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.
# posted by D @ 12:25 PM 
