Vindication And Powdered Sugar

September 6, 2009 at 3:53 AM | Posted in Riding In Cars With Pizza | Leave a comment
  Both are pretty sweet…
 
  I wrote this long-ass thing the other day, so I just wanted to give a short recap.  Instead of a long, sweet, sweaty, intense lovemaking session with candles and music, just bend over so I can get in a quicky.
  Sometimes I just need you to hold still.
  You remember where I left you after Sunday night.  There was more of the big order on Monday.  Of course, The two biggest part were during the day when I was working my day job at da bank.  Because of that, Dina just scheduled me off–they could handle it.
  I considered going in Monday night again like I did Sunday, but I couldn’t muster the selflessness.  I think you only have so much, kind of like hair.  I’m going bald.  I think I’m going bald on my selflessness, too.  But I have a big hairy patch of self-pity and martyrdom on my back.  If you could just scratch that for me–
  My back hurt a little, and I had to work on my one day off.  Here it was Monday night, and I was on the couch.  My phone had not rung.  I’d like to take that as a good sign.  I did not want to call and find out.  Tuesday, I went in.
  All is calm, all is bright–
  Stan relayed to me the story.  It seems that, although our store (but not me) fucked up a little on Sunday, it was nothing compared to Monday’s fuck-up, and that was someone else.  Some other store.  Not us.
  Each store was bringing in a hundred and fifty pizzas, but they weren’t all going to the same place.  This was going not just to the hospital, but to the entire hospital organization, which has buildings and offices all over.  One store was supposed to bring their 150 to a separate building in their HR offices, but the ass-clown in charge brought them to the same place as the rest of them.  Before it was figured out, those pies were disbursed with the rest of them.
  Do you understand what that means?  One hundred and fifty pies–enough to feed 400 people, probably–never got to where they were going.  Meanwhile, a place that had plenty of pizzas just absorbed the extra 150 like they were a small stain.  There were some pissed people looking for their pizzas.
  Quickly, some calls were made, and two stores worked frantically to make 75 pizzas each to replace the ones that never got where they were supposed to go.  I never found out if they (the hospital) paid for those extra 150 or not; they did want to add to their order.  Honestly I don’t know.  With a bit more honesty I could say that I don’t care because it wasn’t my store.
  Speaking of paying, I have another little story.  Since this organization is all over the place, the franchise I work for couldn’t deliver ALL of the pizzas because some of the locations were in other stores’ areas.  This not Vietnam, this is pizza; there are rules.
  Of course we had the greater portion of orders but still, some confusion arose when another franchise–the one I had previously worked for–delivered their share of pizzas and demanded payment:  COD.  Flustered, the woman was unhappy but she wrote a check.  A big check.
  Word gets back to Big John, and he calls Gary, the Director of Operations for that franchise and a stupid, knuckle-dragging ape (I know him).  Big John tells him in no uncertain terms that the check must not be deposited and must be returned to the customer who wrote and it must be done immediately.
  I shudder to think what would have happened to this order if my former franchise had been in charge.  Yes, we had some issues–but it could have been much worse.  Coordinating 4000 pizzas between (as it turns out) eight stores and two different franchises when this is not a regular thing…aw, well.
  About the pizzas that were delivered to the wrong place:  that was all on one guy, Scotty.  That’s the annoying little punk (middle-aged creepy nerd) that left the company and came back.  The manager he works for was actually on vacation, planned months in advance, so he couldn’t change it.  Scotty, being not too bright, took this upon himself, and fucked it up.
  Lastly, Stan told me that for all of *our* store’s deliveries on Monday, not only were we on time, but we showed up first, unloaded, and then waited for everyone else to arrive and helped them unload.  Ha!  Take that, bastards!  And, the last late night delivery there were plenty of people and it all went smoothly.  My conscious, if I had one, would be appeased.
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