The phone rang last night. It was a woman who was looking for the pizzeria for which we get more calls than they do. My simple "Hello" wasn't enough for this lady. She demanded to know whether it was Papa John's that she reached. When I told her she had the wrong number, she insisted that she didn't and demanded to speak to my manager.
I had no choice but to return to the phone, using the very same voice, and say "Hello this is Mark, how can I help you?"
She explained that she had called earlier and asked for another location's number - but that number wasn't working. I suggested, "You might want to consult the Internet."
"THE INTERNET? I DON'T HAVE AN INTERNET CONNECTION! WHY WON'T YOU JUST GIVE ME THE NUMBER," she insisted. I explained that we were "super busy" and that if she didn't have an Internet connection, she might want to let her "fingers do the walking" and look in her telephone book. I even explained that the poor telephone books have experienced such a downturn in popularity that they would be thrilled to be used. She was not amused.
"Are you serious???" was all she could muster up. I told her yes, and asked if she planned to place an order.
She asked if we delivered to Buckhead. Stifling raucous laughter, I said, "Oh no. That's too far. We don't deliver there." That's when she really lost it.
"Your address is Buckhead - and YOU DON'T DELIVER HERE?"
I didn't expect that. It became impossible for me to keep a straight face. I had to hang up.
All I wanted to do was take an order. I didn't plan on THIS. Managing an imaginary pizza joint ain't easy.
Showing posts with label fun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fun. Show all posts
Friday, August 10, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Give Me Independence or Give Me Death
We only had two near-death experiences at our house this past July 4. Both involved children, but only one was prompted by an adult. Thankfully everyone survived. Everyone, that is, but the frog that was found belly up in the pool skimmer.
Since we just moved into this house toward the end of June, Independence Day gave us the perfect excuse to host our first party. First off, this house was seemingly built for parties. The layout is such that Caligula (12 AD – 41 AD) himself used it as the inspiration for his Roman Bath. For those of you who don't know the story of Caligula, it involves a psychotic Roman ruler who was known for his extreme extravagance, eccentricity, depravity and cruelty. He is widely recognized for having been the very first person to utter the words "You're Fired" on national network TV. But I digress...
The party started without a hitch. Drinks flowed freely, kids and the aforementioned former amphibians floated in the pool, lawn darts streamed through the air – aaaaaahh, summertime in the South.
Now, I confess, I'm well-known for being the uncle that flips kids off their rafts in the pool, bumps them in when they're standing on the edge – that sort of thing. In other words, it never really comes as a surprise if some random kid winds up unexpectedly underwater when good 'ole Uncle Scott is around.
So picture the scene: a ten-year-old kid, let's call him "Humberto" for confidentiality's sake, is floating on a tube in the pool, and has been pretty much all day long. Humberto keeps passing comments all day about how small the pool is, how shallow it is, how nobody could drown in it, etc., etc., etc. Essentially, Humberto is at once enjoying the soothing effects of floating in the pool AND mocking the pool for its size, shape, depth, color – even its purported inability to drown people. This, my friends, is what we "writers" call "foreshadowing," or, a process by which part of the story's anatomy is purposefully cut away by an overpaid rabbi from Westchester.
Having had just about enough of this kid's anti-aquatic taunts, I waited until just the right moment to plan my counter-attack. As he floated by me while sitting on top of a tube, he floated by throwing out another pool-related taunt. Just as he passed, I dove under, came up in front of him and flipped him backwards into the water that "couldn't drown anyone." His terrified screams of "NO! NO! NO!" were met by deaf ears as I had finally scored a point back on behalf of my beloved backyard summertime haven.
Figuring I had taught him a lesson, I found myself laughing inside. Until three nanoseconds later, I hear my sister screaming from the pool's edge, "HE CAN'T SWIM! HE CAN'T SWIM!" It took me about a half a second to be under the water, grab him and pull him to safety as he latched onto my body as tightly as an angry boa constrictor might. The terrified look on Humberto's face and the claw marks on my back were testament to the fact that my sister was indeed telling the truth.
My first thought was, "Holy shit, I almost drowned a kid at my very first pool party." My second thought was, "Why didn't anyone tell me that this TEN YEAR OLD KID who has been in the pool all day doesn't know how to swim?"
As soon as Humberto hit the patio, his bathing suit came off with all the swiftness of a Let's Make a Deal contestant trying to win $50 from Monty Hall. Humberto was fine by the end of the day – just a little shaken up. As a last note, I should point out that approximately two hours later, Humberto came back outside and admitted that while his life flashed before his eyes, it was actually "fun." Why I oughta….!
Which brings me to the next exciting adventure of our death-defying party. Just after dinner, the barbecue was simmering down from its red-hot red-meat-scorching glory and the adults were all unbuttoning their top buttons. Which reminds me, if anyone's considering a move to the Bible Belt, good pizza and Chinese take-out aren't the only things you can't find in the south. Again I digress....
