I was surprised last week to hear of Pizza Hut's demise. It was just a local franchise, over in Bill-Paying Town. The first inkling was an overhead conversation in the waiting room of my physical therapy office. Two old guys were commenting on seeing the furniture sitting out front of Pizza Hut, with signs that tables were $10 each, and chairs $5.
Back home, I was reading the local online newspaper, and saw a picture of that furniture. Seems the employees had been called in the previous evening for a meeting about "new menu items," but were then told the store was closing, so not to come back. The situation continues to be a mystery. But because of the location of that very Pizza Hut, I was reminded of our last experience there.
It was the early 1990s. Hick and I were living in my $17,000 house. We had HOS (Hick's Oldest Son) and The (little future) Veteran for the weekend. They were probably 8 and 10 years old. Saturday evening, we went over to the Bill-Paying Town Pizza Hut for supper. There was a closer Pizza Hut, but they didn't have a liquor license. Hick (and I, at that time) enjoyed a beer with our pizza.
As you might imagine on a small-town Saturday night, Pizza Hut was busy. We were escorted by the waitress to the atrium area. Which was like a clear-sided long room with curved glass walls and ceiling, like a greenhouse. That was fine with us, being seated in a smaller crowd. Hick ordered a pitcher of beer, a pitcher of root beer, a supreme pizza, and a pepperoni pizza. And breadsticks.
It took about 15 minutes to get the drinks and breadsticks. Not too big a deal, because we could see they were busy. We chatted and drank and ate. Then we waited. For a long time. Over an hour. Other people who came in after us had gotten their food. Some had already eaten and left. Our breasticks were long gone, our pitchers empty. We had run out of conversation, save complaining about not having our pizza. Hick had stopped servers a couple times, to ask why we weren't getting our pizzas. They said they'd check on it.
Hick is usually not one to make a scene. He has quite a bit of patience with slow restaurant service, though he might grumble about a perceived slight. Then just not leave a good tip, if he feels the server did not make an effort to explain or remedy the situation. Now he'd had enough.
"Put on your coats, boys. We're leaving."
"But we didn't get our pizza!"
"It don't look like we're ever gonna get our pizza! We're going somewhere else."
We traipsed up the two steps from the atrium into the main dining room. Across the counter towards the door. Hick stopped at the register.
"I want my bill. I'm leaving."
"All right, sir. What did you get?"
"I didn't get SH!T. I've been here an hour and a half, and never got my pizza! I wanna pay for breadsticks, a pitcher of beer, and a pitcher of soda."
The boys eyes were huge. They knew Hick had a boiling point, and it had been reached. I shuffled them towards the door. As the cold air hit my face, I heard the young guy at the register say, "That's okay, sir. No charge for that. Sorry about your wait."
Which was excellent customer service, after such poor service. He probably feared for his life, from the look in Hick's eye.
We piled into the car, sobered from the long wait, and the situation. Hick drove back to our town, to the Pizza Inn. Where we used the bathrooms, and the boys played the two video games on the back wall, while we waited 20 minutes for our two carry-out pizzas.
I don't THINK Hick's tirade in the early 90s could have attributed to the closure of this Pizza Hut. But if their service that night was any indication of how the place continued to operate, I'm not shocked that it closed down 30 years later.
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