I think I just stole a pizza … and I’m OK with it

AMERICUS, Georgia — Some of my favorite places to eat are in Americus, Georgia. Per capita, it’s no Macon County, Georgia with its Troy’s Snack Shack, Yoder’s Deitsch Haus, and Oglethorpe Barbecue, but it’s got places like The Station, Monroe’s, the new IceHouse Beer Garden, and Pat’s Place, which has the best pizza on the planet.

(I hear Wazbuti’s Pizza Pies in Kathmandu ain’t bad, but it’s against my religion to eat in towns that spell cat with a K—they probably offer cats as a topping anyway.)

However, my experiences at chain restaurants in Americus are not so good. I rarely fuss, however. I’m pre-emptively nice wherever I go and rarely do I lose my cool. (Although, there was this one experience at the Americus Wal-Mart that might have gotten me banned from the place. I wrote about it, of course, three years ago.)

Today, it was Papa Johns that made me angry—mainly because I got fussed at for trying to steal a pizza. Yes, I know stealing is wrong, but in my defense I had ordered it online, paid for it, even left a tip for it, and it was just sitting there on the rack. All alone. Unattended. With no worker in sight.

The worker wasn’t in sight because she was hiding behind some equipment while playing on her phone. I didn’t see her, so I waited—patiently. As I did, the driver of a Papa Johns tractor-trailer came in twice to deliver supplies. No one else was there. The driver walked past the girl twice. He didn’t tell me she was hiding there. He didn’t tell her she had a customer.

I could have hollered around the store for some help, but there were no sounds coming from anywhere. I guess her phone was on silent mode. I could have walked around the lobby asking, “Papa, can you hear me?” But no.

However, she did show herself at last when I went back to steal the pizza I ordered. I figured it was the only way to get it, and—to Papa Johns’ credit—it smelled pretty darn good. Hint: If you order extra sauce on their pizzas and a New York-style crust, they’re pretty hard to beat—no Pat’s Pizza, mind you, but quite delicious.

I don’t know exactly what the penalty is for stealing a pizza that you’ve already purchased, but it can’t be worse than holding a hot pizza hostage. I figured if we both went to jail, her sentence would be longer, and I could eat the pizza on the way to the police station.

I don’t know whether she was angry that I caught her goofing off or she was mounting a valiant defense of someone’s pizza. There was only one pizza on the rack, so she couldn’t have been worried I’d get the wrong one. Then again, that there was just one pizza waiting to be picked up at 11:25 a.m. is a bad sign for that restaurant. Maybe other folks already got the 411 about the customer service at this particular location.

She informed me in no uncertain terms that I was not supposed to be back there. I’d quote her, but I don’t speak Mumble. As I continued to access my pizza, she reminded me in Mumble of the place I was not supposed to be. I tried to ease her mind and let her go back to playing Candy Crush. I assured her that it was not a problem because I’d never be back again.

Maybe they were trying to overtake Americus joints like Popeyes, Ruby Tuesday, McDonald’s, or Hardees for the worst customer service in Americus. Maybe I should only order from locally run restaurants (as I usually do).

At least the Chick-fil-A folks are nice here, as they are everywhere. If they could get my order right a little more often, they’d be perfect.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run. I may be on the run. I hear there’s been an APB (Abducted Pizza Bulletin) issued.

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If you enjoyed this, there’s plenty more at kudzukid.com — including information about my debut Southern novel, THE HOLLER.