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Back To The, er, Future(?)
Day late I know, I've been working on other things.....yeeessss....
All Is As It Was
It was almost shocking how utterly vacant the streets were when I arrived downtown this evening. Where were the crowds? The rioting? The constantly intoxicated roving bands of pirate like revelry? I suppose I had become somewhat accustom to it all over the weeks of the Olympics. Not pleasantly accustom mind you. More like a sort of Stockholm Syndrome. But regardless, it was all gone now. That crazy, property damaging magic. It didn’t feel like the same city anymore….
…..tilll I saw the crazy guy standing in the very middle of an intersection a block up on a green light refusing to move for traffic and rubbing himself in disturbing places under his coat. Yep, that’s the Vancouver I know and love.
Go Ninja, Go Ninja, Go
Me: “Alright, and the item number please?”
SC: “XXXX”
Lets see, that would be a "hoodie" as you call it......which comes in the colour…”Vanilla Ice”. Yes, that’s right. Vanilla Ice. I am not making that up. It’s also the only colour it comes in. So it is totally unavoidable if you wish to purchase this particular item. There is no way it isn’t intentional. But rather then abject lameness, I actually have a much different suspicion as to how and why this came about: it may actually be a mockery most clever. See, no one that would actually purchase and wear this article of clothing is old enough to have any idea who Vanilla Ice is ( Hint: I am old. ). Thus the purchase and mention of such an article can only lead to amusement and mockery from the proceeding generation and any parental units in vicinity. It is all a most devious trap set for the amusement of their elders and I for one gleefully approve of its execution.
I eagerly await the Milly Vanilly camo baby T’s.
Seriously?
Me: “And may I have your phone number please?”
SC: “Oh, no, I’m married!”
….you….did you just…with the….you did. <sigh> Alright, let me see if I can find some way to accurately convey my level of romantic interest in your person. I will of course construct my statement around the classic “last woman on earth” framework. As it is an easy point of reference. So here goes. Even if you where the last female anything of any species still roaming this world I would still have a list of around 7 types of salt water algae and at least 2 domesticated animals that would romantically preferential to yourself as prime marriage material. Since the world would be a barren ruin around us and we would be living in the dead husk of human civilization there would be no one else left to tell me and Greg the goat ( His Himalayan you know, so he's just so soft and dreamy. ) that our love is wrong. No one except you that is, and it’s not like I’m going to listen to you about anything.
Heck, I’m not even listening to you now.
Double Negatives
Me: “Alright, would you like anything else?”
SC: “No.”
Me: “So that’s everything?”
SC: “No.”
You cannot answer both with a negative. They cancel each other out. Neither one can emerge victorious. They merely lock heads in an eternal struggle from which neither will ever truly emerge the victory and any upper hand is ultimately a temporary illusion. Please take a moment to actually think about your answers to my inquiries before you open your mouth and emit petulant sound. Regardless of how fond you are of gaping your jaw and instigating these eternal struggles between immortal verbal titans, it does not get us very far and certainly doesn’t get you any closer to obtaining the objects of your desire.
Half-pant
Me: “And what size you like?”
SC: “15”
This completely innocent sounding exchange seems totally harmless on the surface. Until I interject the fact that she is ordering a pair of jeans and the jeans are sized by waist size in inches. In other words she has essentially just requested not a pair of jeans, per say, but one pant leg of said jeans. Though perhaps that is the intention behind this all. I mean, they call them pairs of jeans right? If I extrapolate from that starting point using flawed northern logic it would stand to reason that they may perhaps view it as analogous to shoes. If you ruin one shoe you have to buy a new pair. If you ruin one pant leg, likewise you would have to buy a new pair. Perhaps this is an attempt to merely purchase a single leg canvas and affect manual repairs on an existing sub-waistial leg sheath by replacing it as one would a spare tire.
Granted this whole endeavour would involve sowing. Which involves both coordination and sharp objects. Two things that should probably not be mixed considering the average blood alcohol level of those I speak with on this line. In the interests of safety you may wish to opt for the far more simplistic duct tape approach. If, indeed, that was not already going to be your first choice.
You Want Me To Let You Do What?
Picture if you will: A dark, unforgiving night. Somewhere in the city, a lone man clings desperately to a telephone, with his legs crossed. Squirming back and forth. His cruel fate a burden that most lesser men could simply never bar. For he, you see, has no toilet. Thus is doomed to an eternal recital of the forlorn physical machination known only as the “Pee Pee Dance”.
