| rev:text
| - I never thought I'd be in a position where a restaurant would intentionally serve me a faulty product, but after my experience (and enhanced documented conversations with some staff) I am pretty sure it happened last night.
We were having some drinks at an amazing establishment next door, but decided that we needed something more than wine and cheese to close out the evening. Personally, I love a good pizza so that was the plan of action we agreed upon; And, at 10:05PM pizza is the one constant in the universe.
I pulled up my good ole Yelp to discover that Fuel Pizza was maybe a 100 feet from where I was sitting. They had 2-stars but the last real review was nearly a year earlier so I figured we needed to give them a shot; regardless, they were opened 'til 11PM, so it was a no brainer.
My wife looked up their menu online and and showed me the options. Wow! They have it all. I rarely get impressed with pizza (being half Italian and all), but when I saw their Chicken Taco Pizza, the part of me who grew up in South Texas almost had a stroke: Amo los tacos!
We placed the order via their nifty online ordering system. It went through at 10:10PM. Thinking it would take a bit to make the delectable taco pie, we took our time finishing our beverages before trekking over to pick it up just after 10:40PM.
My first impression when I walked in the door was how deserted the restaurant felt. A single couple was off to my left. The counter was abandoned, but eventually a team member saw me looking dazed and confused and efforted to help; she asked me if I needed anything: Her questions were more quizzical than helpful, but I responded in kind that I was there for a pizza order I had placed online. She seemed a bit less stressed at my response and turned to whom must've been her superviser for some relief.
A very nice young lady strolled over to the warming oven located just off to the side of the register and proceeded to remove our 12" pie which she placed on the counter in front of me. She made sure to tell me how awesome this pizza was, and after a few moments of akward silence, we thanked them and headed out the door.
The drive from Fuel to my house is less than 4-minutes. It was probably less than 6-minutes later that I was biting down on what should have been Chicken Taco heaven...but it was not to be. In as much time as it took my brain to process that food was in my mouth, I was coughing so violently I thought I was having an allergic reaction.
No, you did not read that wrong. I coughed so hard I thought my lungs were going to explode. My wife took a bite too. Her nibble was small enough to not cause the violent spasms I had experienced, but the intense heat was so bad she had to spit it out.
I chewed ice for a few minutes and finally regained my compusure. Why had this happened? I eat habanero salsa on my hot dogs for God's sake, so I'm rarely frazzled by a little heat. This wasn't just heat, it was was beyond tolerable. In point of fact, this was intolerable cruelty. What's worse is I knew that if I had reacted that badly upfront, the next morning would be the Apocalypse.
I called the store just after 11PM and was surprised that the phone was picked up. I regurgitated the aforementioned story and asked for a manager. The gentleman who answered told me the manager wasn't avaliable but acknowledged that they had adapted my pizza per the managers orders; apparently the sauce that is supposed to be used wasn't available so my entire sauce was jalapeño pepper based or similar. Como? How's that? I have call record so I was shocked to hear the explanation. I asked for the manager again, but she was apparently gone for the evening.
My anger slowly transformed into disappointment and ultimately fear. I was disappointed that a perfect day was ruined: not because of choices I had made but because of choices someone else had made for me. My fear was because I knew that come morning my stomach would violently react to this taco slapdown that Fuel had inflicted. And, as expected, my stomach did not fail to remind me that actions have consequences. It took me out to woodshed and gave me a come to Jesus talk of epic proportions!
At this point I'm not sure how I feel about my "experience." I'm beyond not happy. I feel used. How many other folks receive this kind of treatment? I wonder.
I headed back to Fuel the next morning and brought my barely eaten pizza of doom with me. It was just after 1130AM when I walked in. There was one family eating and 3 team members preparing. I brought my pie to the counter and after meeting the supervisor, I told her my tale and asked for a refund. She did offer to make me a new pizza but I declined and opted for the refund in cash.
It's a hard call. I bet they have a good product if done properly. Their reinvigorated customer service wasn't all that bad, but the whole experience left a firey taste in my mouth and lower extremities.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)
![[cxml]](/fct/images/cxml_doc.png)
![[csv]](/fct/images/csv_doc.png)
![[text]](/fct/images/ntriples_doc.png)
![[turtle]](/fct/images/n3turtle_doc.png)
![[ld+json]](/fct/images/jsonld_doc.png)
![[rdf+json]](/fct/images/json_doc.png)
![[rdf+xml]](/fct/images/xml_doc.png)
![[atom+xml]](/fct/images/atom_doc.png)
![[html]](/fct/images/html_doc.png)