As the clock drew nearer to midnight on the last day of 2009, I was struggling to decide what kind of food I should order from the local Pizza Hotline restaurant. After some deliberation I decided to go with a “Mix and Match” deal wherein I would choose one baked sandwich, and two pizzas, with a free side of cinnimon sticks. But fate had other plans for me.
The year of 2009 ended with yours truly speaking on the phone with a sad sounding operator about the type of oven baked sandwich I wanted to order. Things were looking bright, until he informed me that they did not have the variety I desired — out of stock. “Alright, I’ll have the next best,” I thought to myself optimistically. Nope, out of stock there, too. “Oh well, I should try something new,” I mused, picking a third variety. Again, denied.
“What the hell is going on here?” I ponder. The fourth choice? Impossible. The fifth? No-can-do. I haven’t faced this much rejection since I tried speed dating, and I’m losing my cool. The last option is a “Veggie” sandwich, and you know I’m too much of a man for that sh*t. Instead, I figure I’ll just “Mix and Match” three of those little pizzas instead.
“Sorry, we can’t do that,” says the voice, unmoved.
Laughing, I tell him I have to call back, and hang up the phone. I understand that it’s New Years morning and everything else is closed; I understand that they’re bound to run out of some things; but what I don’t understand is why this unfortunate shmuck doesn’t have the courtesy or the ability to give me three pizzas, when one of the 3 options is completely unavailable. Time to revise the plan, obviously.
After looking again, I settle for a Calzone and Large Fries. The others both ordered fries with theirs, and I’ve never had some from this place before. I call my new operator friend again, and tell him what I want. But sure enough, “We don’t have any more fries, would you like Yam Fries instead?”
“Do I have to pay the extra dollar for the Yam Fries?”
“Yes that’s a dollar extra.”
I cringe inside. “Okay, I’ll have that, then.”
“Oh, we don’t have any more Yam Fries either, sorry.”
YAM FRIES.
Desperate to finish this charade, I cancel the fries and finalize the order, knowing very well that the chances of our local restaurant being out of Yam Fries is about as likely as me actually having gone speed dating at some point in my life (ie. never happen.) But now the question burned: was this guy f**king with me?
When we picked up the order, we asked whether they were indeed out of both regular and Yam french fries.
“Out of them? No way, I’ve got like three cases of them,” answered the manager, in a tone that suggested it would be quite retarded if they had. We explained the situation to him, and he followed up by phoning the call center and bitching at the manager there.
So I guess that’s justice? Thanks for that, Guy Whose Job it was to Take My Order on New Years.