Now, it is not as if I have no sympathy for you, my full bladder friend, it’s that you’ve already spoken with the building manager. And that shadowy charlatan already delivered his verdict down upon you: That it couldn’t be fixed till first thing in the morning which given the godless hour it currently is, is a scant 4 hours or so away. Thus, we come to the crux of the issue and the dilemma which stands before us. Or, more specifically, before you. You see, I am bound by certain rules of law that I must comply with at all times if I wish to retain my employment. One of these is following the bitter codes by which our clients rule over their customers, such as yourself.
These unbending rules of the universe inform me that I may only contact a property manager for you if the building manager is unreachable. However, your manager is fully reachable and can be spoken with at any time as evidenced by the fact you just finished speaking with him. Thus your merciless destiny is already out of my hands and over 9 minutes worth of verbally berating me is not going to change that fact and serves to do little else then erode what sympathy I had. I am quite open to suggestions when they do not involve disobeying my masters and whilst you offered many suggestions none of them were what I consider a wise course of action.
Specifically most of them were prefixed with demanding that I call the manager and command him to do something for you. I do not wield that sort of power over the manager and any such attempt to impose a geas upon him would no doubt incur a verbal backlash the likes of which could be metaphorically defined as the violent and uninvited removal of my facial structure. So I’m afraid I will make no such attempts on your behalf. Also, your suggestion that I demand the manager let you into a vacant apartment or worse yet an occupied one so that you may use its facilities is both unsanitary and highly unlikely to be met with a positive response. I can only imagine the reaction of potential renters upon discovering such an event occurred or worse yet, evidence of such an event. It would likely involve violently recoiling and some level of abject horror.
Your accusations that I am holding out on you and that I do in fact have other precious numerical combinations that could summon a higher level being then the manager are technically quite correct. I simply cannot invoke such a ritual on your behalf as your matter has already been reviewed and judgement passed upon it by the manager. I can only imagine what fate would befall me should I contact the property manager ( or, as you are ludicrously demanding, the company owner ) at 3am and advised them that I have a call from a tenant, but it’s already been taken care of by the manager. I just need authorization to command the manager to let a tenant urinate in some other apartment.
Lastly, your implied threat of getting me fired and sarcastically informing me that you hope I enjoy unemployment insurance lacks any sort of actual weight. The risks to my employment which actually be far greater if I did follow the course of action you recommended.
Yet if I were say "Well then just piss in the sink for fuck sakes" then I would be considered the rude one.
Back To The Future
Me: “Alright, and which catalog will you be ordering from?”
SC: “Fall 2099”
I can tell you right now with the utmost confidence that I doubt I’ll have any of what you’re about to request in stock. So your Iridium Holo-Groin Space Pants are going to have to wait a few more decades. Although this does beg the question of how you managed to obtain such a relic of the future to begin with. Unless…..hmmm…..wait just a moment. I think I may have a logical theory as to how this occurred….
Considering the number of times I’ve had callers on this line call with a vastly outdated catalog that we have nothing in stock from, it stands to reason that this trend continues well into the future as well. It only stands to reason that when faced with this dilemma repeatedly over several generations they might leap at any probably solution they can conceive of. If you take all of this into account then it stands to reason that this caller is actually from the future!
Wait, wait, hear me out. I’m not crazy. It makes sense! If we invent time travel technology in the future it stands to reason that this technology would eventually trickle down to the north lands in the same fashion that the telephone did. In other words they’ll be a hang time of several decades before the basic technology makes it up there as compared to the rest of the world. And even when it does they will only have a rudimentary grasp of its operation as has been painfully evidenced by their relationship with the phone over the years. But still, it will eventually end up in their hairy ape like clutches even if its 30 or 40 years after its invention.
So if you were hunched over man ape, living in the world of tomorrow and you called to order space pants but your catalog was out dated and the item was no longer in stock, what would you do? That’s right! You would waddle into the living room to the family time machine and paw furiously at the control panel to try and send yourself back in time so that you could order the pants when they were in stock. Minor concerns such as how in the world are you going to have them mail it to the future, how do I pinpoint the correct time, how do I get back or what if I tear the very fabric of space time itself resulting in an alternate timeline forming then the future I’m actually from would all be of no consequence. Because that sort of common sense and planning are not exactly hallmarks of the typical caller on this line. Not now and certainly not at any point in the conceivable future. Evolution takes millions of years, after all.
Thus, my conjecture leads me to believe that this caller is in fact from the future. However, his inability to properly operate a time machine, which if it has reached the consumer market of the general public is undoubtedly no more complex than a microwave, has sent him horribly off course in the time stream. Landing him a full 89 years too early to obtain his Holo-Groin Space Pants. Now he is trapped here, without pants and without Doc Brown to help him get back.
...no?
