, then, can you pick me up some pizzas and bring them to me? I’ll pay you $20.”

Me: “No… No, I won’t do that.”

Gordon: *screaming* “You suck and you’re the Ebenezer Scrooge of pizza, a**-hole!”

(Gordon slammed the phone down and didn’t call back. Thankfully.)

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