I live in New England, and we’ve had snow falling for the last three days. For the most part, the temperatures have been mild enough that it hasn’t accumulated much until last night. We were slammed all night, lots of deliveries, but the people were great, very nice, and tipped well. Roads weren’t too bad, I actually enjoy driving in snow up to a certain point.
At my restaurant, delivery is ONLY offered between 4 PM – 9 PM, and closes at 10 PM, and the calls for delivery usually drop off around 8 PM.
Around 8:30 PM, the other driver cashed out and went home. I took a short run, got back around 8:40 PM, and, figuring I was basically done for the night, started organizing my cash/slips, just waiting it out.
At 8:45 PM, we get a call for delivery, to the very edge of our delivery area, about a fifteen-minute drive in good conditions. The guy who took the call said, “For delivery?” and looked over at me. I nodded, I’ll take it, I have nothing else to do tonight, and I’m down for an extra half-hour on the clock.
The customer orders two large specialty pizzas, the total was $47 and change, paying cash. We gave her about a forty-minute estimate, and then the pizzas went in the oven.
About twelve minutes later, right around 9 PM or a few minutes after, she calls back and wants to add another large specialty pizza. A different guy had answered the phone, pulled up her ticket, added the pizza, told her it would add another fifteen minutes or so to her wait time, and gave her the new total, which is $71 and change. She starts to argue about the price, saying that it can’t be right, it should only be about $60.
The guy gives up and hands the phone to the owner, who breaks down the prices for her. Most of the large special pizzas end up being $23.80 after tax and delivery; I’m not sure what the actual menu listing price is, but why do so many people fail to account for tax and delivery charges?
Anyway, she said that $20×3 should equal $60, but she wasn’t factoring in that $3.80×3 equals about another $11. So, Boss talks her through the math, while our pizza maker is aggressively stretching and flipping the dough, saying:
Pizza Maker: “And tell her she’s an a**hole! Only an a**hole would call this late, add on, and then argue! A**hole!”
I started to figure that I was probably getting stiffed on this one, since people who argue over the price of food generally don’t want to part with more money than they absolutely have to, in my experience.
So about 9:15-ish, I load up the pizzas and take a shortcut I know, which is basically a snow-covered dirt road through the woods. I slid around and almost spun out at least once, but I got to the address around 9:40 PM. It’s a big-a** McMansion, attached three-car garage with huge lights on between the bays. The house has two doors at the front, but no lights on.
I trudge through the unshovelled snow to the first door. I can barely see the steps under mounds of snow; my feet are buried. I ring the doorbell and wait. Lady answers the door and the first thing she says is:
Customer: “Well! You certainly took the long way around to get here, didn’t you?”
I just started opening the bag and told her the total. She ignored me and said:
Customer: “And why didn’t you go to the door with the light on? We put the light on so you would know which door to go to!”
She says this with her hand on her hip like she is scolding me. I lean back a little and look towards the other door.
Me: “I didn’t see a light at either door, so I just came to the first one. Do you mean the garage?”
She looked at me funny, stepped back inside, looked at what I’m assuming is her light switch, and started laughing.
Customer: “Oh my god, that’s so funny, I must have flipped the wrong switch.”
I didn’t laugh.
She handed me exactly $72.
Customer: “This is for the pizza. And now you wait right there one minute.”
She takes the pizzas inside. There was snow inside my boots, and I just wanted to get back in the car and crank the heater on floor-setting. She came back a few minutes later with a rolled-up wad of bills, saying:
Customer: “And this is for you.”
She says this with this self-congratulating look on her face, like she was expecting me to drop to my knees in gratitude and say “Mastah has given Dobby a sock?!”
I did, of course, thank her, told her to have a good weekend, and she thanked me “for coming out in this weather,” which leads me to believe the tip may have been an afterthought when she saw how bad it was outside, that she wasn’t planning to tip in the first place.
The “wad” of bills turned out to be $9 in singles, which is definitely a decent tip. I just felt like she was making sure I “earned” that tip by making me stand in almost shin-deep snow while she went inside to get it, to make sure I knew my place. Through the whole interaction, she spoke to me like she was talking to a naughty child that she was being charitable to. I’m generally very easy-going and let that kind of attitude roll right off of me, but with the snow and the time, it just really got under my skin.
I didn’t take my shortcut back because of how bad it was on the way there, took the main road, and got stuck behind a salt/sand truck that was going literally 10 MPH. The speed limit is 45; it would’ve been safe for me to go about 30-35, but there was no way to pass the truck, so I had to creep along behind it the whole way.
I didn’t make it back to the restaurant until about 10:30 PM. Everyone had gone home except the owner, who had to wait for me to cash out. He had a 10″ cheese pizza waiting for me to take home free for having such a crappy last delivery (we usually get food at a 50% discount) And he paid me for an extra two full hours, even though I only worked one-and-half hours over.
Definitely lifted my spirits, it’s good to feel appreciated!