My continuing education as a writer cost $10 this summer.
That was the price of a small vegetable pizza at Pizza Ranch, a quite forgettable franchise.
Hoping to celebrate my wife’s birthday with my mother, we thought the buffet would please my mom, while satisfying our vegetarian hopes, too.
Well, the upsell-driven teenagers assume everyone is buying their pricey buffet. I had to tell them three times NOT to charge us for what we don’t want.
The world’s longest wait for the pizza ensued. The special order came lukewarm (at best)..
That’s not all that’s lukewarm.
I made the mistake of calling the franchise’s 1-800 number. Instead of a specific explanation, I got the form letter. One letter fits all? You decide:
“Thank you for taking the time to contact Pizza Ranch. As a valued guest,
your comments and observations are very important to us.
We strive to exceed expectations for all of our guests and your feedback is valuable in helping us to continuously work towards providing the best possible guest experience. Your patronage is important to us and we hope that you will continue to dine with us, please accept the coupon included in this
Thank you again for bringing this matter to our attention and rest assured that your comments have been forwarded to the appropriate management team so that they may be aware of your concerns.
We value your opinion and look forward to serving you again in the near future.
Comp pizza? Ha! Forget the refund. A “buy one large, get one free” coupon was attached.
They screwed up one small. Now, I’m supposed to trust them to get two large pizzas right?
Additionally, no mention was made of the pet fly dancing on the rim of the pizza pan. I was told by the comedian who brought the food that this was “extra protein.”
Want a writing gig? Craft your own generic response letter for bored franchises. There’s still a demand for half-hearted facsimiles that vaguely resemble caring communication.