Thursday, 7 March 2019

Pizzt at Belmont L

One thing I've learned serving time, serving slices of sausage — in the stuffed or on the thin,  "No we don't have any pepperoni slices,"  is that it only takes one asshole to ruin your day. One person who insists on being and behaving in a superior manner is actually all it takes to make one lose one's faith in human kind.

Okay, so American enterprise is built on the concept that the customer is always right and the customer is the boss and blah blah fucking blah...

I see stuffed shirts and professional looking types as well as street scum — and I mean that in the best possible way — and working class people. They're all too lazy to cook their own damn dinner. The working class on down could better spend their hard earned cash, but the suits throw it away and bitch about where it's going.

They're all just wanabees of the people who would never be seen in a place like this. Those who like to feel secure and being out and about with the general fucking public isn't what they went to school for. They went to school to learn how to make more money than all the people they try to avoid. That is the real security. And it gets more sophisticated all the time.

So you can imagine how these wanabees feel having to pull out their credit cards next to homeless people or others who might envy their position.

Anyway, the supreme elite who don't venture out of well-protected districts, stay home and use the telephone to have a little of the slums delivered to them. Not that the only people who order out are rich bastards. But most of them sound like it, and most of them live where the rich people do.

One bad apple shits all over the rest of us. Makes you feel unpleasant unless you're into that shit. Sorry. There are some people who come in and eat here who probably are into that literally. I digress — most of the time.

On this particular night a doctor who orders from us regularly calls to place his traditional mid-surgery pasta primavera. I tell him it will be about an hour and he says, as if he didn't know by now we always take about an hour, "An hour!" I tell him we're not fucking Dominoes and if he wants a pasta any quicker he can always call Dominoes and see what they can do. Or something like that.

So this guy starts demanding things we just don't deliver (sorry), so I tell him that we don't have to give him anything if we don't want to, and then ask him if he wants anything.

He gets hostile, I hang up, he calls back and blah blah fucking blah, I hang up again. A couple of minutes later I get a call from someone with phoney accent (oh, God, puns abound) never laughed so hard in my whole life. He hung up, in shame probably. I would have sent it to him, but I guess he was too proud to let me know he was that desperate.

Now whenever I'm not working, anyone else who happens to be taking phone orders at the time gets duped into sending huge orders to places that don't exist. I found out it was the congenial doctor when I did a ring-back on an order that was taken right before I started my shift.

Can you imagine a person of this stature behaving in such a petty way?  I couldn't.  But I know it made me want to get him back in a big way.