Do Rich People Order Pizza?

This inquiry comes to us from Stacy who asked if rich people order pizza and Chinese food like all the rest of us. Her question is not so much about appetite and nutrition but framed within the context of security. Which is to say who is and who is not allowed onto the property? Anyone, everyone, even Pizza delivery guys?

While the rich might have their own chefs and kitchen staff, maybe even a brick pizza oven to boot, it's still fun to order Chinese or a couple of pizzas on a whim, right? As mentioned before, I can't answer for all the rich, especially with their varying levels of threats and security needs. But I do have some info and observations on the subject:

- If extreme wealth, royalty, leadership positions or merely fame has put you at high risk requiring 24/7 security (possibly even bodyguards) then your pizza will be dropped off at the guard station by the main gate, or with security personnel at the front door. No problem.

- If you live in a luxury high rise your pizza will be delivered to the Concierge desk and sent upstairs by a Messenger or Bellman. No problem there, either.

- If you're staying in a five-star hotel with a world class restaurant, you still might fancy a pizza in the privacy of your own room. So you call the Concierge to order it for you. Adding a handsome tip for the driver, she pays for it with cash from the Front Desk, which is simply added to your room bill. She gives the cash to the Doorman who pays the driver and then brings the stupid pizza inside to the Concierge - and it's sent upstairs by a Bellman. In a hotel of this stature it's not uncommon for the rich to tip the Bellman $50 or $100 bucks to cover not only his aggravation and extreme labor, but also that of the Doorman and Concierge as well.

- For the ordinary private rich however, things are more simple and we can order takeout with little fuss or fanfare. Mercifully this is not a paranoid household where I work, with no need for high security. But here's the sequence of events around here if our employer suddenly decides he wants a pizza for himself or his guests:

- He'll annoy me or someone on the evening shift to order it.
- We call it in to the pizza shop and give them the community gate code. Payment is made with the household credit card at the time of ordering, with a generous tip already added.
- When the delivery guy* gets to the second gate, there's a call button on the keypad which we can answer inside and open the gate by remote control.

So to fully answer your question Stacy, yes we do order pizza and Chinese. While all the delivery guys, contractors and vendors may have their iPhone cameras as you worried and knowledge of the layout, they can't miss the security cameras aimed directly at the driveway or the guard dogs running and yelping alongside their cars. And how could they know about the loaded guns inside the house, or mine for that matter?

Thanks for dropping in,
Andrew

* Our pizza delivery guy is a 170 pound female with a butch haircut, a chain belt and a big set of keys dangling from her hip. She's adorable and always full of gossip about what's going on in the neighborhood - who's having a party, who had to call EMS last week, who's car was seen sitting overnight at who's house? Sometimes I want to order a pizza myself just to catch up.
    

The Weekday Trollop!

You know, I didn't actually start out to write a trilogy about all the women tramping in and out this house, but there's some recent developments I thought I should mention. (This could very well be considered gossip in some circles. But who cares? Gossip to some might be vital information to others, right?)

Since this affair began I've been wondering two things about this weekday trollop. Why does she only come here on Wednesdays and Thursdays? And why do they always order pizza or Chinese delivery for dinner, and never go out in public together?

As to the first question, my confidant at the office told me she's found out that the weekday lady has a long-standing affair with another prominent gentleman here in the Hampton's on Mondays and Tuesdays of each week.

Well, okay. And the answer to that question entirely explains the second question - obviously NONE of these people want to bump into each other out in public and cause a scene. I had suspected something like this all along, but in my naivety assumed she was married and didn't want to be exposed. Hardly did I imagine she's a professional mistress with more than one client in town. Good God!

But the big news tonight is that the usual weekend girlfriend, who we more-or-less like and get along with, has found out about all this whole sordid mess. She came here early this week, packed up all her clothes, shoes, makeup and toiletries, and moved out! I wasn't sure how she found out, but now I think I've figured that out too.

Our pizza delivery girl is a huge source of dependable gossip. She knows everything going on in the community (especially who's car is parked in who's driveway overnight) and shares it all with the house staff all over town. I described her more fully in a post entitled "Do Rich People Order Pizza" some while back.

In any case, when my employer and the trollop ordered pizza on Wednesday last week our charming delivery girl told me the weekend girlfriend had called her up and pumped for information. So I guess that's the weak link right there. (Although gossip from the house staff sometimes trickles up to their employers if they're own confidential terms, and the weekend gal could have found out from other sources among the friends she's made within the community. Who can know?)

My confidant also told me today that our employer has already cancelled the weekend girlfriend's American Express card - so I guess she's gone for good.

It's sad in some ways. I hate to see the Mister left alone on the weekends. On the other hand, it's of his own making, isn't it? In the back of my mind I have a feeling this might be a power play for the weekend girlfriend - marriage or nothing - although I have no evidence to support that. When she left with all her stuff she gave me a big tearful hug, and was seemingly and genuinely hurt.

So now it's just us - the house staff, groundskeepers, the Mister and the dogs - dealing with the weekday professional and whatever new concubine comes next to close the weekend gap. As I've mentioned before, the Mister is close to a thousand years old now, while these young chicks he's running in and out of here are only in their fifties or early sixties - if that gives a clearer picture.

I'm so exhausted and appalled I can't even think straight, and don't know which way to turn from one day to the next. But just in case I need to jump out of here on short notice, I'm already cleaning out my files and updating the resume.

I hope this absurdity hasn't exhausted you too and bored you to death!

As always, thanks for dropping in this evening,
Andrew