My call really is important to them

I love Pagliacci Pizza. They make a really good pie. Not the best pie I’ve ever had (that was in Florence), but a really good pie. But that’s not the reason I love them. I love them because when I call up, the phone is answered immediately. If the lines are full, I hear a recording of an extremely pleasant woman’s voice. Instead of a hollow and clichéd “your call is important to us.” She says, “As one of our best customers, you know we get slammed sometimes and they’ll we’ll be with you in a second or two.” And always, a live person picks up the call within seconds. “Is this the Lee residence?” they always ask. They always ask if we would like to hear about the specials. They always ask if we would like salad, gelato or soft drinks. They always confirm the order. They always deliver within the promised thirty to forty minutes. My call really is important to them.

What they haven’t always done is charge me for my pizza. Every once in a while, their regular customers are given their order free of charge. Just a “thank you” for being a regular customer. Which I will remain so forever. (In fact, because I like them so much, even if they someday screwed up an order or delivered late, I’d forgive them with hardly a thought.)

Pagliacci does other endearing stuff. They send out an oversize newsletter that features big pictures of their employees. I read it. Their pizza boxes are printed with scenes from the neighborhoods they serve. Pagliacci is part of the very fabric of the city.

There are other businesses in town that could consider me “a regular.” But they do nothing out of the ordinary in acknowledgement of my out-of-the-ordinary patronage. I suppose I continue to buy from them because they have a convenient location, or because of habit. But such a relationship is tenuous. And that may mean that someone else could come along and easily claim my business.