Beachwood, Ohio, Oct. 1 — With a two-night stay and a refrigerator, I decided it would be a good night for pizza. Using the GPS, I called the number for the nearest Pizza Hut.
I’m in Ohio. I’m calling a number in Ohio. Simple, right?
“Justin?” No, Jeff. “Justin, it will be ready in 20 minutes.” $20.25 seemed costly for even a Stuffed Crust Meat Lover’s.
I went to the Pizza Hut I had called (or THOUGHT I did), west on US 422, but I didn’t see my name on the overhead list. I didn’t see a Justin, either. They didn’t have my pizza. “I called [X number].” “You might have called a call center.” So it might be in another suburb? “It might be anywhere in Ohio.”
I went out and called the number back. I told the person at the other end of the line, I ordered a pizza, where are you? “7060 International Drive, by Wet n Wild.” And what city is that? “Orlando.” Um, I’m in suburban Cleveland. “Oh.” CLICK.
I tried again, at least getting the confirmation that I would not have to pay for it. But then the line went dead again when a man (who had taken over for a woman) said he was going to check something.
A thought occurred: I ordered from a Pizza Hut with this cell phone in Orlando once, in 2009. In fact, after a check of the map, I ordered from that very Pizza Hut. If my phone number was somehow plugged into the system to automatically reroute to that place 3½ years later — an Iowa phone number attached to a Pizza Hut in Orlando of all places — that’s a colossally stupid move on behalf of Pizza Hut’s system.
I ate at Wendy’s.