"One of those nights, it was down to me and the closing driver when I got a phone call for a delivery. The lady was calling from one of the local motels and gave me the number to the Super 8. She wanted the pizza delivered to her room on the fourth floor. I took the order, made the pizza, waited for my driver to come back, gave it to him, and out the door he went… and returned in 10 minutes to let me know it was impossible to deliver the pizza because the Super 8 only had three floors.
"I called the number back, which got me the front desk of the Super 8, asked for my customer's room, and they told me that person isn't checked in. I told the driver to let it sit and to take the next round of deliveries.
"About 15 minutes later, the woman called me again asking where the hell her pizza is, and I said it couldn't be delivered because we weren't given the right address information, but if she would please give me her phone number again, that I would look it up again to verify. That's when she did this thing a lot of people did: talking shit to the person next to her loudly enough for me to hear. In one of the thickest Southern accents I've ever heard, she said, 'I hate pizza people, they're so stupid.' That's exactly when I decided I wasn't going to give her any benefit of the doubt. She gave me the number, I looked up the order, and it said it was going to the Super 8, just like the last time. That's when I explained to her that the room number wasn't right and that she wasn't listed as being a guest there.