I work at a pizza place for a while, and we have frequent Muslim customers. They always ask the same question when they come in: “Is the pizza halal?”

I know what this means. It means:

• Does the food contain pork, or are pork ingredients stored near the other foods?
• Is there any wine or alcohol in your food?
• Is your food halal-certified? (The animal must be slaughtered in a specific way.)

I studied religion in high school and Islam was pretty interesting, so I recall everything.

Our pizza place is under NO CIRCUMSTANCE halal; we have pork in our pizza, the pork is stored near the vegetables, and some of the dough ingredients contain alcohol. Every time a Muslim family comes in and asks, I kindly say, “Sorry, ma’am/sir, this is not halal,” and they are so NICE, saying, “Oh, that’s too bad, thank you,” and stuff like that.

One day, our boss has a meeting with us saying that there have been much fewer customers lately, blah, blah, blah. He gives some promotional ideas and tells us we should be more polite, more boring details, etc. Then, he says:

Boss: “I haven’t been seeing those headscarf people lately. They always seem to leave empty-handed.”

I stay silent for a moment, trying to comprehend “headscarf people”, before responding.

Me: “That’s because the food’s not halal.”

Boss: “Hala-what?”

I explain to him how Muslims can’t eat certain foods.

Boss: “Well then, say our food is Hala-whatever, okay?”

Me: “But sir, that’s not right. They can’t eat this kind of food. We shouldn’t lie to them—”

Boss: “I don’t care! You’re driving away my customers! Lie, cheat, do whatever it takes to make them stay! Life’s like that: unfair! I don’t give a f*** if they can’t eat it; we need to make money!”

Me: “But sir—”

Boss: “Do it or I will fire you.”

The next day, I get to my shift early and put on my uniform, ready to take some orders. My boss is “observing” me, and I can feel his stare.

Two Muslim girls walk in.

Customer #1: “Hey, can I have a medium-sized vegetarian deluxe?”

She then turns to ask the other girl, and they say something to each other.

Customer #2: “Hey, uhh, is this place halal?”

I’m about to say no, but my boss butts in.

Boss: “Yes, certainly! Even our chicken is okay to eat. Would you like a chicken deal?”

Customer #1: “S-sure.”

Me: *To the girls* “Stop. Don’t eat anything from here.”

Boss: “Don’t mind her. I’m going to fire her soon. She’s just moody.”

Me: *Raising my voice* “No, I’m not! Please, ma’am listen to me. This food is not halal; he’s lying to you.”

My boss stares at me and shakes his head.

Customer #2: “W-what?”

Me: “It’s not halal; we serve pork here.”

My boss then pushes me. I move back, avoiding him.

Me: “Don’t touch me!”

Boss: “What the f*** do you think you’re doing?”

Customer #1: “Hey! Don’t touch her! I’ll call the cops!” *Pulls out her phone*

Boss: “Tch, I don’t care. This b**** is sabotaging me.”

He then moves toward me again.

Customer #1: “I SAID DON’T TOUCH HER!”

The other girl has moved behind the counter and is now behind me.

Customer #2: “Come here.”

The girl ushers me over, I run to her, and she stands in front of me.

Customer #2: *Warning my boss* “Don’t come any closer!”

Boss: *To the girls* “F*** YOU! GET OUT OF MY STORE!” *Points at me* “AND YOU! YOU’RE FIRED! DON’T SHOW YOUR A** HERE EVER AGAIN!”

He then stomped away.

I walked outside with the girls, and they thanked me for telling them about the food. I told them it was no problem at all and thanked them for saving me back there.

We went to the police together and filed a complaint. The store got shut down, and my boss was punished for abuse. (I know it’s harsh, but he pushed me, and the girls insisted it was not okay.)

The girls and I became great friends, and we often joke about the incident.

About a year ago, I was delivering for a pizza place, and I had to deliver about twenty pizzas for a last-minute order during a football night in town.

I was already annoyed because they made me help make it even though we had plenty of people in the kitchen and three other deliveries that needed to be taken, as well. I knew my way around the kitchen but had no clue how to portion properly because, you know, Not My Job. But I guess I made the five specialty ones wrong, and they had to be remade, which was another twenty minutes because we were very busy.

Well, those twenty minutes turned into almost two hours because I “was needed here”. Okay. Don’t blame me when we get angry calls.

