4.12.08
I know what you’re thinking, “Michael, 6 minutes to order a pizza does not sound easy, and in fact it sounds quite strenuous.” You’re right dear readers, it is strenuous, I hope you’ll forgive my dramatically expedient fabrication; lying is all the showmanship I’m capable of.
My boy Weems came over to hang out yesterday. Now whenever I’m low, whether it’s on funds or morale, Weems has had my back, plus he’s given me more rides than my mama. I owe Weems some serous Goodfellas-quality favors; one day your boy is gonna end up dangling somebody over the edge of a tiger habitat asking him to pay me so I don’t have to be “the bad guy”. Why would a young man who comes from a loving family act in such a way? Because Weems asked me to. With all that history and me having just gotten paid this week, I thought I’d treat my boy to a tank of gas and a pizza. Maybe I should’ve just sprung for two tanks of gas.
It’s sad when you’re dealing with an English-speaking cashier, yet ordering takes 6 minutes because you’ve got to say everything twice. The fault is mine really. I didn’t understand that you simply cannot give the people on the phones information before they ask for it; they just plain don’t know how to handle it.
“Thank you for calling Papa John’s how can I help you?”
“Yes, I’d like to place an order for pickup.”
“Will that be for delivery or pickup?”
“Pickup.”
“Ok, what would you like?”
“I’d like an order of the Chipotle barbeque wings an order of the hot wings and a large pizza with the works please.”
“Do you know what size you’d like your pizza?”
“A large.”
“And what would you like on it?”
“The works.”
Fast forward to the end of the order
“Your total is $25.79, estimated delivery time is 75 minutes.”
“But… I told you, this is for pickup.”
“So this is for pickup?”
“Yes”
“You’re picking this up?”
“Yes.”
“So we don’t need to deliver it to you?”
“No.”
“Ok, your pizza will be ready in 15 minutes.”
“Can I put this on my Visa?
“You want to do it now or when you get here?”
“Now’s fine.”
“Ok, what kind of credit card are you using?”
“Ummm… a Visa.”
“Ok, your pizza will be ready in 75 minutes.”
“Outstanding.”
The worst part is when you’re ordering food, no matter how exasperating the person you’re ordering from is, you have to be nice until you get your food. That is unless you want spit and other unsavory “ingredients” mixed in with the cheese. I am not Clarence Thomas, so there is nothing amusing to me about pubic hairs.
When we got to the Papa John’s, seeing the order taker in person was just like meeting the Wizard of Oz; she was nice and had a friendly enough disposition, but definitely had a few screws loose. For some reason her earrings didn’t match, she looked like she had fallen in a cauldron of pizza dough dust (like the staff had just tried to bury her alive only an hour ago, and with good reason), and even though she couldn’t have weighed more than 90 pounds she was trying to eat an apple the size of kindergartner’s head. I took one look and everything suddenly made sense.
“Oh she’s lucky to have gotten dressed by herself, I just hope she isn’t allowed to drive, at least not in my neighborhood, that’s a lot of dead joggers…”
On the bright side, at least she wasn’t rude. That would’ve been a deal breaker for me and ole’ Papa. Nothing warms and chills your boy’s heart like the presence or absence of quality customer service. I’m loyal to Target because the people at Target smile. No one at Walmart smiles, no one at Walmart has smiled for quite some time now. Every once in a while some new guy or spunky girl will try to smile, management has security take them out the back, quick, and that person is never heard from again, by family or anybody, just gone like Kaiser Soze.
Anyway, this girl wasn’t rude, she was just spaced-out, dumb. Not like a please-pretend-like-you-don’t-notice-my-safety-helmet-and-matching-Power-Rangers-lunch-box dumb, more like a don’t-worry-about-college-exams-or-applications-cause-your-ass-ain’t-gonna-make-it dumb, which makes me feel less guilty for judging her.
I guess this story is really a testament to how good Papa John’s pizza is more than anything, because as much as that experience tested my patience, I’d still order again, from that exact one if necessary. That pizza was D-licious. Wings left something to be desired though; you gotta know your strengths Papa J, cheese & tomato sauce, yes, unsoggy wings and quality hires, no.
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