America, Clean-Up On Aisle Four

You gotta love people who love their jobs. August 31st is the first day of a new term at our school. The President, giddy with excitement over the recent boost in FTE, desired to personally thank each and every student for showing up this morning and ensuring all us slackers keep our jobs for another four months. Enter the very capable and efficient Erika, ready to direct, execute, and apparently, order a pizza or two when needed. After a surprisingly flurried discourse with the Pres, I let my fingers do the walking and dialed up the closest location for the home of the $5 Hot N' Ready Pizza Pizza.

The following reenactment is what I was greeted with upon placing my order:
Little Caesar's Girl: "Can I have your phone number?"
Me: "It's 801.---.---."
Girl: "Can you say that again but not tell me the 801?"
Me: "Sure. It's x-x-x-x-x-x-x." I was careful to enunciate each numeric digit for her, partly out of courtesy and partly because I wasn't sure who I was dealing with.
Girl: "x...x...x...x...x...x...x" The pause was so great between each number I considered leaving for a potty break. I didn't realize her keypad was written in braille.
Me: "I would like to pay for the pizzas with a credit card."
Girl: "You can't. You have to come in."
Me: "Okay, then. Thanks."

It took me .5 seconds to realize she did not offer me the total amount for the purchase. I called her back.

Me: "Hi. I just called and ordered thirty pizzas and I would like to know the total purchase amount."
Girl: "Hang on." She lays the phone down accompanied by a loud groan audible over the rustling on the counter.
Me: I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was such an inconvenience to inform the consumer how much a product costs upon purchase of said product. Call me crazy, but I thought that was a key component of capitalism, knowing how much money is required for purchase of goods, services, labor and all...

After the sun moved to the west and the seagulls migrated south for the winter, the girl returned to the phone. She blurted out the number and when I asked for clarification, she snuffs, "you have to pay extra for sausage, you know."
Indeed. I will be more than happy to pay extra for sausage, yet I am curious about one thing. How much extra did you pay for that course in professionalism? Business ethics? Managerial accounting? Oh wait, you didn't pay extra for those classes because you have never heard of them! How 'bout I buy you a pizza, Honey, and we can discuss (slowly and with repetition) the possibility of enrolling you in school, because not only do I fear for the future progress and enlightenment of young American society, but my (albeit shallow) cup of contentedly uneducated, a.k.a. ignorant, people runneth over and I certainly do not like the mess it's making!