*Ring*

Me: “[Indy Pizza Shop].”

Ass: “Yes, may I speak to the individual in charge of ordering food and beverage?”

Me: “It’s our lunch rush. Can I take a message?”

Ass: “Please, important - may I speak to the individual in charge of ordering food and beverage?”

Me: “We’re really busy. Can you call back?”

Ass: “This is very important, limited time offer, may I please speak to the individual in charge of –”

Me: “No, I’m sorry, there’s no one here in charge of food and beverage. Matter of fact, we don’t have any.”

Ass: “… but, but, you are pizza shop, yes?”

Me: “Well, if it’ll shut you up I’ll tell you we’re actually a front for the mafia’s drug-distribution network. Looking for any heroin? Ecstasy?”

Ass: “…”

*Click*

Truth be told, we weren’t busy, and Gary and his cop buddy were now cracking up a few feet away where they’d heard my side of the conversation. We have a strict “fuck with telemarketer” policy.

***

Gary hires this guy to coupon for us. He works freelance for a lot of the food shops in the area, money under the table for him and his crew to go around our delivery area and put menus in people’s mailboxes. We call him “Captain Jack” because he wears a Navy hat with oak leaves on it.

Cap’n Jack ain’t very good at following instructions. Gary requested he hit our Falls Road delivery area, and provided a specific list of streets and address zones. Yesterday, we got calls from people claiming to be in Owings Mills, wanting deliveries, who were very upset when we told them, “Uh, we’re in Cockeysville, we don’t go out there.”

Seems Cap’n Jack got a bit carried away with his flyering. Dumbass.