Cookies, without a pop-up novel

A cookie is a small file a site or an advertising network stores in your browser. This page says which kinds you might meet here.

We do not run a cookie banner that blocks the menu until you click “accept.” The board is meant to be readable. If a host or a security setting needs a short-lived cookie so the pages load for you and not for a robot knocking on the door, that is a technical cookie. It does not know your extra-pepperoni order. It does not follow you to the grocery store.

If you arrived from a search ad, the company that ran the ad may drop its own cookies or use similar storage (local storage, pixels) to count the click. That is how a tiny shop checks whether Mound Road keywords were a waste of the nephews' budget. Those files belong to the advertising network's rules, not to a secret list in Donna's desk. We do not stitch them to your phone number. We do not use them to bid on your name. You can delete cookies, use a browser that blocks third-party cookies, or visit the network's ad settings. After you do that, the steel pans still bake the same.

We do not embed social-network like buttons that phone home when you merely read about Sunday gravy. We do not drop a shopping-cart cookie, because there is no cart. We do not store card numbers in cookies, because we do not take cards on the website at all. If a future version of the site adds a simple analytics tool with a name, we will write that name on this page instead of hiding it in a footer nobody reads.

How long things last: technical cookies are usually session-length or a few months at most. Advertising cookies follow whatever the network set, which we do not control from the shop. Server logs are kept long enough to debug a crash or an attack, not long enough to write a biography.

If you want everything gone, clear the site data for jets-pizza-online.com in your browser settings. If you still see an ad after that, it is because keyword ads do not need your cookie to exist; they only need someone to search for pizza near Sterling Heights. Questions: call (586) 268-4419 and ask for Donna, not for a “data protection officer.” She will tell you the truth in the same voice she uses about the Sunday hours.