In high school, I worked as a delivery order-taker at Pizza Hut. Hungry people would call me on the phone, and I’d take their orders (or try to) using a computer system that pre-dated Pong, even though it was 2002.
It was a crappy job, made worse by the minimum-wage pay and the fact that I had to try to upsell every order. That year, Pizza Hut introduced the ridiculously named P’Zone, and we were required to ask everyone who called, “Would you like to add a P’Zone to that order?”
Despite the fact that P’Zone commercials were running on every television station 20 times an hour, I’d almost always get the question, “Um, what’s a P’Zone?” Each of our computers had an index card taped to it with talking points we were supposed to launch into.
“It’s like a pizza, folded in HALF!”
“Oh, so it’s a calzone?”
“Well, no! It’s more…it’s…um. Okay, yeah, it’s a calzone.” (I was not the greatest P’Zone advocate.)
Each P’Zone push took 10 extra minutes of explaining, which could seriously tie up the phone lines on a busy Friday night, and usually ended in a “Yeah, no. Just give me what I originally ordered.”
But once in a while, someone would actually bite, and occasionally, they’d call back the next time and order another P’Zone. And that must have happened often enough to satisfy Pizza Hut’s head honchos, because the P’Zone’s still on the menu.