(I work as a server.)
Me: “For drinks, we have [brown soda], diet [brown soda], and [popular citrus-based soda]. What can I get for you?”
Customer: “Aww, don’t you have [popular lemon-lime soda]? Or something without caffeine? I can’t have caffeine!”
Me: “Sorry, we don’t; everything has caffeine.”
Customer: “Well, I’ll just have iced tea, then.”
Me: “…”
(My husband and I order pizza, then go to pick it up. They don’t have a dine-in area, but there are four chairs lined up along the window. An elderly man is using one of the chairs, so I make my husband take one of the other chairs, and my children refuse to share the chairs. After about twenty minutes of waiting while the children are entertained with their own electronics, and my husband is zoned out on his phone, this happens:)
Elderly Man: *to my husband* “You’re so rude!”
Husband: “What?”
Me: “What? How so?”
Elderly Man: “Making her stand like that! That’s totally rude of you!”
Me: “I told him he should sit down, since my legs need to stretch, and the pressure changes have been aggravating his arthritis. I’ve been glued to a computer in a small office all day.”
Elderly Man: “Well, okay, then, that’s… Sorry. I just assumed there.”
Me: “That’s okay, yeah. I hope we don’t meet anyone who is actually rude tonight! It’s been about fifteen minutes since we got here, but I understand the wait, since we ordered several specific pizzas, and it’s a busy football night.”
Cashier: *listening in, says quietly* “Oh, thank God.”
(I was exaggerating downward; it has been at least twenty minutes. The cashier goes to confer with her manager, and the manager comes over to apologize for the wait. The kids and my husband don’t mind — they’ve got their games — but I’m thirsty, so I accept her offer of free drinks for the family. She offers the elderly gentleman a discount on his pizza, and a drink for his lengthier wait. And then, about five minutes later, another customer comes in.)
Rude Dude: *walks to counter* “I’ve been waiting 45 minutes now! I need my pizza immediately!”
Cashier: “Yes, sir, what is the name on your order?”
Rude Dude: “Forty-five minutes! I’ve been waiting!”
Cashier: “And the name on your order?”
Rude Dude: “I’VE BEEN WAIIIITIIIING 45 MINUTES!”
(This repeats at least another half dozen times, with him saying the same thing in different combinations, and the cashier offering the same question in a super sweet saccharine voice. I’m getting hangry at this point, and he’s the nearest annoyance, soooo…)
Me: “Forty-five minutes, huh? Everybody here has clearly gotten that information. But, the one thing she needs is your f****** name. So, either tell the nice lady your name, or go f*** off, and wait at least another hour elsewhere.”
Rude Dude: *gives his name and glares at the cashier*
Cashier: “Oh! Your order went out through the drive-thru five minutes ago! Have a nice night!” *turns back to the kitchen to retrieve the elderly man’s order*
Rude Dude: *screams incoherently, throws a plastic organizer full of salt, peppers, and parmesan packets into the kitchen area, and slams himself into a chair to sulk*
Elderly Man: *on his way to picking up his order, stops to address the rude dude* “Your order isn’t here, so you probably shouldn’t be, either. Now, go see if your pizza’s at home, and if it is not, do as the lady has requested. Go f*** off and wait at least an hour elsewhere.”
Rude Dude: *literally growls, then leaves*
Cashier: “Sir, that is awesome. Your order is on us tonight, and we’re so sorry for such a long wait.”
(She calls my husband’s name about five or so minutes later, and we find that they have given us an extra deep-dish pizza, a dessert, and a couple of other items that we used to order on a weekly basis, but no longer do due to household size and budget changes.)
Cashier: “Your tot—“
Manager: “Nope! No. Noooo. F*** that. This is all on us. Y’all are longtime customers, and this is the longest you guys have ever waited, and we really appreciate your patience. And you telling that guy to f*** off.”
Cashier: “Yeah! Sweet! And yeah, thanks for telling the guy to f*** off.”
Husband: *is confused*
Me: “You’re welcome. I can’t stand people that obtuse.” *laughs* “The fact that the elderly man repeated it, though… That made my week.”
