I’m working in a restaurant. It’s Memorial Day weekend, graduations are in full swing, and there’s optimism in the air. We are slamma-bamma-jammin’, and there’s a healthy wait list, the phone is non-stop ringin’, and the annoying [Delivery Service] bell-tone won’t stop blingin’. We’re still running with a skeleton crew, and the bottleneck of a small kitchen means we’re already hitting hour-plus wait times on our to-go orders right from the outset.
The volume won’t stop, so we eventually have to put a pause on [Delivery Service] orders once we hit the ninety-minute mark. One of the last orders that snuck in before we shut it down was for a modest number of dishes that the customer had opted to pick up instead of using delivery. (Hey, it saves like 20% off exorbitant fees.)
We’ve got our hustle in full swing, and this guy shows up to the window soon thereafter and says he’s here to pick up an order for [Woman]. We’re a little confused, since none of the ready bags have that name, and no upcoming orders are listed under the name. One of the hosts pulls up the [Delivery Service] tablet and points at the twentieth order down on the list.
Host: “Was it this order?” *Lists off the items*
Man: *Excitedly* “Yes!”
Host: “Uhh, I guess you showed up quite a bit early; it’s still got more than an hour ‘til it’s ready.”
Man: “What?! The app said it would be ready in thirty minutes!”
Host: “Not sure how that happened. We set the time on that order for an hour and a half.”
Man: “Oh, no. My wife is going to be very upset.”
Host: “All right, well, it’s still going to be about an hour. Sorry about that.”
He leaves in a huff.
We get back in the flow until someone shows up at our window again. She’s got her arms crossed and she looks hungry for a confrontation.
Woman: “Hello?! I’m [Woman]. My husband just told me that our order is going to take over an hour?!”
I remain stoic.
Me: “Yup, it’s behind about twenty other tickets.”
Woman: “The app said it would be ready in thirty minutes!”
Me: “I’m not sure how that happened. When we confirmed the order, we set the wait time to an hour and a half.”
I pull up the tablet to show her there’s still sixty-two minutes left.
Woman: “Well, that’s bulls***! I’m already here. Isn’t there anything you can do to speed up the process?”
Me: “Unfortunately, no. There are already several tickets ahead of you, and we’ve got a full house for dine-in service. It’s going to be about an hour.”
She continues stewing.
Woman: “Okay, I want to cancel my order!”
Me: “That’s fine. I understand. I can pull your ticket off the line, but you’re going to have get on your [Delivery Service] app to cancel it so you don’t get charged.”
She stares down at her phone and angrily paces back to her car. My coworkers and I are looking at each other like, “WTF?”
A few minutes later, she’s back at the window, looking more livid. She holds her phone out and starts jabbing her finger against the [Delivery Service] app.
Woman: “I can’t log in!”
She starts handing it over to me like she wants me to do it. I step back.
Me: “I can’t do that for you. All I can do on my end is pull the ticket off the line.”
She tries one more desperate plea.
Woman: “I spent $70 here! Are you saying my money’s no good? You can’t make it faster?”
$70 is a weird flex when there are a few orders ahead of hers in the $200 to $300 range. I can’t help but chuckle, which honestly is not the best “customer service” response.
She points at me sternly.
Woman: “You’re a d**k!”
She wallows off. Guilty as charged. But also, her problem, not mine.
The entire staff and I laugh about this because it’s just so absurd. I give the owner a heads-up and he laments:
Owner: “It feels like [Delivery Service] brings us nothing but headaches.”
Five minutes later, we get a phone call. It’s the woman, and she’s a lot more conciliatory.
Woman: “Hi, I’m calling about earlier. If we still want our food, how long is it going to take?”
I’m easy-going. I don’t take s***, but I’m also in the business of trying to make people happy, so I don’t take anything personally. The app now says fifty-six minutes.
Me: “Let’s see… we’re still looking at roughly about an hour.”
Woman: “What?!”
I hear her husband fully guffawing on speakerphone in their car.
Woman: “We were just there fifteen minutes ago and you told us an hour. Is this some game where you just keep telling us an hour until you eventually close and never make our order?! We want our cash back!”
I was fully on board with trying to help them out, but now I give no f***s. They ask to speak with a manager. I skip the line and ask the owner if he wants to share a piece of his mind. He gladly accepts.
He’s a super chill, easy-going guy, and after he’s on the phone with them for fifteen minutes, I see new veins in his forehead.
Me: “How’d it go?”
Owner: “I was explaining things to them, and she told me to shut up and listen. No one talks to me like that.” *Gathers himself* “Okay, f*** [Delivery Service]. We’re deactivating the account.”
And like that, our prayers were answered. [Delivery Service] may account for 20% of our business, but it accounts for 90% of our headaches. Good riddance.
