Friday, August 25, 2006
Problems
In my "Awful Customers" post, I said the following:
"A couple weeks ago we had some problems at the store (maybe I'll go into it in another post) and I ended up having to take six deliveries at once."
Well, these past couple weeks at work have been pretty uneventful so I suppose I'll tell the story. There isn't all that much to it, but it made for a hectic and exciting night. Anyway, things had been going pretty smoothly at Napoli's that night until, on the way back from a delivery, I was following behind somebody who did not know how to stay in their lane. Because of this, following behind them made me nervous. I wanted to pass them, but because of their lack of driving skills that made me even more nervous. When the opportunity arose, however, I made the attempt to pass them. Sure enough, as I was coming around they began to drift into my lane so I had to swerve up on to the curb to avoid having them hit my car. All seemed well, though, and I made it around them.
When I got back to the store, however, I noticed that hitting the curb had punctured the sidewall of one of my brand new tires which I had purchased without road hazard insurance because I didn't have the money for it at the time. Great. The tire was slowly, but surely, losing air. I went inside and said to the owner "I don't think I can work anymore tonight; I just blew out a tire." I think this happened around 7:30 and, as the opening driver that evening, I wasn't going to have to close. So it shouldn't have been a problem. Well, it was. "Troy just called from his delivery and said his car broke down," he said.
Troy, whose name has been changed for obvious reasons, was our only other driver on the clock that night. It was a Thursday and since our business is primarily with dine-in customers, we never require more than two drivers on a weekday. Of course we never planned on both our drivers messing up their cars (beyond the point of driving for the rest of the night) at the same time. As it turned out, 13 people had called for delivery at about the same time, so of course all 13 orders were now ready at the same time and neither me nor Troy (who wasn't even at the store) had working cars. Well, I got permission from one of the cooks to use his car, so that wasn't the problem. The problem was that because of the build-up in deliveries I had to load his car up with six of the thirteen orders while Mike took three and two of the waitresses each took one because at this point we were still unsure of whether or not Troy was even coming back to the store (he did after having a friend pick him up, and he took the last two deliveries in another cook's car).
Of course there was no easy way to go about taking all six deliveries. Two or three of them were close to each other, but that was about it. So needless to say, several of these people were getting their food late. The first five were very understanding of it, though, after I explained what had happened (in far less words than it's taken me to make this post) and tipped generously. The last (by my choosing), as I explained in an earlier post, was the FINA bitch, who didn't take things so kindly.
But I finally got back to the store around 9:15 and changed my tire before going home. Even with those six at a time I'd only taken about 15 deliveries all night, but still made a decent amount in tips (of course, I'd be spending three times my tips on a new tire with insurance the next day). All in all it was hectic, intense, and stressful, but not altogether a bad night.
"A couple weeks ago we had some problems at the store (maybe I'll go into it in another post) and I ended up having to take six deliveries at once."
Well, these past couple weeks at work have been pretty uneventful so I suppose I'll tell the story. There isn't all that much to it, but it made for a hectic and exciting night. Anyway, things had been going pretty smoothly at Napoli's that night until, on the way back from a delivery, I was following behind somebody who did not know how to stay in their lane. Because of this, following behind them made me nervous. I wanted to pass them, but because of their lack of driving skills that made me even more nervous. When the opportunity arose, however, I made the attempt to pass them. Sure enough, as I was coming around they began to drift into my lane so I had to swerve up on to the curb to avoid having them hit my car. All seemed well, though, and I made it around them.
When I got back to the store, however, I noticed that hitting the curb had punctured the sidewall of one of my brand new tires which I had purchased without road hazard insurance because I didn't have the money for it at the time. Great. The tire was slowly, but surely, losing air. I went inside and said to the owner "I don't think I can work anymore tonight; I just blew out a tire." I think this happened around 7:30 and, as the opening driver that evening, I wasn't going to have to close. So it shouldn't have been a problem. Well, it was. "Troy just called from his delivery and said his car broke down," he said.
Troy, whose name has been changed for obvious reasons, was our only other driver on the clock that night. It was a Thursday and since our business is primarily with dine-in customers, we never require more than two drivers on a weekday. Of course we never planned on both our drivers messing up their cars (beyond the point of driving for the rest of the night) at the same time. As it turned out, 13 people had called for delivery at about the same time, so of course all 13 orders were now ready at the same time and neither me nor Troy (who wasn't even at the store) had working cars. Well, I got permission from one of the cooks to use his car, so that wasn't the problem. The problem was that because of the build-up in deliveries I had to load his car up with six of the thirteen orders while Mike took three and two of the waitresses each took one because at this point we were still unsure of whether or not Troy was even coming back to the store (he did after having a friend pick him up, and he took the last two deliveries in another cook's car).
