Adventures in Feeding Teenagers

It's been a good bit of time since I have posted.  I am pretty frustrated by that, mostly because I really wanted to create the discipline of writing a couple of times a week.  As it turns out, my discipline for writing needs more...discipline.  So, for now, I'm going to try to write things at least once a week, and see if I can get on some sort of schedule.  It's debate season, and I'm going to be spending a fair amount of time sitting at tournaments, so the new goal is one time a week on Saturday.  

And here comes the first of those posts.  It's a rant about feeding teenagers at a tournament and ordering pizza.  

I have a friend and coaching colleague who's fairly new to coaching (3-4 years), who occasionally laments that there has to be a better solution to feed the kids than pizza every Saturday. Joe is correct.  The problem is that his concern is both correct, and there isn't a better option. 

Debate tournaments don't afford huge amounts of time to feed the children.  We're lucky if we get an hour to get them fed.  This is an impossibility if you want to load 8-12 kids up, take them out, get food, and get back to the tournament- especially when there will be one random judge EVERY SINGLE TIME who holds kids up for some very important (not at all important) reason.   

I actually like it best when the tournament host finds a way to let us buy pizza, or something else, onsite.  This is, however, also problematic because it requires pre-orders from kids who may not even show up for the bus.  If you don't pre-order, the tournament is not likely to be able to take a credit card, or give you a reciept, or...well...generally be very helpful.  

So, we order pizza. Every week.  At 11:00am, like clockwork- because that's when the pizza places open.  

Today, I decided my friend Joe is correct.  There must be a better way.   Except, there is not.  

In fact, sometimes I try to get kids to just bring food, and, inevitably, someone will not.  They forgot, or their mom didn't get up in time, or the Roswell Alien ship visited their house last night and took all the food, or... you understand.  Today, one of my colleagues said she told her kids to bring something.  After the 3rd round, while we were ON the lunch break, I heard her ask the kids why they didn't have food?  "Didn't you bring something?"  Blank stares.  Crickets chirping.  More blank stares.  

Later in the day, she tells me, "I did bring something Miss.  I brought money. That's what they told me."  

Yep.  

At any rate, back to the pizza.  I'm hosting a tournament in my own building, so this should be the easiest place in the state for me to order pizza.  Should be.   

My assistant and I talk about how much pizza to order. We settle on the amount.  6 pizzas.  

I call the first place; let's call it Daddy Joe's to protect the guilty.  

A young man with an accent that is definitely not midwestern answers: "Hello, thanks for calling Daddy Joe's. How can I help you?"

"I'd like to place an order.  Do you have any specials?"

"Um, well, yes, I believe so. Um.  Please hold on a moment.  Yes, um, we have large 2 topping pizzas for $11."  

"Ok. How much is a large single topping pizza?"

"Yes, well, I'm not sure...   Um, yes, OK, a large single topping is $16." 

"Ok.  I'll take 3 large cheese pizzas with extra cheese, a large beef with extra beef, and a large ham and pineapple.  That will count as 2 toppings, correct?"

Silence...then:

"Um, yes, that will work."

"Thanks, now I need that to be tax-exempt because I'm using a school card. 

Again, silence, and then:

"Well, um, yes, I'm, uh, I will have to transfer you directly to a store, is that ok?"

(so- clearly a call center somewhere not here)

"OK"

An elveator muzak version of  "Welcome to the Jungle" plays for hold music. 

"Hello, thanks for calling Daddy Joes.  How can I help you today? 

"I was transferred from a call center to you because this is a tax exempt order."

"Absolutely, what is the phone number at the location we are delivering to?"

I tell him.  

"Ok, sir, this is the second time this has happened today.  Where are you calling from?"

"Garden City"

"No, what state?"

"Kansas."

"Sir, I don't know why this keeps happening.  We are in Decatur, GA."

"Can you transfer me back to...?"

"No, sir, but what you can do..."

"What I can do is call (what we'll call) Pizza Hovel."

Click.  

I call the new place. 

"Hello, Pizza Hovel, can I take your order."

And I repeat the ENTIRE process.  

We get to the place where I'm ready to finish the order.  

"What time do you need this, sir?"

"12:15" 

"Today?"

"Yes," I say, even though every fiber of my being wants to be really, really rude.  

After all of that, 6 pizzas arrive, and cost $100.  For 6 pizzas...

But the kids are fed.   Sort of.  

I'm just saying, Joe is right.