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Last Friday night I wanted to spend a quiet evening with the family watching the Olympics and not cooking. Even though pizza is the arch nemesis of a low carb diet, the convenience of a meal in “30 minutes or it’s free” seemed too good to pass up. So I dug through the mailers and found a deal on 2 large pizzas, two toppings. We checked the stores listed on the flyer and were delighted to find (okay – “delighted” may be a tad strong) there was a new location only minutes from our house, plus they didn’t charge for delivery – Win-Win.
I call in my order. The girl asks for my address. She then asked what subdivision I lived in. I told her. She then informs me that particular shop did not deliver to my area, but gave me the phone number of the one that did.
So I call. I ask the new girl at the new location if they charge for delivery. “Yes, we do.”
“Okay. I’ll pick it up.” I said.
I proceed to ask the exact location of their store. She gives me location, to which I reply, “Oh, so you’re north of the interstate?” To which she replies, “Oh…well…I couldn’t tell you that.” (This is the future of America, people. Be very afraid.)
Whatever. I know where it is. I drive to the location, which was twice as far as the first one I called, but I digress…
“May I help you?” says the man behind the counter.
“Order for Kathy please.”
Thus begins the search for my order.
“We don’t have an order for Kathy. Are you sure you’re at the right location?”
“Is your phone number 555-1234?”
“Yes.”
“Then, yes. I’m at the right location.”
“What number did you call from?”
I proceed to give him my phone number. They check their phone and insists I did not call them. All the while the girl who took my order is avoiding eye contact with me. (I may not be good with names, but I have very good voice recognition.)
The manager says, “Well, you didn’t call here, but I can place your order now.”
“How long will THAT take?” I ask.
“About 20 minutes.”
Sigh…
“Okay.” I repeat my order, then call my husband to tell him I’ll be late.
“No,” he says. “Cancel the order. I’ll call the other location and by the time you get there it will be ready.”
Allrightythen…
I drive to the first location, which happens to be next door to a very popular Mexican restaurant in a strip center with woefully inadequate parking. I drive around the parking lot four times. Nothing. On my fifth pass, I am blocked by an SUV whose driver is waiting for someone to vacate a parking space…or so he thought. The drive is wide enough for a car to get around easily. That is, if the guy wasn’t idling right in the center of the drive. It mattered not that there was a line forming behind him. The parking spot was too good to pass up. I finally got around him with about 2 inches to spare. I ended up parking on the other side of the parking lot. (Did I mention it was cold outside and I was wearing flip flops?)
An hour and change after I left my house, I am finally holding two pizzas in my hands.
On the way out of the strip center, I notice the Ooo La La Bakery has put in a drive thru. Which makes sense, because sometimes you need a $10 cupcake on the go…
On a brighter note, they really have improved the crust…
I call in my order. The girl asks for my address. She then asked what subdivision I lived in. I told her. She then informs me that particular shop did not deliver to my area, but gave me the phone number of the one that did.
So I call. I ask the new girl at the new location if they charge for delivery. “Yes, we do.”
“Okay. I’ll pick it up.” I said.
I proceed to ask the exact location of their store. She gives me location, to which I reply, “Oh, so you’re north of the interstate?” To which she replies, “Oh…well…I couldn’t tell you that.” (This is the future of America, people. Be very afraid.)
Whatever. I know where it is. I drive to the location, which was twice as far as the first one I called, but I digress…
“May I help you?” says the man behind the counter.
“Order for Kathy please.”
Thus begins the search for my order.
“We don’t have an order for Kathy. Are you sure you’re at the right location?”
“Is your phone number 555-1234?”
“Yes.”
“Then, yes. I’m at the right location.”
“What number did you call from?”
I proceed to give him my phone number. They check their phone and insists I did not call them. All the while the girl who took my order is avoiding eye contact with me. (I may not be good with names, but I have very good voice recognition.)
The manager says, “Well, you didn’t call here, but I can place your order now.”
“How long will THAT take?” I ask.
“About 20 minutes.”
Sigh…
“Okay.” I repeat my order, then call my husband to tell him I’ll be late.
“No,” he says. “Cancel the order. I’ll call the other location and by the time you get there it will be ready.”
Allrightythen…
I drive to the first location, which happens to be next door to a very popular Mexican restaurant in a strip center with woefully inadequate parking. I drive around the parking lot four times. Nothing. On my fifth pass, I am blocked by an SUV whose driver is waiting for someone to vacate a parking space…or so he thought. The drive is wide enough for a car to get around easily. That is, if the guy wasn’t idling right in the center of the drive. It mattered not that there was a line forming behind him. The parking spot was too good to pass up. I finally got around him with about 2 inches to spare. I ended up parking on the other side of the parking lot. (Did I mention it was cold outside and I was wearing flip flops?)
An hour and change after I left my house, I am finally holding two pizzas in my hands.
On the way out of the strip center, I notice the Ooo La La Bakery has put in a drive thru. Which makes sense, because sometimes you need a $10 cupcake on the go…
“I love humanity. It’s people I can’t stand.” – Charles Schulz
On a brighter note, they really have improved the crust…
11 comments:
Yeah, that quote at the end? I've been there. I think there is a conspiracy among pizza places around here to make it as painful as possible for me to get food.
I feel your pain.
Competition is suppose to be consumer friendly...but apparently pizza places didn't get that memo.
I thought from the picture we were about to play "Finda the Pope in the Pizza." My favorite SNL game!
I would have ditched the pizza for anything else at that point. I also might have called out the girl who took my order, depending on how I was feeling.
Restaurants are only as good as the people that work there and unfortunately the people that work at most of them don't give a flip. I know, I worked in restaurants for 25 years and had to deal with lots of I-don't-care employees.
So..... How was the pizza?
So I'm assuming it was Domino's (since you said the crust was better). After all their commercials, I've thought about giving them another shot so did they improve it that much? My inquiring mind wants to know...
On days like this, my favorite quote would be, "The trouble ain't that there is too many fools, but that the lightning ain't distributed right." --Mark Twain
But aren't you glad you didn't have to go to all the trouble of cooking a meal? That might have taken, oh, like an hour and some change.
Good to live in the middle of nowhere, blessed with only *one* location. :)
What kind of pizza was it? And (pardon me, I'm from Iowa) what is a STRIP CENTER? And what would you expect from people who work in one?
The pizza was good, at least better than it used to be.
And Candy, a "strip center" (also called a strip mall) is a long building with a bunch of stores connected, with not enough parking. Get your mind out of the gutter, woman.
Strip Center? Is that what you call it in Texas? And just what do you expect someone from Iowa to think when they read that, because I'm from Oregon and I KNEW what you were talking about but thought, 'who the heck calls it that?'
And have you ever heard of Boboli? Just askin'.
Okay, I'm leaving now.
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