True Story

Front gal handed me the phone this afternoon, motioning that the lady on the other end was crazy.

I took the line and introduced myself, asking what the problem was.

“Yeah,” she said loudly, yelling over the kids screaming in the background, “my husband told me to call and tell you that you screwed up his order a few days ago.”

“A few days ago?” I asked.

“Yeah, like three days ago – SHUT UP! STOP HITTING YOUR SISTER! Sorry, the kids are fighting,” she replied.

“And you’re calling three days later because…?” I let my voice trail, allowing her to tell me what she was calling for.

“Because he told me to and I’m just doing as I was told.”

“Okay,” I said. “What did he want for you to accomplish by calling us three days later?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Alright, well, we take mistakes very seriously. What was the problem with the order?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said again.

“Alright, was it burnt or an incorrect menu item?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said again.

“Was it dine-in? Delivery? Take-out?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, again. “He speaks Spanish, so you guys probably just screwed up the order ’cause he don’t speak too good and you probably don’t have someone there who speaks Spanish.”

“Well,” I replied, “if he ordered in Spanish, I can pretty much guarantee you that we were unable to take the order in the first place. Unfortunately, no one here speaks a foreign language.”

“SHUT UP! JUST GO IN THE OTHER ROOM! God. Well, he was with a friend who speaks American so he probably ordered for him,” she replied.

“So you’re calling me three days later, and are unsure of what he ordered, how he received the order, or what was wrong with the order. Am I hearing you correctly?” I asked, incredulous to the situation at hand.

“Yeah.”

“And what exactly is it that you are trying to accomplish?” I asked.

“Well, can I just talk to a manager?” she replied, irritated with me.

“I’m the owner,” I replied.

“Oh. Well, normally when you call to complain about something, you get it remade or free next time,” she said.

Seriously. This is verbatim.

“Absolutely,” I replied. “We strive for perfection in our food and our service, so if something was wrong we’d certainly do our best to make it up to you. Tell you what – find out from your husband what day he was here, if it was take-out, dine-in or delivery, and approximately what time frame it was. That way I can look it up in the computer and find out what went wrong so that it doesn’t happen again, and then we can make it up to you.”

“You keep that stuff in the computer?” she asked.

“Yes, everything is tracked. I’d be able to pinpoint exactly what went wrong so that we won’t make the same mistake twice. But we’d need to know what he actually ordered in order to make it right.”

“Well I just don’t want to piss him off,” she replied. “I’ll ask him, but I don’t know if he’ll like it.”

“Alrighty,” I said. “But we can’t fix the problem if we don’t know what the problem was, right?”

“Yeah, alright. I guess I’ll call you tomorrow. I don’t know. That’ll be four days later. I don’t know.”

“Okay, well I’m here every day, all day, so I’ll be here when you call,” I replied.

And this, my friends, is a true story.

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This entry was posted in All About Us, baker city, Our Pizzeria, random. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to True Story

  1. monkeyinabox says:

    So, the other day I was thinking of pizza and placed an order in my head. However, later in the day it never arrived. I passed out from hunger and hit my head on the counter. I’m going to contact my attorney.

    Oh wait, your computer doesn’t read minds either? damn!

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