I had a long day on Thursday. Got home late. Was walking Rory and thought “I’ve earned pizza.” Then I said “pizza” aloud, which made Rory very excited and pretty much sealed the deal. I was going to order pizza.
Now, I usually do this online, but I couldn’t remember my password and was too hungry to wait until I got home. So I dialed 411 to get the store’s number. Before I could even tell the operator which location I needed, she figured it out….somehow.
Weird. All I told her was ‘Manhattan’ and ‘Dominos.’ There must be 50 of them. (Don’t give me a hard time for going chain — I love their thin crust.)
Anyway, the pizza guy answers, and I tell him I have a delivery order. He replies, “Sure. Same thing as last time — thin crust pepperoni and cinnamon bread?”
Okay. I’ve never called this store before. Sure, they probably fulfill my online orders, and my cellphone number is in that profile, but still. All this convenience, all this instant knowledge of who you are and what you want — it’s creepy.
It did get my pizza to me in less than 15 minutes.
But what else do they know…ya know?
Remember the Red Dragon across the street from Lighten Up? The second she heard me say, “I’d like to place a carry out order,” she’d say, “Steamed rice and hot and sour soup?”
Yeah.