Thursday, February 24, 2011

The Missing Pizza

Okay, so in the last post I alluded to a bad experience I had ordering a pizza online. I thought, rather than leave that allusion hanging out there all dead-endy, today I should tell you about that experience.

The thing is, I love to do all my shopping online. I can do it whenever I want, as fast or slow as I want, click, and then my merchandise just arrives at my doorstep. Wow ... I just realized ... the 21st century is the Century for Agoraphobics!

Anyway, most of the things one would order online, well, one is happy if they are delivered next day, and if it takes three days, or even a week, it's no big deal. But if you order a pizza, it's because you're hungry, right? I mean, next day, or heaven forbid, three day delivery is not an option.

So a few years ago (wow ... now that I think about it, it was nearly a decade ago) I was hungry at like 10 PM, in a hotel room in an unfamiliar area, so I went online to look for the closest pizza place. Pizza Hut popped up, with a website, and even an "Order Online Now" option. So I ordered online. It said it would be about 45 minutes. Not the best, but acceptable.

So an hour later when the pizza hadn't shown up, I ended up calling the place. I was not sure at that point in the evolution of the internet if the order had even made it to a real Pizza Hut, let alone the right Pizza Hut. The manager answered. Turns out his delivery boy went on a pizza run and disappeared. He was not concerned about the pizza boy (I would have been thinking: car accident, mugging, even kidnapping or something; but that's me channeling my mother).

So I went from not sure that my order had been properly placed to order-placement-confirmed-so-why-the-hell-am-I-still-hungry-and-waiting-an-hour-later to embarrassed that I'm upset about being slightly hungry and ordering a bazillion calories to be delivered to my doorstep by a pimply faced little boy who may have been murdered trying to bring me my eight dollars worth of gluttonous sin.

Needless to say, I don't order pizza online anymore.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

I don't understand

Since this was a long weekend, I decided to splurge and order a pizza.

Now, normally I love the internet and prefer to do everything online, but Pizza is sorta time sensitive, and I had a bad experience ordering it online once, so I dialed my local pizza place. Of course, calling the order in, I was treated to seventeen commercials before I was connected to a person who could take my order.

And that's when I remembered the perils of customer service in Southern California.

"Tay jew for callin' Pisa Pala. My nay is Rosa, can I offer jew wan off de specials?"

WTF? Oh ... specials ... "No," I reply. "I want to place an order for delivery."

"Delivery? Wayuwa?"

OMG, I can't understand a thing this lady is saying. Maybe if I just plow through with the order she'll get it - after all, it's a pizza place, she has to be used to taking pizza orders. "Yes, I want to order a large original crust pizza with bacon, pepperoni and sausage."


"Yes, a large."

"Wa yu wannonit?"


"Wa toppins?"

"Bacon, pepperoni and sausage," I said, trying to not sound as exasperated as I felt.


"Yes, bacon."


This is impossible. "Mira, yo hablo español, si te será más fácil," I said, letting her know I could speak in Spanish if she preferred. I hate doing that, because it is like telling the other person, "Look, my Spanish is better than your English." But I just want my $@#%! pizza!

"I sorry, I no speak espanish," she replied.

You've got to be kidding me! Her English is that horrible, and it is her first language? No wonder she's 40 years old and working at a pizza place.

And what about the guy who gave her the job? I mean, if answering the phone is an integral part of your job, you should speak the official language of the region well, or at least well enough to understand and be understood.

"Ok," I said, trying to remain calm. I just have to get through this order. Slowly I repeated my order. "I want a large. Original crust. Pizza. With Bacon. Pepperoni. And Sausage."

"Ah, okay, okay," she said. "Alar three toppin wit bayco, pepperoni an sausage. Woyu lie some howinz to go widjor pisa?"

"No, that is all, thank you."

"Your phone number?" she asked. I gave it. "An wha wudju lie to order?"

Damn it!

You know, the Safeway brand of frozen pizza is a fourth the price and has less than half the calories.

Saturday, February 12, 2011


So I was walking down the street in Beverly Hills the other day, and I noticed a sign that said, "Coming soon: Brooklyn Bagel Company." Below that, it said, "It's in the water!"

Really? The flavor of a Brooklyn Bagel Company bagel comes from the water? If their water is significantly different from the water used by any other bagel place, they must be getting it from either the Hudson or the East River. Either way, I don't think I'll be eating their bagels anytime soon.

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Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Blue Plate Oysterette

In Santa Monica there is a restaurant called Blue Plate Oysterette. It's a nice place, and they serve good food.

Unfortunately, the sign on the front of the building just says "BP," with a sorta subliminal "oysterette" written in cursive across the bottom.

I wonder if the Gulf oil spill of 2010 (OMG, I just realized we're going to have to put dates on the disaster) has affected their business. I assume so: even if they never received any seafood from the Gulf of Mexico, the sign outside at the very least would give potential 'walk-in' customers pause.

There's something about brand name recognition, but I think I would consider changing the sign if I were them. Any opinions?

Don't forget to check out America the Beautiful at
Please write a review on Smashwords and/or
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Saturday, February 5, 2011


My parents smoke like chimneys.
When I was in my first year of college, I would come home from class in the early evening. Opening the front door, a shaft of light would break through the darkness of the living room (my dad would keep the place dark as a movie theater so he could enjoy the first generation large screen TV), and I could see the cloud bank that encompassed the whole place, from ceiling down to the level of your knees.

Then California rolled out the "no smoking in public buildings" laws. We usually ate out at least once per week, if not two or three times. In the early days, we could still sit on the patio and my dad could smoke. Later, even that disappeared from his option list, and they stopped going out.

So the other day my dad came to me and asked if I could get him a box of nicotine patches.

"Oh, are you guys finally going to quit smoking?" I asked, trying to hide my pride.

"No," he replied. "I'm taking your mother out to a fancy-schmancy restaurant for our 45th anniversary, and I think I'll need a few to get through the dinner."

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Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Faux Fur

The other day I saw a news report about a rally against the use of real fur in the production of clothing and accessories. They had the perfect spokesperson.

I don't think there is anything on Ms. Lavinthal that is not "faux." This woman has had so much plastic surgery I think that she may be a life-sized animatronic version of Barbie. She is the poster child for the faux future.

I'm not against the use of "faux fur." Anyone who wants to wear faux fur, more power to them. But I really think it's time to stop wearing faux noses, faux foreheads, faux lips, faux faces in general. When you stop looking human, you've gone a little too far on the plastic surgeries, baby.

Don't forget to check out America the Beautiful at Please write a review on Smashwords and/or
Jane's Adventures in Eating will be out at the end of the week. Tell a friend!