I realized tonight that whenever I run short on blogging inspiration, I need only visit a Domino’s Pizza outlet for a few minutes and I’ll come away with plenty of material.
I volunteered to pick up a pizza tonight if Debbie would order it, so she did via the Domino’s website. Normally, you can track the status of your order through the various stages of preparation via the website, but tonight our order seemed to be stuck at “prep,” even though the site told us the pizza would be ready in 20-30 minutes.
After 20 minutes, I decided to drive over and pick up the order; surely they had just forgotten to update the website.
I arrived at the store, which is of course a small phone-order taking, carryout-only operation, and was promptly informed that our order wasn’t ready. A minute later, the phone rang, and the manager announced in a loud voice “don’t answer that…we’re not taking any more carry out or delivery orders!” The phone rang continuously thereafter, and was promptly and earnestly ignored.
The door swung open and a young man arrived to pick up his order. He also announced that they “owed him a free pizza because they messed up his order.” He insisted that “they” had told him he could just show up and get a free pizza. The manager told him they didn’t do that; he then asked who told him that. “The guy” was the answer.
“Well, when was this?” “A couple of months ago.” I thought I’d crack up. “We don’t do that,” the manager replied, resting his case. The young man was obviously upset and displayed his defiance by refusing to give the cashier his zip code when he paid for his pizza. “You can’t use your credit card without a zip code,” she calmly told him. Nothing was working for this guy tonight, and he resignedly gave her his zip and left with his pizza, defeated on all counts.
Another young man carrying a can of Red Bull had come in during this episode, and it took a while for them to notice, and ask him if they could help. He wanted to place a carry out order. “Sorry, we’re not taking any carry out orders.” You’d have thought he’d just been told there was no Santa Claus. He looked at me with pleading eyes; all I could do is shrug my shoulders, and he left with his lonely energy drink.
The cashier also had the responsibility of scooping up the pizzas on a long-handled paddle as they emerged from the conveyor belt oven.
To pass the time, I watched her at work. She was very short, and had to stand on tiptoe to reach the pizzas, even with the paddle. As I watched, one slowly came out of the oven and she wriggled the paddle under the crust. It was obviously a maverick, and she had a bit of trouble keeping it centered. Almost in slow motion, the pizza slid to the side and did a belly flop onto the floor, toppings down, of course.
She immediately and calmly yelled, “re-do!” The prep guy answered, “what kind?” “I don’t know; I’m trying to figure it out.” I guess you need CSI training to recognize a belly-flopped pizza.
We apparently slipped in under the wire, and a few minutes later our order was ready, brought out by a guy with strange eyes and ear-lobe plugs. Our order may have been slower than expected, but I left with a smile. People are funny.