C: “I’m hard of hearing, is there anything you can do?”
I…that is….no? I don’t recalling on water at any point during my commute to work this evening, so that’s one problem I’m quite positive is outside my realm of ability.
Foolish Mortal
Me: “Alright, I will page him right away.”
SC: “Thank you, you are very kind.”
I fear, my naïve friend, that you mistake kindness for obligation. Behind this painstakingly constructed facade lays a dark, nocturnal creature whose very presence makes puppies cower and milk curdle. No, really. This is why I have to buy soy milk. It has nothing to do with lactose intolerance. I just can’t keep actual milk in the fridge what with me radiating the very power of unlife and all.
Semantics
SC: “Whenever we try to playback a file it says files cannot be played back.”
Me: “Alright, so you have no file playback?”
SC: “No no no, it says files cannot be played back.”
Are you engaging me in an argument of semantics or are you truly this mentally….flawed? I’m pretty sure my statement meant the exact same thing as yours. I could be wrong of course. It’s been known to happen before. Me saying things and callers hearing something entirely different then what I thought I said. I mean it’s possible I said “beaver playback” for example. I’m quite positive I didn’t, but I guess you never know. In which case I can understand your objection and your beaver is probably operating at peak operational efficiency. My apologies.
Yes, Its This Question....Again
SC: “I’m on your website, and it says there’s a limited sale of 50% off most items.”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “Ok, well, I’m looking at <item> and I was wondering how much it would be on sale.”
Me: “The on sale price should be included right below the regular price.”
( In giant red text I might add )
SC: “Yeah but it says there’s a sale for 50%”
Me: “Yes, that price includes that sale.”
SC: “Are you sure?!”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: "But its says there's a sale-"
Ok seriously, follow with me here: The banner say “Hey, you! Yes you, wiping slobber off your keyboard with the corner of your Snuggie. There’s a sale on! ZOMIGAWD!” then you go to the item and it says “Regular Price” and then below that it says “Sale Price” in giant red letters. Do those two things not sound like they would be, oh, I don’t know, linked in some way? Do stores often declare sales on other sales? I can’t say as I’ve ever seen such phenomena myself. So yes, I am sure and no, you can’t have a $400 cashmere coat for $100.
This Does Not Bode Well
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Ya! It’s ok I get paid on Thursday!”
…so the very first thing that occurred to you to do was desperately reassure me you actually have money? Somehow my confidence in this call has not been inspired as it were.
Me: “Do you have a box number?”
SC: “Uh, imma use my mom’s box number cus I can’t remember ma sister’s”
….and what’s wrong with your box number? Did we blacklist it already? Do you live in a ditch? On second thought, don’t answer that.
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “Imma order a hoodie fer ma girlfriend”
That’s nice. I mean, I don’t care in any way shape or form, but that’s nice. Might I recommend the Vanilla Ice one.
SC: “Uhhh………I put some marks on it so I could find it again……ummm…..”
Me: “……..”
SC: “I’m trynna look for it……”
Me: "......."
SC: "Ummmm.....uh oh..."
I applaud the foresight, but as always, the execution is dangerously lacking. I would suggest, in the future, that you use a bookmark. However, that would imply the presence of both books and literacy. Of which I'm sure neither has gained much of a beachhead in your reality.
Annnnnnd rest.
All Is As It Was
It was almost shocking how utterly vacant the streets were when I arrived downtown this evening. Where were the crowds? The rioting? The constantly intoxicated roving bands of pirate like revelry? I suppose I had become somewhat accustom to it all over the weeks of the Olympics. Not pleasantly accustom mind you. More like a sort of Stockholm Syndrome. But regardless, it was all gone now. That crazy, property damaging magic. It didn’t feel like the same city anymore….
…..tilll I saw the crazy guy standing in the very middle of an intersection a block up on a green light refusing to move for traffic and rubbing himself in disturbing places under his coat. Yep, that’s the Vancouver I know and love.
Go Ninja, Go Ninja, Go
Me: “Alright, and the item number please?”
SC: “XXXX”
Lets see, that would be a "hoodie" as you call it......which comes in the colour…”Vanilla Ice”. Yes, that’s right. Vanilla Ice. I am not making that up. It’s also the only colour it comes in. So it is totally unavoidable if you wish to purchase this particular item. There is no way it isn’t intentional. But rather then abject lameness, I actually have a much different suspicion as to how and why this came about: it may actually be a mockery most clever. See, no one that would actually purchase and wear this article of clothing is old enough to have any idea who Vanilla Ice is ( Hint: I am old. ). Thus the purchase and mention of such an article can only lead to amusement and mockery from the proceeding generation and any parental units in vicinity. It is all a most devious trap set for the amusement of their elders and I for one gleefully approve of its execution.
