Delivery story 268 Leo writes: I work for a Round Table Pizza in Elk Grove California. I usually work mid-days M-F, so many of my deliveries are for businesses. (Large businesses are usually more forgiving about late delivery times than houses or small businesses--just a tip.) Black Friday often presents new and infuriating challenges for those who happen to find themselves in the service industry. The day-after-Thanksgiving sales were keeping work interesting for much of the retail community, but I didn't think any of the post-holiday pandemonium and chaos would spill over into the pizza delivery world. To my chagrin, that day offered me a delivery that try my skills and my patience. The delivery started off all wrong. An employee at a local store had called in for delivery a few hours before our store opened, so I wasn't exactly sure when the person was expecting to meet me, because deliveries are automatically tagged with a delivery time of 55 minutes after the order was placed. So, I asked my manager, "When is this person expecting the pizza?" She replied, "I don't know. I guess like half an hour after the store opens." "S#!t, you have NO idea when they want their pizza, do you? Do you have any idea what this does to me?" "Ha! I love it when pizza guys complain about their work." And she went back to eating pizza toppings. Just close your eyes and picture a Wal-Mart during Black Friday. Now picture trying to find an individual employee in that madness. Now picture why my boss is an IDIOT. Sometimes you have to just suck it up, drive to the address, and hope for the best. But, of course, I find the situation exactly as I pictured it--customers milling about with all the employees tied up helping people. I waited around a while for either an employee to free up or to be flagged down. None of those happened, so I had to call the store. They did one of those in-store intercom things. "So-and-so, call on line three." So I waited. And waited. And waited. Then I left, because, hey, there's nothing more I can do. Driving away from the scene, I knew this was going to be trouble. I know customers. This b#!&%* is going to call up in half an hour wondering where her pizza is. And I'm not allowed to argue with customers, so I'd have to take her s#!t. Sure enough, she called a little while later and I happened to be the one who answered. Every sentence of hers was dripping with bitchiness and ended on an upward inflection like a question, which is slightly less irritating than listening to microphone feedback. To help the reader understand her voice, I'm ending all of her sentences with a "?" "Ummm, yeah? I called a while ago for my pizza? And it isn't here?" I replied, "Yeah sorry about that. I came by there earlier and didn't find anyone. So, do you still want it?" "Ummm, yeah?" Remember--B#!&%*INESS. Now, sometimes people want to cancel the order, but she said "Yeah" like customers couldn't possibly want anything else. I continued, "So where do you want to meet me?" "Ummmm... I have to meet you somewhere?" "Well, just somewhere in the store where I can find you. It'll be easier that way." "Ummm... The customer service desk is fine?" As if that's what we had originally agreed upon. "Okay. Where in the store is that? Is it like in the back or something?" Her response took on an air of condescension. "No? It's right up front?" Oooooh. Damn. I was right up front and I didn't see her. But I know that when I go back there she's going to be waiting at a desk up front just like she had said. And, if you're good at reading repetition in stories, you know how this turns out already. The closest check-out aisle after walking in the store had its lamp turned on, which backlit the words "Customer Service" quite clearly. And there was the woman resting her head on her hand. "Damn," I thought. "She wasn't here before. Oh well." I handed her the pizza and the charge slip. "Sign here, please." She takes the box in her hands, studies it, and sets it on the counter. "Is it cold?" You see, in the customer's mind, their order appears inside the driver's car the moment they hang up the phone all ready to go. So in her mind, I was just sitting in my car with the order in my lap while blasting the air conditioning for the past hour. B#!&%*. She even gave one of those open-the-box-in-front-of-you-and-wave-the-hand-over-the-top-of-the-pizza-to-test-the-heat-like-I'm-supposed-to-feel-bad-or-something things. No tip, of course. return to top