Why Ordering Food Over the Phone Feels Like an Extreme Sport

Look, I know we live in an age where you can order an entire meal with a few taps on your phone, never having to endure the horror of actually speaking to another human. And believe me, I take full advantage of it. But sometimes — whether due to an old-school restaurant, a glitchy app, or the sheer bad luck of being born into this world with social anxiety — I find myself in the ultimate nightmare scenario: having to order food over the phone.

For most people, this is a simple, everyday task. For me? It’s the mental equivalent of preparing for an Olympic event, one where I have zero chance of winning.

Step 1: The Pep Talk (AKA Procrastination in Disguise)

The moment I realize I have to make the call, my brain goes into full panic mode. My inner monologue is something like:

“Okay, it’s fine. You can do this. It’s just a quick call. People do it all the time. You’re an adult, for God’s sake. Just dial the number and — wait, what if I say something weird? What if they don’t understand me? What if they ask a question I wasn’t prepared for??”

So, naturally, I take 15 minutes to psych myself up while also considering the pros and cons of just eating cereal for dinner instead.

Step 2: The Script Preparation

Because my anxiety thrives on predictability, I decide to write out exactly what I’m going to say. Word for word. Like I’m rehearsing for a Broadway play.

“Hello! I’d like to place an order for pickup. Yes, I’d like a large pepperoni pizza and — wait, should I say ‘I’d like’ or just ‘Can I get’? What sounds more normal? Oh no, what if they ask for my phone number? Do I give my full name? Do I have to talk to multiple people?!”

I write and rewrite my script like I’m preparing for a high-stakes courtroom battle.

Step 3: Dialing the Number (AKA Heart Rate Hits 200 BPM)

After an embarrassing amount of time, I finally work up the nerve to dial. The phone rings. My stomach clenches. My hands are clammy. This is it. This is war.

“Hello, thanks for calling Pizza Palace, how can I help you?”

And just like that, my brain short-circuits. Every single thing I rehearsed? Gone. Instead, I blurt out something completely unhinged like:

“Hi! Uh, food? I mean, pizza. I want one. Please?”

The person on the other end pauses, probably wondering if I’m okay. I frantically try to backtrack and end up speaking so fast that I sound like I’m being chased by a wild animal.

Step 4: The Unexpected Curveball

Just when I think I’m in the clear, the employee throws me a question I did not prepare for.

“Do you want extra cheese on that?”

Suddenly, my brain is in overdrive. I didn’t account for this! What’s the right answer?? If I say no, will they think I hate cheese? If I say yes, will I sound greedy? What even is the normal amount of cheese??

In my panic, I just go, “Uh… yeah? I mean, no? Wait — what did you say again?”

At this point, I assume they are actively rolling their eyes, but they somehow get my order confirmed.

Step 5: The Sweet Relief (and the Post-Call Overthinking)

The moment I hang up, my entire body unclenches. It’s done. I survived. I ordered food like a semi-functional human being.

And then? The real anxiety kicks in.

“Wait, did I give them the right phone number? What if they think my name is Steve because I mumbled? What if they make the order wrong because I was speaking at 200 miles per hour? What if they recognize my voice next time and laugh at me??”

Despite all of this, I eventually drag myself to the restaurant, pick up my food (with minimal eye contact, obviously), and go home feeling both victorious and emotionally exhausted.

Why Is This So Hard?!

I know ordering food shouldn’t feel like a battle. But for someone with anxiety, even the smallest social interactions can feel like high-stakes situations. The fear of messing up, sounding weird, or just existing awkwardly is always lurking in the background.

But you know what? At the end of the day, I did it. I made the call. I got my pizza. And while I will absolutely avoid doing it again for as long as humanly possible, I know that I can do it.

And that, my friends, is what I call progress.

Now, excuse me while I spend the next 30 minutes decompressing from this harrowing experience. (And yes, I will be using food delivery apps whenever possible from now on.)

Thank you for reading and joining me on this journey! Keep breathing, keep going, and remember — every step forward counts. Until next time!

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