I’m the manager at a pizza place, and I get a call.

Customer: “Can I speak to a manager?”

Me: “You are speaking to the highest-ranking manager in the store, ma’am. What do you need?”

Customer: “I have a complaint about what your workers did yesterday. The customer at the table next to mine ordered a pineapple pizza, and they made it for him!”

Me: “Oh, dear. Did they bring it to you by mistake?”

Customer: “No!”

Me: “…Did you suffer an allergic reaction that suggests cross-contamination?”

Customer: “No one is allergic to pizza!”

Me: *Ignoring that because of how confused I am.* “Ma’am, what exactly is your complaint?”

Customer: “What part of this are you failing to understand? Someone ordered a pineapple pizza, and your kitchen made it!”

Me: “Yes? That’s… kind of how restaurant kitchens work.”

Customer: “And you don’t think there’s anything wrong with that?”

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t understand what you’re trying to complain about. Someone else ordered a pizza, our kitchen staff made them the pizza they asked for, and… what? What is it that you take issue with that you feel the need to call us and complain about it?”

Customer: “Get me YOUR manager!”

Me: “As I said, I am the highest-ranking manager in the store, ma’am. I can’t escalate any further without you telling me what your issue is.”

Customer: “I told you what the issue is! Your kitchen made a pineapple pizza!”

Me: “And how is that a problem?”

Customer: *Screeches and hangs up.*

I stared at the phone for a moment, hung up, and went back to my paperwork.