The Pizza Story

I’m stressed at the moment. How stressed? Stressed AS.
So instead of explaining why, here’s the pizza story.
(warning: Long, possibly meaningless Alex ramble ahead. You have been warned)
A week or so ago, after a very heavy and hot day, we decided to take the easy route for dinner, and order some Pizza in, rather than making it. Not that we could even if we wanted to- the Oven is still dead, the kitchen even more falling apart – but anyway. I head online to see if I can scrounge up a good discount voucher from Dominos, and I notice that they do online ordering.
Now, I’m an enlightened 21st century technology kind of person, so this appeals to me – especially as calling the local franchise invariably involves sitting through vapid ads while waiting on hold, only to then be dealing with Wayne (16), who sounds as though he’s expectorating on your Pizza while you order. I’ve dealt with rotting planks of wood brighter than Wayne. So, online ordering it is, complete with flashy (and probably Flash-based) ordering screens with pictures of tasty Pizza. Pizzas ordered, and to give us a little video-store browsing time, 6:15pm selected as a pickup time (it’s about 5:30; time will become important later). Order put in the name of Kidman, and I’m already curious about how they’ll go about identity verification, given that I have to pre-pay for the pizza before heading out the door.
We head out with the kids, browse the video store for some things to watch – and a few things to provide distraction for the kids while I’m away for the weekend – and then I duck round to the pick up the pizzas.
Except that when I walk in the door, at 6:14pm, I notice “Kidman” on the LCD board they use to show order progress. And next to it is the estimated time. 63 minutes. Oh, and apparently, the order is already in the oven. Given that they can churn out a pizza from frozen base to crispy eating state in 10 minutes, 63 minutes is going to incinerate something – possibly the entire store.
So I head to the counter, and ask what’s going on with my order, which is now due, at least according to what I filled in on Domino’s Web site.
“Oh, that’s due for 6:45”
“No, it was booked for 6:15. And your board has it arriving at 7:18, for some reason…”
“Are you sure you booked it for 6:15?”
“Oh. Well, we can make it – but it’ll be ten minutes”
So I trudge back to the car, get the kids (I’m not going to wait in the car for ten minutes for their screwup) and eventually get the pizzas. And, when Wayne remembers, the soft drink and garlic bread, too. Wayne also valiantly tries to explain what had happened:
“Sorry about the delay – our computer is still on Queensland time.”
(Anyone who can explain how this makes 6:45, 7:18 and 63 minute cooking pizzas simultaneously make sense should probably apply for an honorary degree in theoretical/spurious mathematics. Oh, and book a table to celebrate at Milliways, while you’re at it).
It’s only when I walk back to the car that I realise that at no point did they actually ask me for proof of ID, and it was very clear that mine was an internet order – different coloured order on the screen, and more came in while we were waiting. Methinks that if one was dishonest, it’d be all too easy (with a little chutzpah) to wander into a random Domino’s and claim somebody else’s pre-paid pizza. As long as you’re happy waiting 63 minutes for it, that is.

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