Little Children, Part Two

I'm going to jump straight into part two of how to avoid having your food delivered hours late by a pissed off driver that made sure you paid a premium for a pizza that's destined to get some face time with the back seat of their car thanks to a few unnecessary but satisfying brake checks. 

First off, if you don't want your pizzas to look like they were stuck in a Honda Civic branded Cuisinart, don't call in and have us do a rundown on the entirety of our menu. I'm not saying have your order chambered and ready to go (although it'd be nice). Just don't call at 7pm on a Friday and have a group discussion with your softball team about the seventeen page menu we just finished reading off to you. Just know approximately what you'd like and we'll drag you the rest of the way over that Special Olympic's sponsored finish line. 

Also, don't put us on hold. That's probably the most egregious decision you can make. You called us to place an order, so choosing to pick up your other line to talk to your nana about the enema she got that day for her Irritable Bowel Syndrome is not a priority. Finish telling me that you have the mental agility of a netted dolphin and simply order the pepperoni pizza that I know you're going to order anyway. You're not going to be spontaneous and order a feta and spinach pizza, so stop attempting to be an outside of the box thinker and stick with the standard cheesy fare so we can all move on with our life and have a few extra minutes to spare because of it.

Being put on hold isn't an uncommon occurrence either. I'd say there's generally a violator of this war crime about once every two shifts. Usually it happens before any words are even exchanged. We'll pick up, say hello and then be met with a, "Oh hey, could you hold please?" Why even ask us at this point? You made the decision to be rude, commit to it. Just make the proclamation that we can go fornicate with ourselves because the needs of responsible customers are neither here nor there.  It'd be the honest route to take. Let's back up for a second, though, think about doing this to someone in person. It'd be like if you waited in line at your local Starbucks, you finally got to the barista at the end of the five minute long line, and then the first thing you said is, "Oh hey, could you fuck off for about four minutes while I toss out a Twitter update about what I'm ordering?" People in line would carry your soon-to-be lifeless corpse to the back of the line and then deposit you into the recycling bin in hopes that the second time around you'd come out with something called a fucking conscience. Or more realistically, we'd all stew in a marinade of hate and meet an early grave thanks to the resulting high blood pressure and stress that you dumped into our veins courtesy of your narcissism. 

Another thing, I know I touched on this a bit earlier, but I need to reiterate myself; don't poll a house party worth of drunkards to see what they want while you're on the phone. Do it prior to the conversation that you're going to have with the customer service representative who's life you're going to make miserable. We don't have the time to wait for Juan and Anders to hash out their differences on jalapenos and anchovies as toppings. Let them duel to the death prior to the call and then the winner can choose the poison that they feel like injecting into their overweight selves. Seriously, doing a Google-like collection of data from a household worth of occupants won't end well. I've seen fights break out between two people trying to agree on toppings, what help will it be to add two to ten more different tastes to the decision making trouble?

This is a grand total of four requests. That's all that I ask for. Is that really too much to hope for? Just don't let your over-entitled child meltdown into the receiver, contain Air Bud from airing out his vocal chords into my ear drum, don't put the person you called on hold and don't do an AP presidential sized poll on what people in your neighborhood would like applied to their pizza. Essentially don't physically or emotionally take a badminton racket to my shuttlecock. Your pizza will ultimately ring in at a lower price, be delivered faster and won't be toted around by an angry asshole that's had his soul sucked out of him by one two many under-drugged or over-drugged animals that are masquerading as customers and civilized human beings.