I was shattered, heartbroken. “What do you mean?” I said. “How can you not deliver here?” I cried desperately. “You have stores in our two neighbouring suburbs!!” I appealed. But alas, it was too late; she’d smelt my desperation and hung up on me.
We got scheming, and started devising plans to call back and tell them the right road but the wrong suburb. It might’ve worked, except our street name is stupidly common in the area. Maybe we can call back and get a different person, someone more sympathetic, we mused. But it was not to be, and we ended up with Indian take-out. It was good, but there was something missing. It just wasn’t the triple cheese.
We initially thought this discrimination only applied to our household, but then came Black Saturday; the day of the vanishing order. A housemate was at a different location, in a totally different suburb, calling a completely different store. This time they let him place his order. Then they teased him… they called back 40 minutes later asking for his address again, ensuring him the pizza would soon be on its way. BUT IT NEVER CAME! No call, no knock on the door, no stinkin’ pizza! He’d been robbed!
So why Domino’s, why? Why must you taunt us like this?! Why did you let us have that first delicious taste if you were never to grace our lips with the cheesey goodness of the triple cheese again? What did we do to you? We tried to be loyal, but you just wouldn’t let us. No, no, don’t say it, Dominos, don’t try and apologise. It’s too late. I know how you really feel. We’re moving on now, and you can’t change it, you can't take it back, you’ve hurt us too much. We've learnt to live without you & the triple cheese. Really, we have.
For any others who have experienced a similar form of fast-food discrimination, I suggest you find yourself one of these babies to tide you over…