Of course there was no easy way to go about taking all six deliveries. Two or three of them were close to each other, but that was about it. So needless to say, several of these people were getting their food late. The first five were very understanding of it, though, after I explained what had happened (in far less words than it's taken me to make this post) and tipped generously. The last (by my choosing), as I explained in an earlier post, was the FINA bitch, who didn't take things so kindly.
But I finally got back to the store around 9:15 and changed my tire before going home. Even with those six at a time I'd only taken about 15 deliveries all night, but still made a decent amount in tips (of course, I'd be spending three times my tips on a new tire with insurance the next day). All in all it was hectic, intense, and stressful, but not altogether a bad night.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Things to Keep in Mind, Part I
There are a million things that people who take advantage of a food delivery service need to keep in mind. Some of the things I'll list you may have read before if you've dug through my blog a little bit. Many things will be based off my experiences with certain customers, but will apply to all customers. I assure you that you will see many installments in my blog on this topic because I am reminded daily of new things that would make the delivery experience easier on both the customer and the driver.
- Maintain your animals. Don't get me wrong; I absolutely adore animals. In fact, up until about a week ago I did not have a problem with this. However, as soon as the door opened on one of my deliveries last week I was greeted by a blue heeler (and I used to have one of my own, so I know how protective they can be) but was told not to worry and assured that "she's really sweet" by the customer... right before the dog attempted to take a chunk out of my leg. Before the transaction had ended, the dog had bitten my leg a second time. I know, people will advise me to sue, but I understand that the dog was only being territorial and wish no harm on it, and I fear a lawsuit may cause just that. I only ask that the dogs' owners put them outside or in another room (with the door closed) before answering the door.
- Maintain your children. Though not as harmful as some pets can be, children can still cause problems at the door, the biggest of such problems being they can simply get in the way. So as not to sound rude to the customer, I'm always polite to their children, but I don't need kids running around me or darting in and out of the door when I'm holding hot food. Likewise, I don't need children who have not yet learned to speak attempting to have a conversation with me while you stand back and have yourself a good laugh.
- Don't take my ticket. When I show up at the customer's door, I'm holding a little slip of paper with their address, their order, and their price. If I don't hand it to you, don't grab it out of my hand. If you ask, I'll let you have it, but I need those to keep track of all my deliveries.
- DON'T TAKE MY TICKET! On second thought, don't even ask to have it. You don't need it and I do. It doesn't have your price broken down to show the cost of everything you order (if that's what you're looking for, why don't you take a peek at the menu you used to order from us) and it won't show how much tax you were charged. It's handwritten and meant to be kept by ME.
- Know what you want before you call us. If you haven't decided on everything you want to order, then why did you even pick up the phone? When you call, I don't want to have to listen to "Uh... um... hm. Um... let's see..." Hang up the phone, take a further look at your menu, and call back when you're ready. We have other orders to take; time does not stop for you, so please be courteous.
- Don't ask us to read our menu to you. Look. You should know before calling Napoli's that it is not just a pizza joint. It is a restaurant. That means we've got a menu full of meals we sell. Don't ask us to list them for you, especially if you already have an idea of what you'd like to get. Fortunately, Napoli's has a website now so all we have to give customers like that is the address. This applies to all restaurants, though.
- Be at home. Unfortunately, this actually needs an explanation. If you are not at home, don't order delivery until you are. When we quote you an estimation of how long it will take for your delivery to arrive, it is exactly that: an estimation. That means that if we say it'll be there in 45 minutes, it won't necessarily be there in exactly 45 minutes. I've arrived as early as 25-30 minutes before the estimated time. I don't even know why I'm going on about this. Not being home when you're expecting a delivery is just stupid. Plain and simple.
- Have money ready. We don't tell our customers the price of their order over the phone unless they specifically request it. The reason for doing this is that to find the price we need to plug the order into the cash register and, being that we're also a dine-in and take-out restaurant, we constantly have people using the register. This is no reason, however, to not have money ready by the time your order arrives. The first thing you should do after hanging up the phone is find your checkbook or your cash, and set it somewhere (may I suggest NEAR THE DOOR) where you won't forget about it. I shouldn't have to wait for you to run out to the garage to dig your checkbook out of your car.
