The First Ones Against The Wall

February 9, 2009 at 8:25 PM | Posted in Riding In Cars With Pizza | Leave a comment
  So this woman calls up Saturday night, after 1230.  We’re open until 2am.  I reflected that last week at this time I was on my way home, sick as hell.
  Oh well.  Things were going fine this evening.  Dinner rush had been busy but we handled it well, and that was a distant memory.  Late night had been slow, and everything was cleaned up and mostly put away.  I could make a pizza or two in the walk-in, no problem.  I settled back to read the Sunday paper from two weeks ago.  if I hadn’t heard it yet, it was news to me.
  And then it starts.  First I have an order for two sandwiches.  I’m in the middle of making them when I get another call.  This woman calls.
  "I’d like to order 6 large pizzas."  Oh, yay.
  "I need three cheese and three hamburger."  There’s some background chatter.  "What?  No hamburger?"
  I know often people project what they like onto other people.  I hate when someone says "Just get them with everything, and they can pick off what they don’t like."  Those people should be shot.  Not killed.  Just shot, in the knee.  With buckshot.  Give them a paper towel and a pair of tweezers, and tell them to pick out the buckshot they don’t want to keep.
  When they order pizza for us as a group here at the bank, they order some cheese, and a wide variety of veggie pizza bullshit.  Then some with bacon and onion.  Pepperoni and mushroom.  Nothing with JUST meat.  Because these are all bitches, ordering for what they think are all bitches, and they don’t give a shit about the three or four guys here who want just meat.  Bitches.
  I am diplomatic.  I offer her a suggestion.  "Perhaps pepperoni or sausage?  They are popular favorites."
  Tersely she responds.  "I don’t care.  I don’t want that in my house." 
  Oh…*Now* I get it.  You’re a bitch.  It’s pork, it’s not fucking heroin.  Because her guests are unlucky enough to be HER guests, they have to eat what is acceptable to her.  To me it is akin to going out to eat with a vegetarian at a restaurant, and that person demanding that I eat no meat either, because they don’t want it at the table.  Unless that person is going to suck my dick later, they can suck my dick.  Either way, one of us is having some meat.
  Back to the bitch.  She quickly makes her decision.  "Three cheese, three hamburger."  She also orders four-two liters of soda, so the total is over 60 bucks.  If I worked on commission I would give a fuck.
  I give her the total, and then, "And we will have that out to you in 35 to 40 minutes."
  "Oh–that long?  Will it be faster if I pick it up?"  Really?  It’s 1230 on a Saturday night, and you’re on a schedule?  Really?  These people around here, I swear to God–Everyone of them thinks they are all-important, time is money, snap-to, do my bidding, get on it ASAP.  No excuses.  And some other time-honored catch phrases for executives with poor time management skills that wait until the last minute and then expect you to hurry up and make the time that was lost through their inability to act quickly.  I’m pretty good at picking up stuff like this on the phone.  I answer her.
  "No, it won’t."
  "Are you sure it won’t be quicker?"  What I mean is, I have no idea about reality or work.  All I know is, I’d like my pizzas in 20 minutes.  It seems perfectly logical to me that you make them quickly and get them delivered to me because you can’t possible be doing anything else.  I’m the most important person in my universe so I must in yours as well.  Besides, I don’t believe you.  I’ve picked up one pizza in 20 minutes, so you must be able to deliver 6 of them in 20 minutes as well.  Did I explain to you how important I am?
  I sigh forcefully through my teeth.  "Yes, I am sure."  I then explain, "The hold up is not the delivery.  It’s making them.  I’m by myself, I have several orders, and it will take time to make them."  The biggest hold up, of course, is that the line has been broken down, cleaned up and put away.  I’m going to be making pizzas in the walk-in, which is not the most efficient method.  I didn’t tell her that, because some level of transparency is necessary.  Besides, it’s none of her goddamn business.  I did lie to her, to soothe her.  "As soon as they are done the driver will leave with them."
  I finished the sammiches from the first order (remember that?) and then made the pizzas quickly.  Paro waited for both orders, which was good–I wanted them out of the store as soon as they were done, in case she decided to be "proactive" and come up to pick them up before I could deliver them.
  As it turned out, she got them fairly quickly anyway, because Paro went there first.  I know this because the guy who ordered the sammiches called and asked where his order was.  There’s just no pleasing some people.  I guess I’m one of them.
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