Delivering pizza last night. On one order, the total was exactly $15.00. Hit doorbell, lady (actually, bitch) answers the door.
Bitch: How much is it?
Me: $15.00 even.
Bitch: (to someone around the corner) It’s fifteen bucks.
Person around corner: (hands bitch money. A ten, a five and three or four ones)
Bitch: (pockets the ones, hands me the rest. Doesn’t even try to hide if from me)
Since the other person, the one actually providing the money, knew how much it was, they intended the rest as a tip.
It’s only three or four bucks at most, but dammit, the bitch stole from me and from the other person, the way I see it. Makes me wish bitch-slapping was legal, and that I wasn’t such a pussy that I didn’t want to make a scene over it.
Getting stiffed is no fun, especially when you know you ought to be getting money you aren’t.
I’ve told this story before here, so I’ll keep it short. When I used to deliver pizzas, there was one customer (family, really) who ordered once a week or so.
Nobody wanted to make that delivery. 3 reasons:
It was near the edge of our delivery service area, which meant it was far away (so it takes longer to get there and the odds of getting more runs decreases).
It smelled and looked horrible. I remember vividly stepping over hub caps and random, assorted trash. That was in daylight. It got a lot more interesting at night.
Horrible tippers. I got sent there one night (the manager on duty was sympathetic to my plight, since he knew full well how bad these folks were) with a $48.50 order. I got a $50 and I was hoping they wouldn’t send me back to my car to look for quarters. They didn’t, fortunately. I figure half of my $1.50 tip was due to the fact that it was night and the other half due to the fact that I was carrying several 2-liters of Coke.
BTW, we have you, Ninja Chick and Shirt Ninja 13. Y’all gonna have a spar-out for Ultimate SDMB Ninja?
We’ve got a guy here that no one wants to deliver to. He lives way out on the west side of town, but usually gives an address on the far east side. That’s his sister’s address, and he “forgets” to give us the right address. Then when it doesn’t show up at his house (surprise) he gets pissy and calls, demanding to know where his pizza is and that he should get it for free.
Last weekend was the fucking pinacle, though. He calls, orders two large stuff-crust, gives his sister’s address again, and says he’s got a coupon for two large pizzas, any kind, any topping, for the price of a single medium pizza.
They go ahead and make the pizzas, and then tell me to go ahead and deliver them, but not to give him the pizzas unless he can A: pony up the coupon, and B: I can verify that it’s a real coupon from our franchise or from the national level.
I get there and tell him I need the coupon. He shows me the coupon sheet, the exact same coupon sheet we stick to the top of all the boxes, with one torn out. “I had it here a minute ago,” he lies, “my nephew must have run off with it.”
Sorry, no coupon, no fraudulently-discounted pizza. He got pissy, I got two free pizzas to take home at the end of the night.
And don’t get me started on piss-poor tipping in general, and how the franchise is charging a buck a delivery and only giving us seventy-five cents.
I guess BPG had no hope of collecting the tip but I would have at least informed the person who was paying that she had pocketed his money before I walked away.
I probably would have raised my voice just enough to let the person on the other side of the door hear me when I said, “Excuse me, but is that my tip you’re pocketing?”
Might have gotten the bitch in trouble, or at least embarrassed her into giving you your $4 bucks.
I had a kid who would do that when I delivered pizzas in Point Pleasant, NJ. He lived on New York ave. He would always set aside the tip for himself right in front of me. I would have known anyway, as I always got a good tip when his parents gave me the cash.
Speaking of bad endings to pizza delivery stories, how about that guy who robbed a bank, had explosives strapped to him, and claimed one of his deliveries made him do it? The bomb blew up, killing him. Id take getting stiffed over that scenario any day.
I used to deliver to a kid that did that blatantly. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything out loud, but I convinced all the other drivers to join me in intently staring the kid down whenever we went there. I made it really creepy too, didn’t look at the pie or the change, and I stood there with peircing eyes untill he closed the door. He was eventually shamed into giving us a buck every time.
I think I’d have to say something like “Ohhh, I remember delivering to you before. I made THAT pizza juuuuuust for you.” and then smile my biggest smile. “Enjoy!”
Great idea in theory. Unfortunately, people that are shameless enough to pocket a delivery person’s tip right in front of them are undoubtedly shameless enough to call up the place at rat the poor delivery person out.
Then all the poor guy can do is hope to og he’s got a cool manager that night who won’t fire his ass.
Aha! I now have an opportunity to make amends for something I did 20 years ago.
My mother never tipped the pizza guy. I didn’t even know you were supposed to.
One day while I was staying with my dad, we ordered pizza. Dad gave me an extra few bucks and sent me downstairs to get it.
I handed the guy however much it was and waited for the change. Then I took the change upstairs to my dad, not realizing why the guy had given me a disgusted look as he left. Dad told me, “that was his tip money!”
Oops. I apologize to pizza guys and gals everywhere. I didn’t know, and I’ve never made that mistake again.
If it makes you feel any better, I was once delivering a pizza to deepest, darkest Bithlo (sort of like the anus of Florida, except in the middle) and as I backed away from the trailer the neighbor came out and fired both barrels of a shotgun into the open window of my Accord.
I was probably fifty feet away, and I wasn’t hit, but I had pellets in my headlining until I sold the car.
THAT was when I decided to go work for Papa John, who wouldn’t make me drive out to the isolated homes of crazy rednecks.
That’s when you duck to avoid getting hit and pull your Glock out and shoot the guy. Then you go back, get the pizza and drive back to tell them that they cancelled and apologized for making you drive out there.