The Popsicles were handed out as each kid fought over who would get the last red one in the box. (Note: it's always helpful to have an adult who's willing to take the fall on that one and eat the last red one themselves.) As the children all ran around, Popsicles sticking out of their mouths and scissors in hands, "Barney" decided to approach me as I sat at the post-dinner poker table. Folding a pair of nines to what I was sure was a made two-pair (I was correct, incidentally), Barney asked what I was doing. "Losing!," I snapped, scaring the tip off the Popsicle into his inhaling mouth.
The initial shock was just that: Barney, looking at me wide-eyed for about two seconds before he began turning blue, made a mad dash for the house. I immediately ran after him, yelling his name and hoping to God that the Heimlich Maneuver wasn't just something I had heard about on last season's 'Dancing With The Stars.' Right on my heels was Humberto's dad Louie. I grabbed Barney and flipped him around. Just as I was about to administer the very maneuver whose posters I always laugh at in restaurants, Barney began crying. Once I heard that cry, I knew that he would be fine – and I realized I had left my poker chips unattended. I had no idea what was happening. But I needed to get this resolved as quickly as possible to get back to my stack.
If I didn't know any better, I would have gotten all 'My Name Is Earl' on everyone's ass and gone the karma route. I mean, I try to kill someone's kid in my pool – and almost immediately thereafter, my own kid tries to off himself with a purple superhero Popsicle. Aaaaahh, the joys of summertime fun. I just chalked it up to coincidence and a healthy lack of parenting on my part.
After everyone escaped death without incident, we all retired to the front yard to see the pyrotechnic craptacular that twenty bucks buys you at a supermarket. After all, it was Independence Day. What's July 4th without some rinky-dink little fireworks show that is almost as impressive as a lit cigar, only they smell worse? What do you expect from the local supermarket? I can only suggest that a single Macy's firework shell has more firepower in it than the entire display of "fireworks" they sell at Publix. But how can I complain? I didn't even purchase any fireworks this year. At least a friend brought some.
Our first party at the new house sure was fun. In between trying to make sure that everyone stayed alive, we did manage to drink, eat and have a pretty good time. The seafood cheese dip was outstanding, the homemade salsa someone brought was terrific and my sister is no longer welcome at my parties if she is going to bring ice pops. If anyone is free, I think we're going to be having a Labor Day party, too. Just don't forget the life preserver.
Since we just moved into this house toward the end of June, Independence Day gave us the perfect excuse to host our first party. First off, this house was seemingly built for parties. The layout is such that Caligula (12 AD – 41 AD) himself used it as the inspiration for his Roman Bath. For those of you who don't know the story of Caligula, it involves a psychotic Roman ruler who was known for his extreme extravagance, eccentricity, depravity and cruelty. He is widely recognized for having been the very first person to utter the words "You're Fired" on national network TV. But I digress...
The party started without a hitch. Drinks flowed freely, kids and the aforementioned former amphibians floated in the pool, lawn darts streamed through the air – aaaaaahh, summertime in the South.
Now, I confess, I'm well-known for being the uncle that flips kids off their rafts in the pool, bumps them in when they're standing on the edge – that sort of thing. In other words, it never really comes as a surprise if some random kid winds up unexpectedly underwater when good 'ole Uncle Scott is around.
So picture the scene: a ten-year-old kid, let's call him "Humberto" for confidentiality's sake, is floating on a tube in the pool, and has been pretty much all day long. Humberto keeps passing comments all day about how small the pool is, how shallow it is, how nobody could drown in it, etc., etc., etc. Essentially, Humberto is at once enjoying the soothing effects of floating in the pool AND mocking the pool for its size, shape, depth, color – even its purported inability to drown people. This, my friends, is what we "writers" call "foreshadowing," or, a process by which part of the story's anatomy is purposefully cut away by an overpaid rabbi from Westchester.
Having had just about enough of this kid's anti-aquatic taunts, I waited until just the right moment to plan my counter-attack. As he floated by me while sitting on top of a tube, he floated by throwing out another pool-related taunt. Just as he passed, I dove under, came up in front of him and flipped him backwards into the water that "couldn't drown anyone." His terrified screams of "NO! NO! NO!" were met by deaf ears as I had finally scored a point back on behalf of my beloved backyard summertime haven.
Figuring I had taught him a lesson, I found myself laughing inside. Until three nanoseconds later, I hear my sister screaming from the pool's edge, "HE CAN'T SWIM! HE CAN'T SWIM!" It took me about a half a second to be under the water, grab him and pull him to safety as he latched onto my body as tightly as an angry boa constrictor might. The terrified look on Humberto's face and the claw marks on my back were testament to the fact that my sister was indeed telling the truth.
