Passivity in the Time of Cholera

I visited my dad yesterday and asked him what he wanted for dinnerlunch. I call it dinnerlunch because as my parents have aged, dinner has moved earlier and earlier. When you factor in the intense fear they have that I will starve to death, dinners with my parents begin at 2pm.

"Anything," he answered, and I suggested a pizza with sausage and onions, to which he gave a thumbs up.

The biggest thing about Jamaica, Queens that drives me insane is that the customer service, and any service in general, is horrible. For example, the local Baskin Robbins doesn’t have birthday cakes, and the woman behind the counter told me that somebody tries to buy a cake every day. I told her they should get cakes.

"Maybe," she replied before going back to playing Snake on her phone.

And so I called up the local pizza place preparing for an onslaught, and I got just that.

"Hi, I’d like to order a pizza for delivery," I said as politely as possible.

"Address," he said bluntly. I gave him my parent’s address, and he quickly said, "Buh-bye" and slammed the phone down.

Now, I’m not a business man, nor am I a pizza man, but “pizza” is pretty vague. I knew that he was probably not going to send over a slice, but I had wanted sausage and onions on a large pie and a bottle of coke, and instead, I would be receiving “pizza.” I debated calling the gentleman back, but because of my EXTREME passivity, I decided to just see what happened. 

Thirty minutes later, I was heartened to see a car pull up and a delivery man get out with a large pie. I asked him how much, and he replied, “$300” paused and said, “Nah, $17” I gave him a 20 and sent him on his way. I then opened the pizza to discover sausage and pepperoni and a receipt that was addressed to somebody else.

People say when you’re passive, everybody walks all over you. This is true, except often people walk over you to fuck up someone else’s day.