- Don't run your sprinklers. How rude and inconsiderate is that? Sometimes I feel people run their sprinklers when they're expecting a delivery just to be funny. There's nothing funny about discovering you've just been handed a lot of cold, wet food though, is there? Especially when it's your fault. Exceptions to this rule include the past couple weeks during this insane heat wave. Today, walking through sprinklers was actually a treat. Well, for me. Not for your food.
- Don't ask who it is. Why? Because it's the pizza guy. You ordered food a little while ago, and now it's here. Asking who it is just shows how paranoid you are and suggests you may have something to hide. Asking who it is when you have a peephole in your door or a nearby window is just dumb. I can have fun with this one, though, because "Napoli's" sounds a lot like "the po-leece."
That's it for this installment. As I said, there is definitely more to come.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Awful Customers
Everyone has awful customers. Unfortunately, as a delivery driver I believe I get to see customers at their absolute worst. Fortunately, most of my customers are pleasant or, at the very least, not unpleasant. I have two, however, who will turn any good mood rotten.
The first, and surprisingly not the worst, is the fat, lying bitch who works the counter at a FINA gas station down the road. First off, we have a $10 minimum for delivery at Napoli's. This bitch will always (or used to, at least) purchase the bare minimum to hit that $10.XX mark, then give us $11 and tell us to "keep the change." The first time I delivered to her, big deal, everyone has jackass stiffers but most of them aren't regular customers. After delivering to her several times I finally gave her the change for her $11 and told her "No, YOU keep it." When she tried to insist I keep it, I explained to her that I don't work for pocket change and I'd be happier if she just kept it for herself. The next time I delivered, she gave me $12 and insisted I keep it. I did. It's only a dollar tip, but at least it's not just change. She was learning. I was happy. The next time she ordered, her total was less than $10. We explained to her on the phone our minimum and she argued with us, lying about how we always delivered to her and it was never a problem in the past. Well, she was right. It never was a problem in the past because she'd never tried it. In any case, she finally agreed to pay the difference so we charged her $10. Since that day she has ordered less than $10 but always given the driver exactly $10. The problem is the difference still goes to the store, not the driver. So now she's "tipping" us even less than before. A couple weeks ago we had some problems at the store (maybe I'll go into it in another post) and I ended up having to take six deliveries at once. One was to the FINA station. Of course, I routed her delivery to be last. Because of the backup at the store, however, her delivery was almost an hour later than the quoted time so she stiffed me, cursed at me about the people I work with, and promised to never order from us again. Well, a couple nights ago the lying bitch ordered from us again and, of course, stiffed me. The next time she orders, I will have a chat with her about tipping etiquette.
Surprisingly, the customers I loathe even more than the fat, lying FINA bitch have never stiffed me and, in fact, generally tip $2-$3. For this one, I want you to imagine someone reaching all the way down your throat, swishing their fingers around in your stomach, punching you a couple times in the large intestine, grabbing a hold of your gall bladder, and squeezing it until the bile is seeping out of orafices you weren't even aware you had. Alright. We'll get back to that in a moment. I'll start now with how the "man of the house" treats our employees over the phone. First, to make things difficult, he will place several orders, THEN make changes to them. From now on I'd like to tell him that we make no substitutions and customers may not order something if it is not on the menu. That way, this rude fucking pig couldn't substitute his grilled chicken for fried, breaded chicken ("add another slab of chicken to that, willya?") and ask for "lotsa extra noodles" with his meal. Anyway, when he's done ordering he'll tell the order taker to "let the delivery boy know that the faster he gets here, the bigger his tip will be." Aside from the fact that "delivery boy" is derogatory and offensive, basing my tip off of the speed the kitchen gets out his food is just stupid. It takes me the same amount of time to get to this guy's house from the store every time he orders. I did notice, though, that it really doesn't matter how long it takes for his food to get to him. He'll always tip the same and then tell me to "lookat the tip on the check, boy, howdya like that?" Anyway, when we do get to his house, we have to drive down a rather long, pothole-ridden gravel driveway just to get to his tiny broken-down house and hear his two bloodhounds howling at me from the backyard (bloodhounds, by the way, have possibly the most annoying howl in the world). Then the disgusting pig comes to the door, often topless, and asks me through the screen door for the price. Now. Remember what I told you to imagine earlier? Imagine it again. The smell that emanates through his screen door will make you feel just like that. You'll want to vomit out of your ass. When he opens the door, it only gets worse. God forbid he actually ask you to bring the food inside and set it on the coffee table because his fat slob of a wife is too goddamn lazy to look up from her TV show and he's too goddamn lazy to carry a couple boxes six feet into the house and set them down (of course, I always decline and he ends up doing it anyway, or he'll call his fat son in from another room and make him do it). The house smells as though many cats have died in pools of their own shit and piss somewhere in the air ducts of the house. The odor sears the inside of my nose and throat and I'm only all too happy to get the fuck away from this disgusting place and back home, eventually, where there's alcohol and I can drink the horror away.
