fresh meat

Every word of this story is true. I did my best to transcribe the conversations verbatim, but the nature of them made me stop listening about halfway through. The words contained herein are accurate, but not all-inclusive.

Friday night, 6 pm-ish.

Mild-mannered manager Jon is taking an order, but abruptly hangs up the phone, comes into the kitchen, and starts rolling dough with great, furious intensity, swearing to himself. Phone rings two minutes later, and I answer:

me: "Popolino's, can I help you?"
shrill voice: "I DEMAND TO SPEAK TO THE OWNER!! NOT THE MANAGER, BUT THE OWNER!!"
me: "Uh, he's not here-"
sv: "I KNOW THE OWNER, AND I DEMAND TO SPEAK TO HIM!! WHAT'S HIS PHONE NUMBER?"
me: "Well, if you know him--"
sv: "I WILL NOT BE TREATED THIS WAY!! I AM EXTREMELY MAD!!!"
me: (thinks to self) "No shit you are. You're also a raging bitch, and probably fat."

Jon comes up behind me and checks the caller id. "Hang up on her."

me: "We have already tried to take care of you. Have a good night." *click*

Five minutes later, a woman in her late 30s-early 40s walks into the restaurant with two small children and an older, shriveled-looking lady in tow. She stands at the counter with her arms folded, and Jon ignores her, instead retreating to the office. I immediately know what is up, and decide to bite the bullet.

me: "Can I help you?" *thinks to self* "Boy, you're a big one, aren't you?"
voice I recognize as shrill, but less so: "I want the name and phone number of your owner right now, please."
me: "He's probably in the phone book." I spell his name for her.
her: "Phone book."
me: "Excuse me?"
her: "PHONE BOOK." I give her the book, and she looks up the owner's number and calls him. Aside, to her child: "Oh, look, he lives close to Grandma." No answer. She turns to me again. "I want you to dial your owner's cellphone number. I want him to know how I've been treated."
me: *thinks to self* "Sorry, you spent all your cooperation allowance." To her, simply: "No."
her: "I KNOW THE OWNER. HE CAME OVER TO OUR HOUSE LAST WEEKEND, AND I THINK HE NEEDS TO KNOW HOW HIS EMPLOYEES TREAT LOYAL CUSTOMERS. I HAVE A STORE CREDIT, AND I WANT TO USE IT RIGHT NOW."
me: "You can't come in here shouting at us, demanding things, and expect us to just give them to you. If this is the way you're going to behave, we don't want your business at all. I think you should leave."
her: "OH, I THINK THE OWNER KNOWS THAT YOU DO WANT MY BUSINESS. I HAVE BEEN A LOYAL CUSTOMER FOR SEVEN YEARS..." blah blah blah, more shouting.

I refer her to Jon, who tells her that she does not, in fact, have a store credit, and that she needs to get her stories straight if she's going to lie in order to get free pizza. She starts shouting again, and Jon tells me to call the police. I eagerly comply.

her: "GO AHEAD AND CALL THE COPS!! I HOPE IT'S OFFICER (name)!!! OR MAYBE IT'LL BE OFFICER (name)!!! HE'LL BE VERY INTERESTED TO HEAR ABOUT THIS!!!"
me: *thinks to self* "Oh, you're already familiar with the police. Imagine that."

She goes outside and sits in her car, appearing a few minutes later to tell us that when the police come, she'll be in her car. This turns out to be a moot point, for when the police do show up, she runs up to them and tells her story, frantically gesticulating and pointing at me through the window. The police officer (a lady, maybe one or two years older than me, and kinda cute) comes in and asks us what's up, and we tell her that we don't want this crazy lady ever coming here or calling us again. They relay the message, and after the woman shouts at the police for a couple minutes, she eventually gets into her car and drives away.

The unmitigated gall of this woman, to come in and pretend we owe her something, and to pretend that she knows the owner (whose name, phone number, and address are a mystery to her), and then throw a fit when we call BS... you'd think she worked at the white house.

I can't believe how worked-up people get about paying for food. This woman is probably plotting how to browbeat an unsuspecting Deek's or Slap Shot employee into giving her some free pizza, and meanwhile, her poor little kids have to listen to her go totally ballistic whenever she doesn't get exactly what she wants. We called the cops on their mom, for chrissake. I feel kinda sorry for them; they will either make a psychologist very, very wealthy someday... or get all the free therapy they can handle in prison. I hope she comes back tomorrow so we can have her arrested for criminal trespass... no, actually, I hope the fat bitch (easily 350) dies of a heart attack tomorrow; it'll be better for everyone she knows. Oh, by the way, her name is Abby Coney. Fear and revile her, all who work in foodservice.

So that's my funny story from last night.

Sports are full of hilarious names.
This blog rules. A venture capitalist on the West Coast shares what he knows about IT, security, grapefruit juice, and game theory thought experiments. And that's just in the top 4 posts. Massively stimulating for the brain; if I were more alert, I would have devoured it like so much Chicken Fajita pizza. However, it's very early in the morning, and I haven't had coffee.