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| - Costco food courts are an iconic thing for me. The food is really great, and most of all: inexpensive. I look forward to having a slice or a hot dog every time I go -- it's just a given for me.
This night was like any other I'd gone to Costco's food court; which is to say it felt like Wall Street during a heavy trade. Despite the lines being painted on the floor to remind customers what's what and where to go to get it; it becomes chaos -- and it shows on the faces of the employees as well; on a consistent basis. I get that. After forty-five minutes in line, I was still just as happy to be getting the opportunity to sink my teeth into some melting mozarella. By now, I was ready to take down a churro like something FIERCE, but I didn't want to risk filling my stomach with anything but my pepporoni pizza I ordered. Sorry churro -- NO VACANCY TONIGHT!
As I sat for it to be baked, the chaos didn't end. I sat directly in front of the Pick-Up Window to ensure I'd hear them call my number. Several times, I saw people come up and ask for a time update. The answer was always "20 more minutes." The others would stomp their feet inpatiently as they walked away, and I reminded myself not to be "That Guy." I'll be patient -- let them do their jobs, right?
Well, we're now thirty minutes into my wait. I've now been here for nearly two hours.
"It's OK, Adrian -- it's OK to just ask them for an update; just be totally polite!" I told myself.
I was told twenty more minutes, and I plastered a fake smile onto my face. Hey, this pizza is good stuff and a great deal! I sorta asked for it coming during rush hour anyway, right? At least nobody will have to cook tonight!
..... it's been another half hour, though. I check in, again assuring myself I'm not going to be the person who is obnoxious and rude.
"We called you a half hour ago; nobody came to get it so we threw it away."
As she said, I heard a pop. It was like a rubber band snapped as it launched a novelty firecracker inside of my head. Hanger has now started to streamline through my blood, and I'm fully infused with it.
I assured them that I wasn't called. I'd kept track of the numbers. There was little to no pattern or consistent pattern. Regardless, I asked what they could do NOW.
"I can go get it back and reheat it?"
**CRACK!!** Blood vessells had now ruptured straight from my brain stem and into my eyes: The only thing I could see was the many, many people who had finished their food around me; all with full stomachs and smiles. I saw the cheschire grins of the husbands getting brownie points by picking up dinner for their wives to have a night off. I then reminded myself that I was literally just offered nuked trash-pizza.
I'd recap what I said to the manager who was hiding behind several other frontline employees, but all I could hear in my own mind was the aneurysm making it's way through the brain circuitry-inferno and to the soles of my feet that left me scrambling for the pharmaceutical aisles for any sort of first aid to help out. Maybe there's a health insurance rep peddling a plan at a booth somewhere. No matter how or who, I'll need medical attention by the end of this episode ......
..... somewhere in the mess, I heard a ringing noise in my ear and was snapped back to reality. And that reality was that the best they could do was put one in right now. You guessed it; it'll be another twenty minutes. I'd also receive a refund. My options were: Leave; upset and hungr(ier,) or get that pizza that I'd waited for this long, and stick it out. I opted to stay. The refund helped prevent a few more pathways being singed in my head, but this was such a horrible folly that I'll never trust my money and time with this particular location; EVER again.
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