The worst part about all this is that I had to deliver to both of them on Thursday.
The first, and surprisingly not the worst, is the fat, lying bitch who works the counter at a FINA gas station down the road. First off, we have a $10 minimum for delivery at Napoli's. This bitch will always (or used to, at least) purchase the bare minimum to hit that $10.XX mark, then give us $11 and tell us to "keep the change." The first time I delivered to her, big deal, everyone has jackass stiffers but most of them aren't regular customers. After delivering to her several times I finally gave her the change for her $11 and told her "No, YOU keep it." When she tried to insist I keep it, I explained to her that I don't work for pocket change and I'd be happier if she just kept it for herself. The next time I delivered, she gave me $12 and insisted I keep it. I did. It's only a dollar tip, but at least it's not just change. She was learning. I was happy. The next time she ordered, her total was less than $10. We explained to her on the phone our minimum and she argued with us, lying about how we always delivered to her and it was never a problem in the past. Well, she was right. It never was a problem in the past because she'd never tried it. In any case, she finally agreed to pay the difference so we charged her $10. Since that day she has ordered less than $10 but always given the driver exactly $10. The problem is the difference still goes to the store, not the driver. So now she's "tipping" us even less than before. A couple weeks ago we had some problems at the store (maybe I'll go into it in another post) and I ended up having to take six deliveries at once. One was to the FINA station. Of course, I routed her delivery to be last. Because of the backup at the store, however, her delivery was almost an hour later than the quoted time so she stiffed me, cursed at me about the people I work with, and promised to never order from us again. Well, a couple nights ago the lying bitch ordered from us again and, of course, stiffed me. The next time she orders, I will have a chat with her about tipping etiquette.
Surprisingly, the customers I loathe even more than the fat, lying FINA bitch have never stiffed me and, in fact, generally tip $2-$3. For this one, I want you to imagine someone reaching all the way down your throat, swishing their fingers around in your stomach, punching you a couple times in the large intestine, grabbing a hold of your gall bladder, and squeezing it until the bile is seeping out of orafices you weren't even aware you had. Alright. We'll get back to that in a moment. I'll start now with how the "man of the house" treats our employees over the phone. First, to make things difficult, he will place several orders, THEN make changes to them. From now on I'd like to tell him that we make no substitutions and customers may not order something if it is not on the menu. That way, this rude fucking pig couldn't substitute his grilled chicken for fried, breaded chicken ("add another slab of chicken to that, willya?") and ask for "lotsa extra noodles" with his meal. Anyway, when he's done ordering he'll tell the order taker to "let the delivery boy know that the faster he gets here, the bigger his tip will be." Aside from the fact that "delivery boy" is derogatory and offensive, basing my tip off of the speed the kitchen gets out his food is just stupid. It takes me the same amount of time to get to this guy's house from the store every time he orders. I did notice, though, that it really doesn't matter how long it takes for his food to get to him. He'll always tip the same and then tell me to "lookat the tip on the check, boy, howdya like that?" Anyway, when we do get to his house, we have to drive down a rather long, pothole-ridden gravel driveway just to get to his tiny broken-down house and hear his two bloodhounds howling at me from the backyard (bloodhounds, by the way, have possibly the most annoying howl in the world). Then the disgusting pig comes to the door, often topless, and asks me through the screen door for the price. Now. Remember what I told you to imagine earlier? Imagine it again. The smell that emanates through his screen door will make you feel just like that. You'll want to vomit out of your ass. When he opens the door, it only gets worse. God forbid he actually ask you to bring the food inside and set it on the coffee table because his fat slob of a wife is too goddamn lazy to look up from her TV show and he's too goddamn lazy to carry a couple boxes six feet into the house and set them down (of course, I always decline and he ends up doing it anyway, or he'll call his fat son in from another room and make him do it). The house smells as though many cats have died in pools of their own shit and piss somewhere in the air ducts of the house. The odor sears the inside of my nose and throat and I'm only all too happy to get the fuck away from this disgusting place and back home, eventually, where there's alcohol and I can drink the horror away.
The worst part about all this is that I had to deliver to both of them on Thursday.
