The Opposite Of Service

April 24, 2009 at 11:59 PM | Posted in Riding In Cars With Pizza | Leave a comment
  As these things often begin, a valued customer calls.  She places an order:  a veggie pizza with bacon.  That makes it no longer a veggie, in my opinion.  In fact, it’s not even kosher anymore.
  "I want that well done.  And crispy."  Because "crispy" and "well-done" are two different things.  "The last two times I ordered it was not crispy.  If it’s not crispy this time I’m going to send it back."
  Oh.  She’s one of those.  I was already married to an impossible-to-please bitch once.  I said, "Well, often times, the steam from the pizza in the box will soften the crust."  This is true; do you not think I am an expert on pizza?
  "Well, I had it crispy once and I want it that way again."  Christ.  She’s frigid, but she managed to have an orgasm once as a complete fluke, and she wants those circumstances to be repeated.  I don’t think I’m going to be able to rub her up against the washing machine during the spin cycle with the exact right unbalanced load in it again.
  But this is far from over.
  "I also have a gift certificate for a free order of cheesy bread or cinnastix."
  "Those have been expired since January 1st."
  Thusly, it begins.  It wasn’t just what she said, it was how she said it.  I can read people really well over the phone, probably as good as a telephone psychic trying to do a cold reading.  In many cases, being the hypocrite that I am, I would have just given her the free bread.  But not today.  She tries a variety of tactics on me:  there’s no expiration date, this isn’t good customer service, I order alot, blah blah blah.
  I explain to her that yes, while there is no expiration date, in the real world nothing lasts forever.  I am sorry.  We go back and forth on this, and then I am done.  Then she begins to repeat herself.  This is another tactic, I believe.  Wear me down?  Good luck with that shit.  (Re:  19 years of marriage)  And I tell her.  "Okay, now you’re starting to repeat yourself."
  "No, I’m not.  That’s very rude.  This isn’t very good customer service.  Are you the manager?"  Good, escalate this.  Try to go over my head.
  "I’m the manager in charge, yes."
  She tries to appeal to my…I don’t know–sense of justice?  Or larceny?  Either way.  I interrupted her.  "Look, this is just a part-time job for me.  I have a day job.  I don’t have aspirations of a career at this–"
  And before I could finish, I heard her scoff and say, "Who would?"
  "–Anymore."  Then I processed what she just said.  It’s one thing for me to mock the job, because I own it.  But for someone else to, that’s just rude.  Touche, bitch.  Now try and get something free from me.  "I just do as they say–" which we all know is a lie "–and they tell me these are expired and we do not take them anymore."  That part, at least, is true.  I’m not making it up.  I don’t have to make stuff up when the rules are arbitrary and randomly enforced. 
  I blame the company.  They don’t really pay us enough to take care of the customer, they just pay us enough to want to argue with them.
  Eventually the phone call ends, with something along the line of her saying, "Fine!" and hanging up.  Angry sex is best.  I look down at the screen,however, and there is her order for the pizza.  Does she still want it?  Or not?  Should I call her back?  Hey, I have an idea:  YOU call her.  Anything I said was going to sound sarcastic whether I meant it to be or not…and at this point that would be the intent.  "So, did you still want the pizza, or not?"
  I’m not calling.
  Dina was still there, she heard some of the conversation, and I filled her in.  She said, "*I’m* not calling."  But she did look at the screen and said, "Oh, *that* one."  She’s a bitch, and she doesn’t tip.  She looked up the woman’s order history.  The last several orders all had free bread on them.  So, either she has a handful of the gift certificates, or–
  The most likely scenario is that she has one, and has never given it to the driver.  Nothing lasts forever, but the power to be a bitch is enduring.

  About a half-hour or so later, she calls back.  She was nice and sweet and her tone had completely changed.  "Yes, I had ordered a pizza a while ago and I was wondering where it was."
  I answered in kind, not accusatory.  "I’m sorry about that, ma’am.  The phone call ended abruptly before the order was finished, so I wasn’t sure–"
  "Well, yeah, we still want the pizza."  While I talked I entered the information from memory.
  "Okay, that’s not a problem.  You’re total is–"  whatever the hell it was; I don’t remember "–and I’ll get that out to you as soon as I can, okay?"
  "Thank you very much."
  "Thank *you*.  And have a good evening."
  So–she still ordered the pizza.  That means *I* win.


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