[Sorry for the lateness. I had some car-related issues that were a distraction, not to mention the enormous amount of time I spent in the Animus, reliving the memories of Altaïr's efforts to end the Crusades. A thousand apologies.]
The man's name is Shindledecker. We know this because it shows up on the caller ID. I'm sure he has a first name, but we've long since forgotten it. He occupies a special place on our "no delivery" list -- separate from all other names, in its own section, reads a quick, dirty scrawl:
SHINDLEDECKER
[his phone number]
NO DELIVERY
NO PICKUP
"GET THE FUCK OUT"
"If he comes in here again," Mini Boss told us all, "that's what I want you to say to him: get the fuck out of here. Exactly those words."
Late one Saturday night, the phone rang. One of our servers answered the phone, as Mini Boss and I were in the dining room discussing something on the television. I saw her talking on the phone for a minute, scribbling onto an order pad. She looked puzzled for a moment, then put the customer on hold. To me, she said, "An extra large pizza is $9.99?"
"For one topping, yeah."
"How much for an extra topping?"
"Two dollars."
"What if it's just on half?"
"Still two dollars." This is Pizza Place policy. I don't know if it works like that everywhere else -- Mini Boss and Big Boss assure me that it does, and I don't care enough to find out. But in any event, it's mandated by Pizza Place corporate, so there's nothing we can do about it. Is it unfair? Maybe. But it's also a friggin' dollar we're talking about. This is important later.
She picked the phone back up. I watched her talk for a few more moments. She listened for a second, and then flinched -- like she'd been physically struck. She pulled the receiver away from her face and looked at it like she'd never seen one before, and then -- gingerly -- hung it up.
The way she relayed the story to us, the customer she was talking to -- this guy Shindledecker -- ordered an extra large pizza with extra cheese, and pepperoni on half. When given his total, he balked and demanded explanation. So she double-checked the cost of an extra topping with me, and confirmed it with him.
"But I'm only getting it on half," he said.
"It's still two dollars," our server said.
He repeated his original protest, and our server repeated her side. "I'm sorry," she offered.
Shindledecker scoffed. "Whatever, bitch," he said. "Just make the fucking pizza." *click*
Now, Mini Boss is not a man without his flaws. When bored -- and he bores easily -- he generally turns his wicked sense of humor on his own employees, and can get pretty nasty. This server in particular was a frequent target for ridicule, with her drug-laden past and psychotic life story. (My favorite part: her ex-husband once went crazy and tried to kill her...with a sword.)
But the one thing he absolutely will not tolerate under any circumstances is someone talking like that to one of us. (Perhaps he feels they're encroaching on his turf.) Give any Pizza Place employee any crap, and you will find Mini Boss in your face in a matter of seconds.
So after Shindledecker's unkind comments to our server, Mini Boss was no mood to placate the man. He made the pizza, exactly as ordered, and we waited.
There's an episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine where Worf is put on trial for accidentally destroying a civilian passenger carrier during a fight with Klingons. Quark is called as a witness, and reflects on a conversation he shared with Worf before he left on the mission -- Quark asked about the possibility of a Klingon attack. "Then he got his really weird look on his face, and he said...'I hope they do.'"
Mini Boss had that look on his face.
Ten minutes later, Shindledecker arrived. We recognized him -- he'd come in quite a few times before, we just didn't know his name. Calmly, politely, he stepped to the counter and asked for his pizza. Mini Boss gave him his total -- the same total the server had told him.
"But I'm only getting the pepperoni on half," Shindledecker said -- again, calmly.
"Yeah, I'm sorry, sir, but it's still--"
"FUCK YOU!!!" Shindledecker screamed. He pounded his fist on the counter, then spun on his heel and marched to the door. "THIS IS FUCKING BULLSHIT!! FUCK YOU FUCKERS!! AAAHH!!!"
He threw open the front door, stepped outside, and slammed the thing shut -- slammed it so hard the impact reverberated through all the other windows in the building, and came pretty close to breaking it altogether.
Mini Boss -- who had been waiting for an outburst, but nothing like that -- reached under the counter and grabbed his gun. Who knew if this crazy fucker was coming back in?
We saw the crazy man get in his car, still yelling (to himself) about this injustice. Mini Boss ran out after him and yelled, "Don't you ever fucking come in here again!" Shindledecker made as if he was coming out of the car, but saw the gun in Mini Boss's hand and drove away instead. Mini Boss came back in, stowed his firearm, and made the aforementioned note on our no service list.
He hasn't come back since. I guess he wasn't willing to risk getting shot.
Over a dollar.
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