My first thought was, "Holy shit, I almost drowned a kid at my very first pool party." My second thought was, "Why didn't anyone tell me that this TEN YEAR OLD KID who has been in the pool all day doesn't know how to swim?"
As soon as Humberto hit the patio, his bathing suit came off with all the swiftness of a Let's Make a Deal contestant trying to win $50 from Monty Hall. Humberto was fine by the end of the day – just a little shaken up. As a last note, I should point out that approximately two hours later, Humberto came back outside and admitted that while his life flashed before his eyes, it was actually "fun." Why I oughta….!
Which brings me to the next exciting adventure of our death-defying party. Just after dinner, the barbecue was simmering down from its red-hot red-meat-scorching glory and the adults were all unbuttoning their top buttons. Which reminds me, if anyone's considering a move to the Bible Belt, good pizza and Chinese take-out aren't the only things you can't find in the south. Again I digress....
The Popsicles were handed out as each kid fought over who would get the last red one in the box. (Note: it's always helpful to have an adult who's willing to take the fall on that one and eat the last red one themselves.) As the children all ran around, Popsicles sticking out of their mouths and scissors in hands, "Barney" decided to approach me as I sat at the post-dinner poker table. Folding a pair of nines to what I was sure was a made two-pair (I was correct, incidentally), Barney asked what I was doing. "Losing!," I snapped, scaring the tip off the Popsicle into his inhaling mouth.
The initial shock was just that: Barney, looking at me wide-eyed for about two seconds before he began turning blue, made a mad dash for the house. I immediately ran after him, yelling his name and hoping to God that the Heimlich Maneuver wasn't just something I had heard about on last season's 'Dancing With The Stars.' Right on my heels was Humberto's dad Louie. I grabbed Barney and flipped him around. Just as I was about to administer the very maneuver whose posters I always laugh at in restaurants, Barney began crying. Once I heard that cry, I knew that he would be fine – and I realized I had left my poker chips unattended. I had no idea what was happening. But I needed to get this resolved as quickly as possible to get back to my stack.
If I didn't know any better, I would have gotten all 'My Name Is Earl' on everyone's ass and gone the karma route. I mean, I try to kill someone's kid in my pool – and almost immediately thereafter, my own kid tries to off himself with a purple superhero Popsicle. Aaaaahh, the joys of summertime fun. I just chalked it up to coincidence and a healthy lack of parenting on my part.
After everyone escaped death without incident, we all retired to the front yard to see the pyrotechnic craptacular that twenty bucks buys you at a supermarket. After all, it was Independence Day. What's July 4th without some rinky-dink little fireworks show that is almost as impressive as a lit cigar, only they smell worse? What do you expect from the local supermarket? I can only suggest that a single Macy's firework shell has more firepower in it than the entire display of "fireworks" they sell at Publix. But how can I complain? I didn't even purchase any fireworks this year. At least a friend brought some.
Our first party at the new house sure was fun. In between trying to make sure that everyone stayed alive, we did manage to drink, eat and have a pretty good time. The seafood cheese dip was outstanding, the homemade salsa someone brought was terrific and my sister is no longer welcome at my parties if she is going to bring ice pops. If anyone is free, I think we're going to be having a Labor Day party, too. Just don't forget the life preserver.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Telephone Fun
Settling into a new house sure can be rife with interesting and unexpected events. Case in point: our new telephone number.
Initially, we had our telephone connected by Comcast as part of a triple-play package. It turns out Comcast is a company that wrote the book on how NOT to handle customer service. But that's a story that will be told in another blog entry -- after my television service is completely hooked up and working. Judging by the way it's been going, this may not happen for a long time. But I digress...
After the debacle with Comcast was finally ended, we elected to turn to BellSouth for telephone service. They issued us a new (easy to remember) telephone number, and it's been great - except for all the calls requesting pizza delivery.
As I sit writing this entry, the phone has rung twice with people looking for Papa John's Pizza - a third-rate pizza delivery service akin to Domino's, but with less panache and Italian integrity. At first, we thought we were given their old number, but a quick internet search turned up a single-digit difference between us.
The fun of this is that we do not get upset, we do not shout at the callers and we do not tell them they've misdialed. Rather, we have decided to answer the phone "Good Afternoon, Papa John's" every time the caller ID shows us a name we don't recognize. It's funny how many people just believe you. To date, we've taken orders for:
- 22 large plain pizzas
- 19 large pizzas with some sort of topping
- 53 medium pies
- all sorts of side dishes and drinks
I believe you really need to embrace it when you are faced with a situation like this. There's no real way to fix it without changing your telephone number. So in the meantime, I've been calling Papa John's to see if they're getting my calls.
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