Back in my waitressing days, we had a nasty couple who would come in at least once a week and only order coffee and ask for handfuls of peppermints. They’d sit there for two hours, just drink coffee, leave a mess of spilled creamer, sugar packets and mint wrappers, and not tip.

Seriously, who goes to Pizza Hut for coffee?

Finally, my manager got tired of them taking up space for $3 worth of coffee:

Manager: “If you’re not going to order food, you’re no longer welcome.”

We never saw them again!

I am a line cook in a restaurant that serves pizzas, among other items. The ingredients of each pizza are stated on the menu; this is not the kind of restaurant where you choose your own toppings.

I get an order for a mushroom pizza, with a modification of “cheese only on half.” Before I can start making it, the server who placed the order comes to me to confirm the “no cheese” and to ask a question.

Server #1: “You saw that my order was cheese only on half, right? Two people are sharing it, and one has a severe dairy allergy! Also, they want to know what this is.”

He points to the word “bechamel” on the menu under the description of the pizza.

Me: “Bechamel. That is the sauce on the pizza, and it is dairy-based. I cannot make this pizza for someone with a severe dairy allergy; anything on one side of the pizza is bound to run onto the other side during the cooking process. Also, they can’t eat the sauce, either.”

The server leaves to discuss with the guests and then returns a few minutes later.

Server #1: “Can you make the pizza with no sauce and no cheese on one side?”

Me: “No. Again, the sauce and cheese will run onto the other side while it’s cooking. My mother had severe food allergies. This would have been enough to put her in the hospital or worse. I won’t send anyone to the emergency room today. Also, this pizza with no cheese or sauce is just pizza crust with mushrooms on it, and they will not be happy with that.”

Server #1: “Okay.”

He leaves again to deal with the table, and then once again, he returns.

Server #1: “Can you make the Margherita pizza with cheese only on half?”

I sigh deeply and stare off into the distance for a few moments in a way that I hope conveys to this server that I am trying very hard not to cuss him out.

Me: “I. Will not. Serve any dairy product. To a person. With. A. Severe. Dairy. Allergy! Please go get [Manager] to explain this to the table since they are having so much trouble understanding it!”

[Manager] is nowhere to be found — as is typical for him, but I digress. A more senior server overhears and offers to speak to the table himself. He quickly returns. By this time, I have made the Margherita pizza with no cheese anywhere on it.

Server #2: “They don’t have an allergy; it’s just a preference.”

Server #1: “But they told me it was a severe allergy! Those were their words! They didn’t say it was just a preference!”

Me: “Oh, I believe that’s what they told you. Too bad it means nobody gets any cheese now.”

I wish I could say that this was the only time a person claimed a severe allergy while ordering their allergen, but it happens a few times per month! What’s so hard about just saying they don’t want it?!

I sell slices in my pizza shop for lunch. It’s a fairly simple bit: you go to the counter, order, and pay, and while you grab your drink out of the cooler, we box up your slices.

The special is advertised with a huge sticker on the window. It’s the only thing on the window, and it says that during lunchtime, you get two slices and a drink for $5. There is a picture.Enter clueless lady.

She walks in and orders her slices. Everything is off to a great start. She pays, and I point in the direction of the soda cooler in the otherwise empty lobby and tell her she can grab what she likes while I gather her food.

When I return with the slices of pizza, she is still standing there, utterly confused.

Me: “Is everything okay?“

Customer: “My drink?”

Me: “Oh, yeah, it’s right there.”

I point again.

And she just stands there.

And I just stand there.

Customer: “Umm…”

Me: “In the cooler?”

Customer: “Sorry?”

Me: “Right there, miss.”

Customer: “I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before.”

I was wondering when the cameras were going to come out and tell me this was a prank when, all of a sudden, the spell was broken; she looked at the cooler, walked over to it, opened the door, took a drink, and walked out.

And I am still wondering which part she hasn’t done before: opening a drink cooler or interacting with a human being.

I work in a local pizza place. On the weekends, I’m an extra delivery driver if need be. We’re in a rural area, so my boss is pretty generous with the delivery area. We’ll even meet customers at specific places — e.g., the gas station at such-and-such intersection — if their house is too far for us to drive.

Tonight, I have a couple of different deliveries to a specific meeting place, a ten-minute drive from the store. When we have these deliveries, we call them before we leave to say we’re on our way, so they know to head that way, too. This way, ideally, nobody has to wait more than a couple of minutes.

One of the two deliveries says they’ll be in a black Silverado.

I pull in, and thirty seconds later, one of my deliveries drives up. Easy-peasy. I wait about ten minutes — things are slow so I’m not in a rush — and then call the number I have for my second delivery (the black Silverado). They say they’re a few minutes out. Okay, whatever. I make decent money aside from tips, so I’m willing to wait a bit.

Ten MORE minutes later, I call again, and it goes through to voicemail, but they have no voicemail set up, so I can’t leave a message. I call three more times with the same result.

I call my store to let them know this customer no-showed and I am on my way back.

Halfway through the ten-minute drive back, the store calls me.

Coworker: “[Customer with the second delivery order] is here.”

Me: “Well, I just waited twenty minutes for no reason just so they could go to pick it up.”

Then, I get back to the store. When I walk in, a manager is on the phone with this customer.

Manager: *Hanging up and turning to me* “I was just talking to the customer with the black Silverado. I told them you’d meet them at [the same meeting place I just left] in a few minutes. They’ll actually be in a silver SUV.”

I roll my eyes and then head back to the meeting place — ten MORE minutes. As I’m pulling in to park, the restaurant owner calls.

Owner: “Where are you? [Customer] just showed up at the store.”

I rush back — ten MORE minutes — and meet them in our parking lot.

Customer: “I want to pay with a card.”

We don’t carry card readers; we have to call the store. (Seriously, does any pizza delivery place carry card readers?) Since we’re at the store at this point, I just run the card inside to do it rather than call.

When I come back…

Customer: “Is it still warm? My husband is pissed.”

Of course, I got no tip for this delivery.

Related:
This Is A Weird Draft Of “Who’s On First?”

I delivered $18.00 worth of pizza to a customer one dark night. He handed me two tens… or so he thought. One of them was actually a $100 bill.

Me: *Handing the bill back* “Sir, this ten has too many zeros.”

Naturally, he was grateful, and I thought he might tip more out of gratitude. Alas, no. I got to keep the change (11%).

I got back to the store and told all of the other drivers (individually) what had happened. Every single one of them said the same thing:

Coworkers: “I would have kept it.”

I think the last of my faith in humanity died that night.