Pizza Shop Memories

When I first started working at the pizza place, I thought I had found my dream job. I thought I could make a career of delivering pizzas, that I'd never need to look for work again. I enjoyed many aspects of the work, and there seemed to be few if any negatives to speak of. First, I very much enjoy driving: shifting through the gears, taking turns at high speed, finding shortcuts around congestion (others probably do not appreciate this quite so much, though). Long drives spanning many hours have been part of my life since as long as I can remember, so spending all day in a car was no trouble at all. I equally delight in listening to music. Almost any type of tune or melody will do, just as long as it is loud. So when I discovered I could be paid for combining the two with a few extra tasks, I was thrilled. Not only was I paid regular wages, but I got to take home tips in cash each night. I wondered why I hadn't started sooner.

While spending a large portion of my time away from the store in my own car meant I didn't have a boss constantly watching me and telling me what to do, it also meant that I was the sole representative of the company in the field, and as such was responsible for handling problems and dealing with customer complaints myself. And complain they did. Now, most of the time they indeed did have a legitimate right to complain. Sometimes an item was left off the order, or a pizza baked incorrectly, or (of course I will say this was a rare occurrence) I forgot to grab their drink as I hurried out to my car . But even these simple mistakes had the potential to create major headaches. With the more forgiving and understanding patrons, it was easy enough just to quote them a new price or offer them a store credit and an apology. For the slightly more demanding customers, I would need to call the store and let them know they needed to cook an additional item, then I would fetch it and bring at back as quickly as possible. During busy times, this could cause a huge pileup of orders waiting to be delivered as I made two trips to one house, leading to a cascade of more complaints from hungry customers. Add in being given the occasional wrong address on the other end of town, and it became handful during these frantic times to come up with adequate solutions, often leading to a diminished willingness to tip on the part of customers.

There were some people who took every advantage of the saying "the customer is always right." They would claim they ordered items and demand they be brought out immediately free of charge, items which they had in fact purposefully neglected to mention during their original order. Some would refuse to pay or demand steep discounts if their orders arrived even minutes later than a time they deemed acceptable (despite our clear policy of not guaranteeing delivery times). There were even a few who would go as far as to write up their own coupons, or claim they were due free pizzas that were promised by non-existent managers.

Of course, there was the occasional sunny spot: the customers who lived nearby, ordered fairly regularly, and tipped well. Or the customers who were just so happy to be getting food that it didn't matter their meat-lover's pizza turned out to be tomatoes and green pepper. Or the people who obviously did not have a lot of money, yet always found a way to tip at least a dollar or two.

But these wonderful customers were few and far between in comparison to the hordes of just the opposite type. The ones who always demanded exact change, down to the cent. The one who lived ten miles out of town and took fifteen minutes to come to the door, but thought they were doing me a favor by letting me keep all of the 30 cents change for my trouble. Those who would make up long stories why they couldn't tip this time, but promised they would the next time (next time never came). Customers who would be upset if their two-liter of soda wasn't a block of ice. There were those who would pretend they hadn't ordered, or simply not come to the door, instead of taking the time to call and cancel their order. People who were completely surprised they would be required to present their credit card in order to be able to pay with it.

There were also some special and interesting cases. Some people would order the strangest combinations of toppings, others could be counted on to order the exact same thing everyday. I often wondered how they didn't get tired of the food after many months of this. Going out to people's homes, I got to see them in their natural habitat. Where most people put on quite a normal appearance when they are in public, you can see how they really are in the privacy of their own homes. Sometimes the customer would come to the door half-naked, or in some cases more than half. There were also those who liked to party that would come to the door completely drunk or high, occasionally offering shots of alcohol in lieu of a tip. People's houses were themselves quite an insight into the lives of the owners. Some were cluttered and filled with trash to the point where it was difficult for them to move around inside, other homes were kept neat and orderly and were decorated with collections of expensive wares.

