After coming back from my daily run, I call the hotel kitchen to ask for a meat pizza, with no olives. Not too complex one would think?
I shower, dry myself and get dressed. I watch a bit of telly and drink a coffee.
Never the fastest at food delivery (or anything else if i’m truthful) this is taking a while even by this hotel’s standards. I’m now down to about ten minutes before I’m due to head back to work, so I call them again.
“Hi, I ordered a meat pizza with no olives about 45 minutes ago?’
“Er, is there any chance I could have it in the next couple of minutes as I’m going back to work?”
“No, we’ve got no cheese.”
“Didn’t you think it would have been a good idea to call me and tell me you had no cheese?”
“Because whatever pizza you wanted, we had no cheese!”
“I could have ordered something else.”
“Yes you could have, but you didn’t. You ordered pizza, and we’ve got no cheese.”
I admitted defeat by thanking them (I am British after all) and heading back to work.