I eagerly await the Milly Vanilly camo baby T’s.
Seriously?
Me: “And may I have your phone number please?”
SC: “Oh, no, I’m married!”
….you….did you just…with the….you did. <sigh> Alright, let me see if I can find some way to accurately convey my level of romantic interest in your person. I will of course construct my statement around the classic “last woman on earth” framework. As it is an easy point of reference. So here goes. Even if you where the last female anything of any species still roaming this world I would still have a list of around 7 types of salt water algae and at least 2 domesticated animals that would romantically preferential to yourself as prime marriage material. Since the world would be a barren ruin around us and we would be living in the dead husk of human civilization there would be no one else left to tell me and Greg the goat ( His Himalayan you know, so he's just so soft and dreamy. ) that our love is wrong. No one except you that is, and it’s not like I’m going to listen to you about anything.
Heck, I’m not even listening to you now.
Double Negatives
Me: “Alright, would you like anything else?”
SC: “No.”
Me: “So that’s everything?”
SC: “No.”
You cannot answer both with a negative. They cancel each other out. Neither one can emerge victorious. They merely lock heads in an eternal struggle from which neither will ever truly emerge the victory and any upper hand is ultimately a temporary illusion. Please take a moment to actually think about your answers to my inquiries before you open your mouth and emit petulant sound. Regardless of how fond you are of gaping your jaw and instigating these eternal struggles between immortal verbal titans, it does not get us very far and certainly doesn’t get you any closer to obtaining the objects of your desire.
Half-pant
Me: “And what size you like?”
SC: “15”
This completely innocent sounding exchange seems totally harmless on the surface. Until I interject the fact that she is ordering a pair of jeans and the jeans are sized by waist size in inches. In other words she has essentially just requested not a pair of jeans, per say, but one pant leg of said jeans. Though perhaps that is the intention behind this all. I mean, they call them pairs of jeans right? If I extrapolate from that starting point using flawed northern logic it would stand to reason that they may perhaps view it as analogous to shoes. If you ruin one shoe you have to buy a new pair. If you ruin one pant leg, likewise you would have to buy a new pair. Perhaps this is an attempt to merely purchase a single leg canvas and affect manual repairs on an existing sub-waistial leg sheath by replacing it as one would a spare tire.
Granted this whole endeavour would involve sowing. Which involves both coordination and sharp objects. Two things that should probably not be mixed considering the average blood alcohol level of those I speak with on this line. In the interests of safety you may wish to opt for the far more simplistic duct tape approach. If, indeed, that was not already going to be your first choice.
You Want Me To Let You Do What?
Picture if you will: A dark, unforgiving night. Somewhere in the city, a lone man clings desperately to a telephone, with his legs crossed. Squirming back and forth. His cruel fate a burden that most lesser men could simply never bar. For he, you see, has no toilet. Thus is doomed to an eternal recital of the forlorn physical machination known only as the “Pee Pee Dance”.
Now, it is not as if I have no sympathy for you, my full bladder friend, it’s that you’ve already spoken with the building manager. And that shadowy charlatan already delivered his verdict down upon you: That it couldn’t be fixed till first thing in the morning which given the godless hour it currently is, is a scant 4 hours or so away. Thus, we come to the crux of the issue and the dilemma which stands before us. Or, more specifically, before you. You see, I am bound by certain rules of law that I must comply with at all times if I wish to retain my employment. One of these is following the bitter codes by which our clients rule over their customers, such as yourself.
These unbending rules of the universe inform me that I may only contact a property manager for you if the building manager is unreachable. However, your manager is fully reachable and can be spoken with at any time as evidenced by the fact you just finished speaking with him. Thus your merciless destiny is already out of my hands and over 9 minutes worth of verbally berating me is not going to change that fact and serves to do little else then erode what sympathy I had. I am quite open to suggestions when they do not involve disobeying my masters and whilst you offered many suggestions none of them were what I consider a wise course of action.
Specifically most of them were prefixed with demanding that I call the manager and command him to do something for you. I do not wield that sort of power over the manager and any such attempt to impose a geas upon him would no doubt incur a verbal backlash the likes of which could be metaphorically defined as the violent and uninvited removal of my facial structure. So I’m afraid I will make no such attempts on your behalf. Also, your suggestion that I demand the manager let you into a vacant apartment or worse yet an occupied one so that you may use its facilities is both unsanitary and highly unlikely to be met with a positive response. I can only imagine the reaction of potential renters upon discovering such an event occurred or worse yet, evidence of such an event. It would likely involve violently recoiling and some level of abject horror.
