It Will Be A Cold Day In Hell Before They’re Satisfied

(Our shop specializes in walk-in, available pizza, so we do not have our own drivers, but use a local delivery company. Customers who order delivery are told this over the phone, as they have to pay the delivery fee, as well. One cold December night, a woman orders two large meat pizzas for delivery. The pizzas are made and then sent away with a delivery company. I always make sure to put extra toppings on delivery pizzas, because our prices for large pizzas and for delivery are so high. The phone rings again, and my coworker answers. I overhear him mention the pizza box’s reheating instructions during the conversation, but I am busy focused on a task. When I wrap up what I am doing, I look over, and my poor coworker is just standing there, silent, bemused, and holding the phone. I walk over, and he wordlessly passes the phone to me. I can hear the screaming already coming through the phone. My coworker explains the issue to me in one ear while she screams through the phone into my other. Her pizzas, delivered far from the store’s location on a cold day — it was -25°C or 13°F — via a delivery company we have no control over had not arrived as fast and as hot as she was expecting. I try to speak but she keeps screaming profanities.)

Me: *trying to interject louder* “Ma’am! MA’AM, I WOULD LIKE TO HELP YOU!”

(She is not placated, and I don’t even think she heard me. Repeat. No results. She’s still screaming. Lukewarm pizza broke this woman, and it’s our fault.)

Customer: “I’M A F***ING PAYING CUSTOMER. I JUST WANT TO BE F***ING SATISFIED. SSSSAAAAATTTTISSSSFFFYYYYY MEEEEEEEEEE!”