The day I became "that guy."

Pizza: the food you eat with your
grubby hands, like a barbarian!

I think I mentioned recently that I'm moving. Moving from the mountain wilderness into civilization and yesterday, sitting in the new place without food, dishes to put food on, and utensils to eat food with, I found myself wanting, you know, food. So I ordered a pizza as is tradition. And I was dimly aware that apps had replaced delivery as a thing. In the last eight years, I think I ordered in exactly twice at my mountain abode. It's hard to find, and at some point it was just easier to go get it myself. Which wasn't really an option last night.

Five or six more days and
I'll think about saying something.

You see, my new apartment has a parking spot, but like, nothing to stop randos from parking in it other than common decency and a vague letter "B" stenciled on it. And that should be enough, but people are the worst, and there's been a Jeep Compass there for two days. I've been formulating a carefully worded passive aggressive note, but haven't quite worked up sufficient frustration to stick it under the windshield wiper. 

Legend has it,* it's actually a Canadian
invention, making it the pizza of my people.

So I ordered a small Hawaiian--the correct pizza, and I will fight you on this--and waited. The app texted me that it was on its way and would I like to track it? Why, of course! So I spent the next few minutes watching as the little car icon wended its way towards me, stopping at my building. "Apartment?" came a text from Everett he driver. "Why, 11 good sir." Said I. But then nothing. No knock, no shout. Just a follow up text saying that my order had been delivered. Which, I mean, it had not.

Thanks Everett...ok, this is not
actually Everett, but you get the idea.

I texted Everett, but no response. I called the restaurant who, despite the din of a very busy night very kindly took the time to inform me that I'd have to take it up with Door Dash. "But it wasn't DoorDash who delivered, and the order tracking screen says to call the restaurant if there's an issue." "That's so weird. Welp, there's nothing we can do, you'll have to take it up with DoorDash." Which, I mean, I could take it up with DoorDash, but I hardly think they'll be able to help since, as I previously indicated, it wasn't DoorDash who didn't deliver the pizza.

And "there's nothing we can do?" Sure there is. They could, I don't know, give me a refund or send another pizza or write an existentialist one act about the futility of life. My point is it's not so much that they can't do anything, it's that they don't feel like doing anything.

Pictured: a pizza chef making what I am given
to understand is a very rude gesture.

"What ever happened to the customer is always
right? And how come kids swear so much?"

-noted that guy, Andy Rooney

To say there's nothing they could do was a bit of an overstatement. And I don't want to be that guy. That guy being an old who complains about how things were better in the past which is far from true. The past had polio and no internet, but I mean, some things were better, right? Like, traditionally, when one ordered pizza delivery, said pizza would arrive eventually. And if it didn't, they'd at least give you a refund or something. I'm just not sure that throwing one's hands up and saying "that's DoorDash for ya..." and then keeping the money, is the best customer service. Oh god...I'm that guy, aren't I? 

*legend being my word for I think I saw a YouTube about it once. Also, I'm only a quarter Canadian, so I guess