As we fine-tune our rules and regulations
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I've chatted about my Butlers Pizza experiences before. There have been stacks. There was the Ed incident and then, of course, you might remember the report on Dave. But since then there haven't been too many altercations.

Until quite recently..

Two weeks ago I made my weekly Sunday night Butlers pizza order. It's pretty basic stuff.

The chick answered the phone:

"Butlers Pizza!"

"Hi, can I order a pizza please," I muttered, wondering what else people might be phoning them for. "

It sounded like she was able to help me with that particular request - "Yes, sure! What would you like on your pizza?" she asked, excitedly.

Give it to me.
I want it inside me..

"Umm, can I have a large bacon, salami, feta, garlic - on a thin base please." (I always order a large so that I can eat the left overs the next day - one of life's greater pleasures.)

"Certainly! Anything else?"

"Yes please. One Coca-Cola and one Appletizer please."

"Sure! Anything else?"

"How about a verse from Killing Me Softly?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing."

"Ok, is that all?"

"What are you wearing?"

"Excuse me?"

"No, nothing. Umm, is it true that there is a special code word I can give you to put SPECIAL mushrooms on my pizza"

"No, there is not a special code word. IS THAT ALL, SIR?" she was getting testy.

"Yes, angel pie, that is all!" I gave her my number and details.

"Oh, and.. one more thing..." I yelped.

She interrupted me, exhausted...

"YES, we KNOW that you ONLY want a Butler with over 1,000 missions to bring the pizza!"

"Very good, my angel. Bye bye now"

50 minutes went by, in which time I had consumed two joints and half a bottle of Jamesons. I called the angel back.

"Umm, what in God's name is going on," I spluttered.

"We apologise, Sir. The driver's car that was bringing your pizza has broken down. I'm really sorry about that! We are making you a brand new fresh pizza, free of charge, and someone else will be bringing it right away!"

"Oh.... very interesting!" I exclaimed, patronisingly. "And can I ask you one question?"

"Yes, Sir, anything," she replied, on the back foot.

"How many MISSIONS was our boy in the broken down car on when his car broke down?"

She answered immediately, almost expecting the question.. "He was on mission number 1,435."

"Oooh REAAAALLY!? Well, then I think it's QUITE obvious what needs to be done here!" I slurred. "If these guys can't handle a delivery with 1,435 missions under the belt then we're going to HAVE TO increase the minimum number of mission for deliveries to The Safe House! Don't you agree?"

"Umm, I guess...." she replied, acutely aware that she was dealing with a drunken mad man.

"2,000 MISSIONS IS MY NEW MINUMUM! OK! YOU GOT THAT? TELL EVERYONE! MAKE SURE THERE IS A NOTE THERE. 2,000 MISSIONS - OK?"

"Yes, Sir. That's been done," she replied, squirming.

"Good! Chrrrrist!" I spat as I slammed down the phone.

The pizza came. It was good. As always. The butler was well behaved. He even knew the rule about leaving his shoes outside the front door. They sent me William who has done about 6,000 missions.

Nothing went wrong - OBVIOUSLY - he's a fucken pro.

That's the last time they send a child to do a man's job.


Seth Rotherham
Editor
2oceansvibe.com
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