Husband: “So… wait… what? We’re good here?”
Me: “Yes, I’m coming back later this week with the kids, too.”
Cashier: “[Husband], you were playing on your phone. [My Name] will explain it when y’all get home, okay?”
(When we got home, my in-laws came over unexpectedly, but thanks to the generosity of the pizzeria staff, we had enough pizza for everyone. I told everyone how we got all the pizza for free, the kids reiterated how super rude the dude was, and my husband joked that I could hire myself out as an expert snarker while I continued job hunting.)
(I am part of my school’s film club, and we are on the last leg of shooting our first official short film. It’s cold, and we’ve been shooting for fourteen hours so everyone’s exhausted, but we still need these last couple of scenes, so we’re putting up with it. We can’t afford to pay our cast and crew, so we decide to buy pizza for everyone. My friend calls in the order.)
Friend: “Hi. I’d like three large [specialty pizzas] for delivery to [address], please.”
Employee: “You said [address]?”
Friend: “Yes. We’re filming a movie out at the park next to the aquarium.”
Employee: “Okay, got it. Your order will arrive in about forty minutes.”
(More than an hour later, it still hasn’t arrived, so I call the store, thinking the address threw them off.)
Me: “Hey. I just wanted to check on the status of our order.”
Employee: “Oh… Oh, I see. I’m so sorry, but your driver was in a car accident and had to go to the hospital. Would you like me to refund your order, or—“
Me: “Oh, my gosh. Is he okay?”
Employee: “Yeah, he’ll be fine. It was a minor accident. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”
(I was shocked at how eager he seemed to quell my supposed fury, though having worked in food and bev before I could kind of understand. We just sent one of the crew to pick up a fresh order to appease the ravenous actors. I called the store the next day, and it turned out the delivery person was T-boned by a drunk driver, but thankfully escaped with barely a scratch.)
(This happened several years ago at the call center for a local pizza chain. We stop taking orders at 11:00 pm but most activity dies down at 10:00, so most of the employees have gone home. I’m alone, aside from the manager, and bored at 10:55 pm when I get a call.)
Me: “Thank you for calling [Pizza Chain]. My name is [My Name]. What can I get for you today?”
Customer: “Hi, [My Name]. So, we have a bet going.”
Me: “Um, okay.”
Customer: “Can you spell ‘pterodactyl’?”
Me: “Yes? P-T-E-R-O—“
Customer: “Thanks.” *yelling* “She got it! I knew [Pizza Chain] could spell.” *to me* “Thanks again.”
Me: *laughing* “You’re welcome. Have a great night.”
(I stop in at a local, extremely popular pizza place for a couple of slices. The place is pretty empty at the moment, but there are stacks of pizzas being prepped for delivery or awaiting pickup because the first US football game of the season is underway. While I’m waiting, a woman comes barging in and storms up to the counter.)
Woman: “WHERE ARE MY PIZZAS?!”
Cashier: “How long ago did you order them?”
Woman: “It’s been over an hour! I’m sick of waiting!”
Cashier: “Oh, wow, I’m so sorry. What phone number did you call it in under? What did you order?”
(The woman nearly screams everything at her, but by the time she’s done the girl isn’t even typing anything. She turns around, grabs a ticket from the rack, and turns back.)
Cashier: “Thirty-five minutes.”
Woman: “What?”
Cashier: “All our order tickets are time-stamped, and this one was printed thirty-five minutes ago, not an hour. Also, I told you it would be ‘between a half-hour and forty-five minutes’ because of how busy we are. Also, the delivery driver just left with them; you probably passed him coming in.”
(The woman instantly begins freaking out, screaming, and — for “revenge,” I suppose — knocks over their little holder of take-out menus before storming back out. I bend down and help them pick up the menus while my slices are getting taken out of the oven.)
Cashier: “Thanks for the help.”
Me: “No problem. I don’t always get dinner and a show! But did she really think she was going to get a pizza with this much of a rush in under a half-hour?”
Cashier: “Some folks still think it’s the mid-80s and that ‘thirty minutes or it’s free’ still applies, even to places that never advertised it.”
