He was just checking

We open at 11 a.m. Of course, people have to get there before we open -- set up the pizza-making table, turn on the ovens, lay out the salad bar.

Mini Boss arrived at Pizza Place one Sunday last year shortly before eleven. He found a old man sitting in his car outside, waiting for us to open. Mini Boss went inside and started setting things up.

Come eleven, Mini Boss strolled over to our front window. Sure enough, the old man was still sitting outside, waiting. Mini Boss made eye contact with him for a moment, then turned on the open sign.

And the old man promptly...started his car, shifted into reverse, and drove away.

We never saw him again.

With friends like these

Of course, not all the idiots are on the opposite side of the counter. There are plenty of dolts who end up on our payroll. And frankly, they're a lot more annoying than the customers.

During one lunch buffet, we became unexpectedly busy. Big Boss happened to glance at the parking lot and saw that someone had parked their car poorly, taking up several spaces and impeding other customers. Cursory investigation revealed that one our of waitresses owned the car in question.

Big Boss went to the waitress. "Can you move your car?" he said. "You're blocking the spaces." She nodded, and then proceeded to...not do it.

A short while later, Big Boss asked her again. She agreed again, and then again didn't do it.

Big Boss again confronted her. "Will you move your car? Please?" The incoming customers were quickly filling the available spaces, and more were on the way.

So the waitress walked outside, got into her car, pulled it out of the space...and drove away. She just went home.

Never came back.

Allow 6-8 weeks for delivery, please no C.O.D.s

There is a difference between learning something and memorizing it by rote.

Let's try an exercise: I want you to get up from your computer and find the person nearest to you who was raised in the United States. If they wouldn't mind, have them recite the Pledge of Allegiance. Go ahead, I'll be here when you get back. (I guess if you're alone, you can do it yourself. But hurry up, Heroes is about to start.)

Back? Okay. I'm willing to bet serious money that, if they complied with your strange request, it came out sounding like this:

"I pledge allegiance - to the flag - of the United States of America [longer pause], and to the Republic - for which it stands - one nation - under God - indivisible - with liberty and justice for all."

It did, didn't it? Why? Because that's how they were taught to say it in kindergarten, with those big gaps. Because they memorized it by rote. They didn't learn it, they were taught to repeat it and never, ever thought about what they were saying.

This is what happens when you memorize something as opposed to learning it. When you memorize something, it stays in its original formation in your head, and becomes much more difficult to come up with in any other shape.

Which is why I often get this deluge of information when people are trying to get a pizza delivered:

"What's your address?"
[in one breath] "3125 Archer Street, Apartment 2-F, Dickinson, Texas, 77539."

Now. You want to argue that the city is justified, go ahead -- we only deliver in this particular town, but there are several little wide spots in the road in our vicinity, so it's feasible that we deliver to them.

But the state? How big do you think our delivery area is?
"How long will it take to get a pizza delivered?"
"Where are you?"
"Oklahoma."
"Um...about twelve hours."
"All right then. You need my phone number?"

But the truly fabulous one, to me, is the ZIP code. The ZIP code? Are we going to mail you your pizza?
"How much is a supreme pizza?"
"$15.99, plus $4.95 for shipping and handling."

Of course, most people don't even realize what a ZIP code is for. And it doesn't occur to them to not say it, just as it doesn't occur to them to not tell me what state they're in. When they moved to wherever it is they are, they couldn't just remember their address, so they had to memorize it, like a kindergartener, in one big unbroken block. Why?

Because they're idiots.

Clerks: a documentary, part 2

If you've seen Clerks, you'll remember one of its running gags. At the beginning of the film, Dante arrives at the store to find that a vandal has jammed gum in the locks of the steel shutters over the windows. Since it gives the impression that the store isn't open, Dante grabs a white sheet and some shoe polish and constructs a sign that reads, in three-foot-high letters, "YES! I ASSURE YOU WE ARE OPEN!" Despite this, every customer who wanders into the store asks him, "Are you open?"

At Pizza Place, we were closed yesterday for Thanksgiving. We're generally closed on those big holidays -- Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, Christmas. But a few years ago, Big Boss decided to stay open for Christmas.

