I’ve had it with stupid people.
Last night was the creme de la creme of idiocy, and yes, I used profanity when speaking with a customer on the phone. Of course, I was only repeating his own words… just to be certain that I understood his adjectives correctly.
We were busy.
And when I say busy, we were really busy. Everything was going pretty smoothly, though, and the kitchen was communicating well. Whitey and I were side by side on the make line, with Chuck Norris on ovens and WonderBread doing deliveries and stocking the line as needed.
I noticed our Front Gal on the phone looking at me with her panic-stricken doe eyes, and heard her say (as per our policy when anyone is upset or disappointed in anything), “What can I do to make it better?”
I was tossing a pie, and motioned to her that I would talk to the person for her. Too late, she dropped her mouth open and pulled the phone away from her ear, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Would you like to talk to my manager?” she said into the mouthpiece while looking at me, visibly upset.
I dropped the dough onto a paddle and walked towards the front, taking the phone from her.
“Hello,” I said, “It seems there’s a problem. Give me a moment to understand what’s going on.”
I put the phone down towards my leg, covering the mouthpiece.
“He’s cussing me out about getting a wrong pizza,” Front Gal said. “He just won’t stop cursing… he asked me if I was the one who took his order and to repeat what it was without looking it up. It was a long time ago! We’ve had so many orders since then, and he just keeps yelling and cursing at me.”
My momma-bear hackles went up.
I took the phone and introduced myself, then asked again what we could do to make it better. I offered to re-make his pizza and personally deliver it, to which he still was agitated about.
Three-quarters with Canadian bacon and pineapple, 1/4 without pineapple add olives or something like that. It didn’t matter at this point. He wouldn’t stop freaking out on the phone, and kept telling me what F-ups we were.
I lost it.
“So, you’re thinking it’s a good idea to call and cuss out a teenage girl? That’s going to fix things?” I demanded. “To tell her what a F-up she is? When she goes home and cries herself to sleep and her dad asks her what’s wrong, should she give him YOUR name?”
This guy, I’ll tell ya, he’s a piece of work.
He’s also a local attorney.
He was quiet on the phone for a moment, then said “I’m just tense. I just, I’ll, I…. I’m going to hang up now.”
I immediately noted the phone number on our Caller ID, looked up his order (which, by the way, was made exactly per his instructions), and checked his history in our computer. Aha! It wasn’t the first time we’ve had issues with him. Maybe someone needs some anger management classes?
I drafted a letter, which will be sent via Certified Mail on Monday morning:
If he had handled himself in a decent manner, he’d be overwhelmed with our generosity in handling his disappointment. Instead, this grown man is officially the first person to be 86’d from our restaurant.
When I showed Front Gal this letter, she hugged me and thanked me for standing up for her.
Hey, it’s one thing to be upset, it’s another to cuss out another human being. If we had punched him in the face or slept with his spouse, now THAT’S a reason to freak out.
But olives? Really?
Get a grip.