10.20.2007

glutton for punishment

I am a glutton for punishment. Really, I am a glutton for pizza, which instigates all my irrational behavior (as follows)...

Back in college, we had a pizza chain (let's call it Crapa John's) that was the sole pizza dealer on campus. I am not sure how much they paid for exclusive rights to an entire campus of late night drunk orders, but I am fairly certain that they were able to vacation on a private island during the summer months.

Since they were the only game in town (or, campus), when 1 am hit and we deemed ourselves incapable of operating a hot pot, we HAD to order from Crapa John's. Of course, we ordered the minimum amount to warrant delivery, and expected it to arrive quickly. We were paying customers, dammit! Even if we paid as much for the delivery fee as we did for the delicious doughy sticks.

As you can imagine, their service was... well, even below the lowly standards one would expect from a pizza joint with a monopoly on obnoxious inebriated academics. As a paying customer (and a true Jersey Girl), if their service fell below my standards (which, for the record, were pretty low at the time), I felt free to call and tell them so. One night when I was inquiring (probably not very politely) about a late delivery order, the voice on the other end of the line accused me of being a Chronic Complainer. My college roommate thought this was hysterical, and the name now lives in infamy.

You would think that I would have learned my lesson about Crapa John's, but not so, my friends, not so... we happen to have our very own Crapa John's near my house, 2,777 miles from the original crime scene. I continue to give the Crapa chances to redeem himself. He fails me every time. And yet I keep coming back for more... perhaps I should report him for an abusive relationship?

Why do I continue to order, you ask? It isn't for the quality of the pizza... it is no better (nor worse) than any of the other joints in town. Which, by the way, isn't saying much. The real draw... is the cheese sauce. Delicious zesty processed cheesiness (79 cents per tiny dipping container) with which to dip the breadsticks.

I have tried picking up the order, to verify that my order would be correct, instead of waiting for some random order to show up at my house. This resulted in me: 1) fuming in my car in the parking lot waiting for the corrected order to cook after I showed up to tell them that I had not ordered 2 XL anchovy pizzas; b) ranting when they tell me that they are OUT of cheese sauce (and yes, I do ask if they have it when I call - I make them check the fridge to verify it is on the premises); or iii) wasting my three dollars and eighteen cents per gallon of gas to drive to pick it up - isn't delivery the whole point of ordering pizza?

On Friday, after a long week, I tried Crapa John's again... I had a coupon, and a craving for cheeeeeeeeeeeese sauce. Ordered at 5:30 (because I knew it was going to take forever). Expected delivery time was estimated at 45 minutes. Okay, reasonable. Delivery guy shows up at 6:30 with a friend in his car AND the wrong order. After I tell him it is wrong, he says he will go back and get it - 20 minutes. As he is running to his car, I shout after him, "Don't you want to know what my order iiiiiiiiiis?" Sigh.

After 3o minutes, I call the store and inquire (politely, this time) as to my order. The teeny bopper answering phones told me that it was out for delivery. So I explained the situation - yes, the delivery guy showed up, but wrong order. He tells me to call back in 15 minutes if it hasn't showed up yet. I am sure he didn't think that the dough, sauce and cheese (and delicious cheese dip) was going to bake itself and roll on over to my house in the next 15 minutes, but I do think his phone lines were lighting up, and he didn't want to take a call from a pissy suburbanite.

I called back again, this time asking to speak to a manager (after vehemently replying "NO" to the "Thank you for calling Crapa John's, can you please hold" intro). He listened to my situation, and said they were really busy. I held back my "I don't care - and besides, don't you WANT to be busy? Isn't that how you make money?" response. He said they would make up my anchovy pizza and send it right over for free. So I thanked him for his offer, but I did not ORDER an anchovy pizza. I WOULD appreciate it if he could send over the original order that I placed an hour and a half ago (which I had to repeat, since he had no record of its existence). And young man, could you make sure to send over the extra cheese dipping sauces, since that was the WHOLE REASON I ordered from your Crappy business in the first place!

Two hours later, the free pizza (and breadsticks) arrived at our doorstep. The cheese dip was delicious (and did I mention free, except for the pending charge on our bank account that I am REALLY hoping reverses itself in the next day or so, else I am going to have to march down there and bust out my Chronic Complaining skillz). Next time I want pizza (or cheesy dip goodness), I will have to employ all my brain power to recall this scenario (and the four thousand preceding instances). Or, maybe I should just swing by Crapa's evil lair and stock up on cheese dip (I mean, really, there is nothing natural in it, so it can't possibly go bad... ever) and order from another of the coupon sending pizza joints.

Don't even think about offering up the solution of giving up pizza...

10 comments:

javajill said...

Brilliant! I feel your pain. Best wishes in your next Crapa Adventua

BAP said...

Nice use of the "1," "b," "iii" list. My influence is spreading far and wide.

What was the name of the pizza place in downtown Richmond? I was going to say "shady" area, but as a white boy from a "white flight" neighborhood it all seemed shady to me. That was the only redeeming factor of visiting the Big Sis...that, and I got to miss a couple days of school.

BAP said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Anonymous said...

Maybe you should give up pizza.

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