We were just about the only business open that day, so we did some brisk business. But the pleasant amount of money I made wasn't quite worth the annoying phone calls I had to answer all day.

Every phone call -- every pickup order, every delivery order, every last bloody phone call -- began as follows:

"Thank you for calling Pizza Place, how can I help you?"
"Are you open?"

No. No, I'm just here hanging out, thought I'd answer the telephone. Why else would someone be answering the phone?

Next year, ask Santa for some common sense.

I realize there's a perfectly valid explanation for this one, but it's funnier if the guy is just an idiot

Last night at Pizza Place, the phone rings.

"Thank you for calling Pizza Place, can I help you?"
"Yeah, what's your phone number?"
"....?"

Clerks: a documentary

We're selling commemorative Coca-Cola glasses this Christmas, as part of that time-honored tradition of Coke slapping its logo on anything that will hold still long enough to get stamped.

The day we put up the display, a guy came in and inquired about the glasses. He thrust a bony finger at the sign and said, "How much are they?"

Wait, word problems? What is this, the SAT?

When dealing with the customers, you attempt to be polite and civil. No matter how stupid they become -- and as you've seen, and will see in the future, they can get pretty stupid -- you must remain nice and smiling. After all, the customers are your real boss; they pay your wage, if only indirectly.

But here's a sad fact: there are some questions that are impossible to answer without sounding like a smartass.

"I saw an ad in the newspaper, for your Bacon Cheddar Ham pizza?"
"Yes, sir."
"What comes on that?"
"On the Bacon Cheddar Ham?"
"Yeah."
"...Bacon...cheddar...and...ham?"

A woman called and asked about our buffet last night. The call came in at 7:41 p.m.

"What times does your buffet end?"
"8:00."
"Oh. So -- hmm. Can we still make it there?"
"...I'm sorry?"
"Well -- okay, listen. We live two minutes away. Can we make it there on time?"
"Um...if you're two minutes away... and you've got nineteen minutes..." I trailed off, because I couldn't think of a way to finish the sentence without sounding like a smartass. Unfortunately, she couldn't come with me on the leap of logic.
"Yeah, I guess we can't. Okay, thank you!" *hangs up*
"...?!"

And then there's this special guy, also from last night.

"I want to get your meat lover's pizza, but I only want beef."
"Only beef?"
"Yeah, I'm allergic to pork."
"So, no pepperoni, no sausage, no Italian sausage, no Canadian bacon, and no bacon."
"Right. A meat lover's with just beef. What do you call that?"
"...A pizza with beef."

WTF?

"Okay...your total is going to be $20.46. Are you going to be paying with cash or credit?"

"Credit."

"Okay. Can I get the credit card number, please?"

"Uh, sure. Do you need all the numbers? Or just some of them?"

"..."

Leave it out for a few days, and you can shingle your roof with it

There's something strangely compelling in someone who isn't quite paying attention to what they're saying. When people are confused, or flustered, or just really stupid, some bizarre questions and statements will emerge. Like this:

"Thank you for calling Pizza Place, how can I help you?"
"Do you guys have cheesesticks? Or cheesebread?"
"We have cheesebread."
"Is it -- hmm. Is it like the, the thin one? That you can eat?"

No, we don't have that cheesebread you can eat. Roof-shingling cheesebread, sure. But edible cheesebread? 'Fraid not.

We don't go for that "The customer is always right" crap, either

Our standard delivery time at Pizza Place is 30 to 45 minutes. That's what we tell our customers just about every time. Sometimes, we know it won't take that long, but that's what we're required to say: 30-45 minutes. If we're busy or short-handed, the time might increase: 45 minutes, 50 minutes, an hour. The longest I've ever heard was "an hour and a half, two hours," and that's when we were slammed and short-handed.

The point is that we generally deliver our pizzas pretty quickly, unlike Pizza Conglomerate, which routinely takes an hour or two to get you your order. But they're famous, so they can get away with it.

Our customers are generally pretty pleased with our delivery times. But every once in a while...

