Another Day, Another Arsehole

September 13, 2008 at 3:11 AM | Posted in Riding In Cars With Pizza | Leave a comment
me:  Domino’s Pizza
dh:   I need to place an order for tomorrow.  What time do you open in the morning?
me:  hmmm.  I’m not sure–

  And that’s how it got started.  That is where it all happened.  I was being laid back and casual–informal–and he was strictly business.  He wanted things done his way, and he wanted them done now (when I tell this in person, I’m snapping my fingers because that’s how I imagine he is).  Before I could say, "But I’ll check," the dickhead launches into the first of what would be several tirades.

dh:   You’re not sure?  You’re not sure?  How come you don’t know?
me:  You know, I have a day job.  I only work at night–
dh:   Well ask someone else.  Find out when you open.

  He had the tone to his voice that he is some kind of boss, used to being obeyed.  Instantly.  I looked around.  Paro was the only one in the store.  He only worked nights as well.  Plus, his English was only slightly better than my Bulgarian.  I made the first of several mistakes with this dickhead:  I told the truth.

me:  The only other person here only works nights, but–

  The indignation is rising in his voice.

dh:   What kind of place are you running there?  I want to order a hundred dollars’ worth of pizza; if you want to lose my business this is the way to do it.

  Notice that I refuse to give him the respect of calling him "sir."  I can get a little stubborn.

me:  Well, I have been trying to tell you that I will find out, but you haven’t given me the chance to yet.  I will find out.
dh:   What do you mean I haven’t given you the chance to?  I asked you–
me:   And you also kept talking over me.  You’ve been belligerent.
dh:   Did you say I was belligerent?  Who owns this store?

  Instead of looking anything up, I made up an answer for him.  For the first question.

me:   We open at 10am.
dh:    Who owns this store?
me:   You know, I’ve been trying to help you.
dh:    Who owns this store?
me:    I don’t really know.
dh:    What kind of business are you running here?  I’m trying to order some pizza, give you business, and it doesn’t seem like you want it.  Is that how you do business?  I’m going to ask you for the fourth time:  Who owns this store?

  What the hell?  He’s been trying to order?  Not yet, he hasn’t.  Plus, I’ve seen his type before.  Maybe he’s in sales, so he thinks everyone is in sales.  I should try harder to make this sale.  I wanted to pat him on the shoulder and say, "Dude, I get paid by the hour."

me:   Like I said, I’ve been trying to help you.  You won’t let me, you want to argue instead.
dh:    Who owns this store?
me:   I think his name is Nectar.
dh:    You think?  You don’t know?  I can’t believe this.  What is your name?

  I pause…

dh:    I said ‘what is your name?’
me:    You know, it seems obvious to me that you only want this information to "get me in trouble" or "to tell on me."  You are the one that let this escalate, trying to go over my head when you are the one who is difficult.  So…I’m not going to tell you my name.  I’m not going to let you use it as a weapon against me.  You are on your own, dude.  I will not acquiesce.

  Yes, I really talk like that.  I’m sure he thinks he’s talking to someone whose life is pizza, that isn’t going anywhere, that their future is right here.  And it pisses me off that he knows me that well.  Or am I projecting?

dh:   I can’t believe this is how you run a business.  If you don’t know anything, why are you fucking working there?

  And with that, I hung up.  My one safety, my way out:  once they start to curse, the conversation is over. 
  I’m sure I handled it badly.  But the guy was trying to control me, over the phone no less–and I am naturally resistant to that.  He wanted me to be subservient to him, and he wanted me to eat crow.  All I wanted to do was get through his fucking order.  We went into the phone call with differing agendas, I guess.  Maybe he is a bigshot executive in his world…
  …But I don’t care.  He seemed like the kind of guy who is wound too tight.  If I had managed to keep him on the phone longer, I would have asked him how long it had been since he had been laid, because I would like to get to the root of his problem.  And help him.
  And I’m sure this will get back to the bosses at Domino’s, somehow.  Let’s see how far he wants to pursue it.  I’m sure he–like the bosses at Domino’s–have mistaken my working for them in this position as a desire for a career.  The dickhead on the phone came close to hearing me leave the phone dangle as I walked out the door and left.
  And if I get a level of reprimand beyond what I think is necessary from this company, they’ll see me get up and walk out in the middle of them talking to me.  They made the choice not to pay me what I am worth…so I made the choice to only give them what they pay me for.  I almost hope they do; I would love for the supervisor or owner to call me on the carpet and start yelling at me, so I could laugh and turn around and walk out.  For 37 cents I would.
  I can find a shitty part time job like this anywhere.  Have a nice day.

Addendum:  I called the manager after it happened and briefed her, and gave her my version, where I am the victim.  But he called the next morning–at 10am, like I told him, and ordered pizza.  My final analysis is this:  I pissed him off, but he still ordered pizza.  Therefore, I won.

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