After a bit, I was finally free to do my actual job and deliver the pizzas. After all this hassle and my stressing about angry people, I saw a whopping three-dollar tip on the ticket and a twenty-minute drive on my phone. Needless to say, I used some fun words on the road that day.

One twenty-minute drive later, I pulled up to a house with about eight cars parked in the already small driveway and in the yard. As I was carrying the first of two large bags to the door, suddenly, a wild Fratboy popped up from a truck bed — similar to how the WWE wrestler Undertaker would sometimes get up if that helps anyone visualise. Undertaker got up, hopped out very excitedly, and walked up to me.

Undertaker: “I’ll help!”

In hindsight, letting a clearly drunk man carry ten pizzas fifty feet wasn’t a good idea, but $3 doesn’t get my full effort.

I went to my car, grabbed the second bag and the receipt to get the company-mandated signature, and headed up. Who answered the door?

That’s right: ANOTHER COMPANY’S DRIVER. We shared a glance before he helped me set my pizzas up in the kitchen area. Undertaker came in.

Undertaker: “Pizza man and pizza dude!”

He was followed by about thirty people who basically just kept tipping us like it was a cover charge to a bar.

Pizza Man and I went our separate ways with free drinks and a good amount of cash as a prize.

I still think about Fratboy Undertaker sometimes!

My daughter is a teacher, and one of her fellow teachers wanted to teach how to calculate the area of a circle. She decided to make it fun and educational with more than just some math formulas.

She put the price and size of pizzas from several local shops on the board. She then taught them how to calculate the area of a circle and had the students calculate the price per square inch of the pizzas. Her students had a good time and were amazed at the differences in value based on both size and company.

I always wondered how many of those students sat down with a calculator the next time the family ordered pizza, and how many carried that over into college.

Our servers take phone calls for carry-out or delivery orders. It’s about 10:30 pm, and I’m closing up the salad bar and getting ready to wheel the cart into the back. The phone rings. I answer it.

Me: “Hi, thank you for calling [Pizza Restaurant]! Is this order going to be for delivery or carry-out tonight?”

Caller: “Delivery.”

Me: “Awesome. Can I grab your phone number, please?”

For orders, we take the phone number, name, address, and apartment number, if needed. The customer gives me their number. 

Me: “And your name?”

Caller: “Dave.”

Me: “Address?”

He gives me a street name I’ve never heard before.

Me: “Awesome. One sec, please.”

I try to submit the order, but the computer tells me the address isn’t in our delivery zone. I relay this information to the customer and he sighs.

Caller: “You must have put my address in wrong.”

I read it back to him.

Me: “Is that correct?”

Caller: “Yes.”

I try again. The computer tells me that it can’t connect to the server and verify the address.

Me: “My computer is telling me the address doesn’t exist.”

Caller: *Frustrated* “Is there someone else to speak to?”

I ask my manager to help, but he’s very busy with something else and tells me to help to the best of my abilities. I tell this to the customer.

Caller: “I’d like someone who isn’t incompetent to take my order.”

Me: “Sir, I—”

Caller: “Someone. Else. Get someone else.”

My manager comes outside at this point and sees me struggling with the address. He gives me a questioning look and then says:

Manager: “That address isn’t in our zone.”

I tell the customer to give me a moment, and I cover the mouthpiece.

Me: “I tried telling him that, but he just called me stupid.”

My manager then takes the phone and deals with the man.

Manager: “If anyone ever calls you stupid, tell them to have a nice day and hang up the phone. You guys are people, too, and I won’t have my people treated badly.” 

My manager is a good man.

I’m the manager of a pizza place. The ridiculous things customers have screamed at me over have quickly taught me to be as tactful as possible with my responses. Then, I got a phone call from this customer.

Customer: “Hi. I just saw a commercial, and I see you have a new pizza on special.”

Me: “That’s right. Our new double-pepperoni pizza. You can get a large for $10 right now.”

Customer: “How much is just the regular pepperoni pizza?”

Me: “It’s $12. So, the double-pepperoni is a better deal at the moment, for sure.”

Customer: “So, other than the price, what’s the difference between the regular pepperoni and the double-pepperoni?”

Me: “…”

Customer: “Hello?”

Me: “I’m truly sorry, ma’am, but I’m really not sure how to answer that without sounding like a smart-a**.”

Thankfully, she laughed.