It was a Saturday night. Now, you'd think Saturdays would be insanely busy at Pizza Place, but you'd be half-right: on some Saturdays, we've got orders coming out our ears, and on others, we're completely dead. There is no middle ground. But this particular Saturday, we were quite busy, so our estimated delivery time expanded. First, to "40-45 minutes," then to "50-55 minutes."

I found myself on the phone with a young gentleman -- 15, 16 years old -- employed at the go-cart track a block away from us. Now, he's not far away, but there were many orders ahead of him, and we have to deliver them in the order they're received. So I had to tell him, "It's going to be about an hour for delivery, is that okay?"

There was a confused pause. "Um," he began, "don't you have to deliver it in 30 minutes or less? Or it's free?"

Ah, yes. The 30-minutes-or-less policy. It was introduced by Domino's Pizza in, uh, the '80s (I don't feel like looking it up) and abolished because their drivers were having accidents and killing people to get the houses on time. It goes without saying that we don't do that.

"That's not our policy, sir."

There was another confused pause, and then a slight sigh: the tiny spitting of air one makes when one is baffled. And then, solemnly, dead serious: "But isn't that, like, the law?"

The law. The law.

Yes, kid. It's the law. Police officers tail me every time I go out with a map and a stopwatch. I'm looking at fifteen to twenty if I'm late one more time.

What the fuck?

I told the kid that there was not, in fact, legislation regulating pizza delivery times. I managed to stop short of recommending he write his congressman.

Worst soda ever

It's not always easy to understand someone when you're talking to them on the phone. It's easy to become distracted, and words can sometimes be difficult to discern -- you'd be surprised how hard it is sometimes to tell the difference between "thin crust" and "thick crust" over the phone. And don't get me started on Avenues B, C, D, and G.

But the most common problem with telephone orders is that people simply don't listen to you when you ask them a question. Instead, they'll supply whatever response they like.

"What's your phone number?"
"2144 Ash Court."
"..."

We're often confused with the far more successful and famous Pizza Conglomerate, which has a location across the street from us. Even though we answer every phone call we receive with "Thank you for calling Pizza Place, can I help you?" customers generally don't realize we're not Pizza Conglomerate until well into the call, if ever.

But sometimes, you get some pretty interesting answers when the person you're talking to isn't listening. Like this exchange: a customer was using a coupon that got her two pizzas and a 2-liter beverage.

"What kind of 2-liter did you want?"
"Garlic sausage."

...What?

What question did she think she was answering? And am I the only one who thinks that Pepsi wouldn't be above a Garlic Sausage Mountain Dew? Maybe.

Just leave it there, we'll get it in a few weeks

A man calls us and places a large order, which he wants delivered. He gives an address in one of the developing neighborhoods on the edges of town. When the order is ready, I jump in my car and head out.

When I arrive at his address, I find that no one is home. Because the house isn't finished yet. The driveway is a hole in the ground, the place has no walls, and I can see the street behind it through the house's empty frame.

I double-check to make sure I'm at the right address, which I am. I look around: none of the other houses on this block are finished, either. Hmm.

I return to the Pizza Place, and my manager gives the guy a call.

"Oh!" he says. "That's the house we're moving to in a few weeks."

My manager: "You gave us the address of a house you don't even live in yet?"

"Yeah," he says, chuckling. "Guess I'm an idiot."

You don't say.

Welcome

There's no delicate way to put this, so I'll just make it short and simple right up front: people are idiots.

I've been working in one customer service job after another over the past eight years, and have encountered some of the very dumbest, most insane people ever conceived on this planet. While commiserating with a friend about the torrent of pain I've endured, he suggested that I write every single one of my stories down. Since I'm blessed with free space on Blogger and a unjustified belief that everyone wants to hear what I have to say, I've taken his advice.

So here, I'll let you in on my world of agony, three times a week. Some of the stories will be quick; some will be long; all of them will make you glad you don't have my job.

Most of the stories will be about my longest-held job, delivering pizza for an unnamed chain (we'll just call them Pizza Place). But I can always dip back to my original job -- rental agent for a car rental company -- if I feel like it: no shortage of stupidity there, either.

This blog will go on as long as it can -- you know, until I run out of stories. Which will happen once people stop being stupid. I'm not holding my breath.

Feel free to leave comments or e-mail me stories of your own.