Last night I had to run an order over to Entitlement Palace, a nightmare high-rise known for its bad-tempered valets and stuck-up, entitled, rich-bitch customers.
The service I work for delivers food curbside, not to the door. This is made clear a couple of times in the app: once at the beginning of the process, and when the order is placed. After the order is placed, a message appears which says “delivery is on us, but it is your responsibility to meet your driver at the curb.”
Offering curbside service means that the driver does not have to find a place to park in a city which is notorious for having little in the way of available parking. The driver pulls up as close to the customer’s address as possible and puts on the hazard lights. If all goes smoothly, the customer is either waiting there or comes out quickly after the driver hits the “arrived at customer” command on their app, which alerts the customer to the driver’s presence in their app.
I’ve had customers who somehow failed to realize that they were supposed to come out before (or were hoping that we’d make an exception for them because they’re soooo special), but none of them ever acted like the absolute tosser that I encountered last night. At worst the huffed a little, took their food, and were on their way.
There are occasions where the driver will make an exception. On one such occasion, the customer was a clerk in a liquor store who had a broken leg and was confined to a wheelchair. There was a convenient parking lot, and he was nice, even tipped cash.
On another occasion, a security guard couldn’t leave her post. But there was a nice, convenient loading area in front of the building, and she was right inside at the front desk. Again, she was pleasant and apologized for any inconvenience.
Not so Lord Cantankerous Wankerous.
His Douchiness put “lobby” in the special instructions area on the app. My thought as I drove off? “Not happening, Bitch.” Customer service contacted him sometime during the process. I pulled up to the curb as I always do, dreading the inevitable unpleasant interaction with the miserable valet. The valet told me I’d have to move across the drive, which I did, and sat waiting for His Douchiness to grace me with his presence.
When the seven minutes were almost up, I attempted to call the illustrious Lord of Douchebag Manor. The line was still ringing when I got a text from customer service, asking if the customer was picking up. I replied “no,” and in that moment, Lord Wankerous deigned to appear.
“I said lobby!” he snapped, shaking his finger at me.
“Service is curbside, Sir,” I said calmly.
He huffed away. I sent a text to customer service which read ‘he was a dick. He left without taking his food, and I’m not going to chase after him.’ I then marked the order “undeliverable” and went back to the kitchen.
In the meantime, the kitchen remade the order and was going to send one of the bicycle couriers with it. However, Lord Wankerous complained to customer service that I should be fired for my insolence towards him. They said that wasn’t going to happen. At that point, the assistant manager in the kitchen decided he’d had enough and told customer service that he wanted them to 86 Lord Wankerous.
Thus, the bicycle courier and I both got free meals, and Lord Wankerous can no longer order from us.
The moral of this story:
Don’t act like an entitled bitch. Just because you live in an overpriced high rise with miserable valets doing your bidding (they’re probably miserable because they’re treated like trash) doesn’t make you superior to the peasants who make your life easier, your Royal Douchiness.
~The Cheese Hath Grated It~
