Papa, Can You Hear Me?

Okay, as anyone who knows me personally knows, my life is essentially the Job story from the Bible as rewritten by David Mamet. To say that retail transactions don't work out for me is an understatement equivalent to when the neighbors in Houston said, "You know, that Bush boy ain't too bright, is he?".

I can walk into the most innocuous store and attempt to buy toothpaste and, somehow, I'll wind up leaving without the toothpaste, my blood pressure in high triple digits and screaming about false advertisement suits and the paternity of the manager... Today I attempted to order lunch from Papa John's. Seems like a simple thing doesn't it? Now, I should state that, while I quite like Papa John's pizza, I've had nothing but problems with them over the years. There have been long periods of time when I've "boycotted" them over some previous slight. But, of late, they've been a bit better. So, when they solicited me with an e-mail this morning, with an offer that, for them, was a good one (I do think they're incredibly overpriced), I figured, "What the hey?".

At 1 O'Clock, I placed an online order for my pizza. Nothing fancy. Large, with a couple of toppings, per the e-mail. Should be a cinch right? Now, when I order a pizza from Domino's, it's 20 minutes, 25 tops. Sometimes, it's here so quickly, I actually wonder if it's done, but it's here nonetheless — and it's hot. So, as today's PJ's order approached the 30 minute mark, I began to fret. Again, as anyone who knows will tell you, I'm not blessed with a lot of patience for things like this. I HATE to wait. Anyway, that's my problem.

At the 50 minute mark, I called the store (always a joy for me). I get someone whom I'll refer to as Pimply McPepperoni on the phone, and he answers with the always comfort inducing, "HelloPapaJohn'sPizza,Canyouhold?" Now, having some experiece with the lack of phone training that Pimply and the others of his hive have received, I know that by saying yes, I will almost certainly be insuring a disconnection, so I say, "No". Pimply seems taken aback by this. Apparently, he's never had anyone calling in who thinks their call is more important than whatever he wants to put them on hold for. I forge forward into the silence and say I ordered a pizza almost an hour ago, and was wondering where it might have gone. Pimply asks my address and then tells me to hold on. In the ensuing silence, I come to the realization that he was going to put me on hold, come hell or high water anyway. EVENTUALLY, he comes back and says that it's already left. I answer that, well if that's the case, where is it, since I'm, literally, about 5 minutes from the store by car and it's been an hour. He says that, "it should be there within the next ten minutes (the actual one hour mark) and that it hasn't been an hour yet". What ever happened to that 30 minute guarantee in the 80's?

Anyway, I answer that "it will be if takes another ten minutes", and then proceed to tell him how horrible their service is. I tell him that "if it's cold (as it regularly is from them when delayed like this), I will certainly refuse it and send it back". He responds that, "that's fine and we'll make a fresh one and send it out to you". I state that, "I don't want a replacement". Simply because I don't want this to cycle on for the rest of the day. Cut to the end - a knock on my door at 2:48. Now, by my, granted, amateur calculations, that would be 1 hour and 48 minutes after I ordered. Which is exactly what I say to the guy at the door after the words, "You've got to be kidding me...". Whereupon he begins to tell me the long sad tale of how the other driver's car broke down and he gets, like, 10 pies to scatter among the masses everytime he goes back and blah blah blah. After I tell him to begone with his frozen cheese disc, he tells me that if I let him call the store, the manager will probably just say I can have that one for free. I. Don't. Want. A. Cold. F@#$%^g. Pizza.

Doesn't anyone get the point of this? Pizza is hot food. Hot food is meant to be eaten — HOT! It seems that in this country now, no one understands the concept of delivering their product in a usable condition. Go to a fast food place, where the food is never fast anymore (I'm looking at you McDonald's), wait an interminable amount of time until you're past hungry, and then take the hamburger you're given (which is tepid at best) and try to eat it down while some warmth remains deep, deep within it. And if you say anything? You'll get one of two things. The blank corporate stare which doesn't understand why you're upset since you ordered a hamburger and there it is. You didn't want it edibly warm too, did you? Or, you get a 20 minute dissertation on the problems with the management, the hamburger supplier, cows... god knows what. But, it is NEVER the employees fault. I personally have had it with this crap. It's no wonder this world will be lucky to stumble through another few years until the Apocalypse in 2012. But, even then, I'm sure there'll be someone making excuses for why it's late and how Nostradamus just couldn't get the proper materials to be accurate. Or, to quote the mad scientists in the Beatles' Help movie, "It's the plugs you see, the main thing's the plugs. Good British plugs. All this American rig... wrong voltage... I'm better with animals than plugs and transistors. Animals trust me. I should have been in vivisection."

Btw, I had a hard salami sandwich for lunch.