dragojustine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dragojustine) wrote2010-07-11 09:32 pm
dragojustine) wrote2010-07-11 09:32 pm
Entry tags:
Adventures in Misdelivering Pizza: Stage Directions
Opener: In which it is your job to take pizzas out of the oven and put them in the boxes. Simple, right?
-Forget to put the little cheese tables in the middle. Send five pizzas out with cardboard in the cheese.
-Forget that gourmet chicken gets parmesan on top after it comes out of the oven. When pizzas are out the door, hope nobody notices.
-Forget that extra-large pizzas are cut into twelve slices, not eight. Hope that family has very large plates.
-Mix up the regular utensil-thingie with the gluten-free utensil-thingie. Send two orders back to be remade. Hope those people prefer eating late to being sick.
Act 2: In which all you have to do is take the pizza from point A to point B, with a map, in an area you know well.
-Take a dodgy shortcut because it's the only way to avoid rush hour traffic. Forget that it is Sunday and there is no rush hour. Five minutes late.
-Forget that a main road is closed for construction. And has been for the last two weeks. Forget the detour you drove just yesterday. Ten minutes late.
-Forget that a local very large park has two entrances, and you can't drive between them inside the park, but instead have to go way back out and around. Twenty minutes late.
Act 3: In which the things you become frazzled about are finally not your fault.
-Explain to a sad gentleman that you are sold out of the ice cream flavor he ordered, even though the person who took his order half an hour ago assured him we were not.
-Resist the urge to explain to the woman who insists that she asked for Diet Coke that you have the receipt right here, dammit, and this is not your fault, it's the fault of the guy who took her order, so you should still get a tip.
Grand Finale: In which a brief hope of redemption is quickly dashed
-Deliver a pizza to a shirtless man who looks exactly like Matt Bomer. He smiles at you and says "g'day, mate" and gives you a five dollar tip. Sigh dreamily.
-Return to the store and promptly drop things while doing dishes. Many, many, many things.
Encore: Because the crowd wants more
-Drive halfway home with the pizza sign still on top of your car.
I can't even be upset about this day. It was way too funny.
(Just to clarify: I actually absolutely love this job. The people are fun and the driving is fun and the free pizza is fun and the money is boggling. It's just. There are days...)
-Forget to put the little cheese tables in the middle. Send five pizzas out with cardboard in the cheese.
-Forget that gourmet chicken gets parmesan on top after it comes out of the oven. When pizzas are out the door, hope nobody notices.
-Forget that extra-large pizzas are cut into twelve slices, not eight. Hope that family has very large plates.
-Mix up the regular utensil-thingie with the gluten-free utensil-thingie. Send two orders back to be remade. Hope those people prefer eating late to being sick.
Act 2: In which all you have to do is take the pizza from point A to point B, with a map, in an area you know well.
-Take a dodgy shortcut because it's the only way to avoid rush hour traffic. Forget that it is Sunday and there is no rush hour. Five minutes late.
-Forget that a main road is closed for construction. And has been for the last two weeks. Forget the detour you drove just yesterday. Ten minutes late.
-Forget that a local very large park has two entrances, and you can't drive between them inside the park, but instead have to go way back out and around. Twenty minutes late.
Act 3: In which the things you become frazzled about are finally not your fault.
-Explain to a sad gentleman that you are sold out of the ice cream flavor he ordered, even though the person who took his order half an hour ago assured him we were not.
-Resist the urge to explain to the woman who insists that she asked for Diet Coke that you have the receipt right here, dammit, and this is not your fault, it's the fault of the guy who took her order, so you should still get a tip.
Grand Finale: In which a brief hope of redemption is quickly dashed
-Deliver a pizza to a shirtless man who looks exactly like Matt Bomer. He smiles at you and says "g'day, mate" and gives you a five dollar tip. Sigh dreamily.
-Return to the store and promptly drop things while doing dishes. Many, many, many things.
Encore: Because the crowd wants more
-Drive halfway home with the pizza sign still on top of your car.
I can't even be upset about this day. It was way too funny.
(Just to clarify: I actually absolutely love this job. The people are fun and the driving is fun and the free pizza is fun and the money is boggling. It's just. There are days...)