Should Have Bread-Stuck To The Order

, , , , , | Working | July 2, 2017

(A coworker and I order pizza from a local pizza chain. When the order shows up, it’s missing part of it.)

Me: “Do you have the parmesan bread sticks? I don’t see it with our order.”

Driver: “You must not have ordered it.”

Me: “But I see it here on my receipt? Are you sure you don’t have it?”

Driver: “Oh! I accidentally delivered that to my last customer. I’m sorry about that. I’ll go get it.”

Me: “Wait, what?”

(Before we can stop him, he leaves the building.)

Me: *to Coworker* “I am so not taking it when he gets back. Did he really just go to his last customer to pick up our bread?”

(Ten minutes go by and he comes back holding the package of bread sticks.)

Driver: “Here you are! I got them back for you.”

Me: “Um. I’m not taking those.”

Driver: “What? You’re not? But I just got them back for you.”

Me: “I’m not taking those.”

(The driver got really flustered and called his manager. We could hear her reaction from several feet away.)

Driver: “So I accidentally gave part of their order to someone else and now they won’t take it after I got it back.”

Manager: “You did what?! You actually went back and got it from the previous customer?! You never do that! Ever!”

Driver: “But they wanted their bread sticks!”

Manager: “That is not okay! Put me on the phone with the customer.”

Me: “Hello?”

Manager: “I am so sorry. That should have never happened.”

(She ended up offering to redo our entire order or giving us a code worth about as much in free product for next time. We never saw that driver again.)

Will Take More Than That To Shake You Down

, , , , | Right | June 28, 2017

I am the customer in this story. After a long day of first work at my fast-food restaurant and then babysitting, I have stopped for a late supper at the only decent fast food place still open at that hour.

There’s a group of high schoolers at a table. As I’m ordering, one of them tastes his friend’s shake. He runs over and jumps up ONTO THE COUNTER, yells “THIS S*** IS GOOD!”, throws the shake on the ground, breaking it open and sending it all over the floor, and runs out the door before anyone can do anything. (His friends had the decency to be as shocked as we all were, and tried to help clean it up.)

Somewhat startled, I finish my order, and turn to wait for my food. I look down to find a safe path through the shake mess and realize that there’s also shake all over my pants. As I note it, the cashier also sees it, and apologizes profusely. I turn to her and grin.

“Don’t worry about it, ma’am. I work at [Other Fast Food Place]. This isn’t even the first time that I’ve had shake on my pants TODAY!”

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