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.

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.