A delivery driver pays for his own gas, and is compensated based on mileage or number of deliveries taken. This is great when gas prices are low and he drives a fuel-efficient vehicle; often the reimbursement is greater than the cost of the fuel used. But the system becomes decidedly less favorable when the price of gas skyrockets, as was the case in late 2007 and through the summer of 2008. At first, the owners of the pizza shop said nothing, ignoring the fact that the cost to drivers was beginning to climb. As drivers began to complain that the rate of 75 cents per delivery was not covering their costs, management became "very concerned" with their employees' plight. After some time, it was decided that the compensation rate should be raised a whopping five cents to an even 80, while at the same time increasing the delivery fee the customers were charged from $1.50 to $2.00. I was disappointed with this solution, to say the least. Whatever gains were to be had from the 5 cent increase were offset and overshadowed by the decrease in tips from the customer. From their point of view, they were now paying 50 cents more over and above the cost of the pizza, so they were justified in deducting a corresponding amount from the driver's tip.

Over time, I began to realize that driving is not the only thing a delivery driver does. This was most apparent when business was slow. When there were no deliveries to take (and at times this was often), there were plenty of menial tasks to be done around the store. There were always crates and trays to be shuffled around the store to where they would be ready for use. I would prepare pineapples and tomatoes and jalapeño peppers. Chicken wings were counted and wrapped in tinfoil to be ready for cooking. The floor constantly needed sweeping, surfaces needed cleaning, windows needed washing. And if there was [were] nothing else to be done, the manager would always have me in the back of the store folding and stacking pizza boxes. Then, each night before I could go home, I was required to wash a mountain of dishes.

My responsibilities included all of that which was required of an "insider", in addition to driving. I made pizzas: stretched the dough to the appropriate size, applied the sauce and cheese and toppings. I removed the pizzas from the oven, sliced them, and boxed them to be ready for pick-up or delivery. I was required to take orders, both in-store and over the phone. This proved to be a challenge at times because a large portion of the store's clientele didn't speak a word of English. Or sometimes the customer's phone connection was so bad it sounded like I was talking to her via satellite connection from Pluto. There were those that pleaded for special discounts, or those that took 20 minutes to decide what they would like to order. And of course there were the jokers; I never fully understood what was quite so exciting about prank-calling a pizza place at 1 A.M. Sometimes people would call in an order, wait for it to be cooked, then call back and completely change what they wanted on the pizza. Other times people called in huge orders, only to never come pick them up. This often worked in my favor, however, because these "mistake" pizzas were usually fair game to be eaten by the employees. For a time pizza was a major staple in my diet, mainly because it was free and what was available.

Not only did I have to deal with customers, but my coworkers as well. There were a few who would try to get away with doing nothing all day, not doing their fair share of the work. Some would repeatedly ask me to cover their shifts on my days off. Or they would call in sick just as my shift was ending, in which case the manager would ask me to stay another hour or three till business died down.

I feel my experiences working at a pizza parlor mirrored in many ways those of George Orwell as related in his 1936 essay "Bookshop Memories". In the essay, Orwell writes about the time he spent working in a London bookstore. He describes the customers and other bizarre characters that frequent the shop. He talks about the ones who would ask strange questions or haggled over cheap books. Orwell shares his memories of people who came in and browsed around, only to never buy anything, because "a bookshop is one of the few places where you can hang about for a long time without spending any money"(Orwell). Or those that did place orders for rare books, but never came to pick them up when they arrived. He writes about thieves in the attached library, who would borrow books and sell them at other bookstores for a higher price. Reading his essay, I felt a connection with his distaste for certain customers. At the end, he describes his feelings about working at a bookshop in much the same way I now think about working at a pizza parlor. He no longer has much if any interest in selling or buying books, because to him "[t]he sweet smell of decaying paper appeals to me no longer. It is too closely associated in my mind with paranoiac customers and dead bluebottles"(Orwell). I think I share a similar sentiment with Orwell when he says "But the real reason why I should not like to be in the book trade for life is that while I was in it I lost my love of books."(Orwell). At first I liked the job, but grew tired of the customers, of the responsibilities, and of pizza. I have yet to eat a pizza since quitting the job over a year ago.