Your accusations that I am holding out on you and that I do in fact have other precious numerical combinations that could summon a higher level being then the manager are technically quite correct. I simply cannot invoke such a ritual on your behalf as your matter has already been reviewed and judgement passed upon it by the manager. I can only imagine what fate would befall me should I contact the property manager ( or, as you are ludicrously demanding, the company owner ) at 3am and advised them that I have a call from a tenant, but it’s already been taken care of by the manager. I just need authorization to command the manager to let a tenant urinate in some other apartment.
Lastly, your implied threat of getting me fired and sarcastically informing me that you hope I enjoy unemployment insurance lacks any sort of actual weight. The risks to my employment which actually be far greater if I did follow the course of action you recommended.
Yet if I were say "Well then just piss in the sink for fuck sakes" then I would be considered the rude one.
Back To The Future
Me: “Alright, and which catalog will you be ordering from?”
SC: “Fall 2099”
I can tell you right now with the utmost confidence that I doubt I’ll have any of what you’re about to request in stock. So your Iridium Holo-Groin Space Pants are going to have to wait a few more decades. Although this does beg the question of how you managed to obtain such a relic of the future to begin with. Unless…..hmmm…..wait just a moment. I think I may have a logical theory as to how this occurred….
Considering the number of times I’ve had callers on this line call with a vastly outdated catalog that we have nothing in stock from, it stands to reason that this trend continues well into the future as well. It only stands to reason that when faced with this dilemma repeatedly over several generations they might leap at any probably solution they can conceive of. If you take all of this into account then it stands to reason that this caller is actually from the future!
Wait, wait, hear me out. I’m not crazy. It makes sense! If we invent time travel technology in the future it stands to reason that this technology would eventually trickle down to the north lands in the same fashion that the telephone did. In other words they’ll be a hang time of several decades before the basic technology makes it up there as compared to the rest of the world. And even when it does they will only have a rudimentary grasp of its operation as has been painfully evidenced by their relationship with the phone over the years. But still, it will eventually end up in their hairy ape like clutches even if its 30 or 40 years after its invention.
So if you were hunched over man ape, living in the world of tomorrow and you called to order space pants but your catalog was out dated and the item was no longer in stock, what would you do? That’s right! You would waddle into the living room to the family time machine and paw furiously at the control panel to try and send yourself back in time so that you could order the pants when they were in stock. Minor concerns such as how in the world are you going to have them mail it to the future, how do I pinpoint the correct time, how do I get back or what if I tear the very fabric of space time itself resulting in an alternate timeline forming then the future I’m actually from would all be of no consequence. Because that sort of common sense and planning are not exactly hallmarks of the typical caller on this line. Not now and certainly not at any point in the conceivable future. Evolution takes millions of years, after all.
Thus, my conjecture leads me to believe that this caller is in fact from the future. However, his inability to properly operate a time machine, which if it has reached the consumer market of the general public is undoubtedly no more complex than a microwave, has sent him horribly off course in the time stream. Landing him a full 89 years too early to obtain his Holo-Groin Space Pants. Now he is trapped here, without pants and without Doc Brown to help him get back.
...no?
C: “I’m hard of hearing, is there anything you can do?”
I…that is….no? I don’t recalling on water at any point during my commute to work this evening, so that’s one problem I’m quite positive is outside my realm of ability.
Foolish Mortal
Me: “Alright, I will page him right away.”
SC: “Thank you, you are very kind.”
I fear, my naïve friend, that you mistake kindness for obligation. Behind this painstakingly constructed facade lays a dark, nocturnal creature whose very presence makes puppies cower and milk curdle. No, really. This is why I have to buy soy milk. It has nothing to do with lactose intolerance. I just can’t keep actual milk in the fridge what with me radiating the very power of unlife and all.
Semantics
SC: “Whenever we try to playback a file it says files cannot be played back.”
Me: “Alright, so you have no file playback?”
SC: “No no no, it says files cannot be played back.”
Are you engaging me in an argument of semantics or are you truly this mentally….flawed? I’m pretty sure my statement meant the exact same thing as yours. I could be wrong of course. It’s been known to happen before. Me saying things and callers hearing something entirely different then what I thought I said. I mean it’s possible I said “beaver playback” for example. I’m quite positive I didn’t, but I guess you never know. In which case I can understand your objection and your beaver is probably operating at peak operational efficiency. My apologies.
Yes, Its This Question....Again
SC: “I’m on your website, and it says there’s a limited sale of 50% off most items.”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “Ok, well, I’m looking at <item> and I was wondering how much it would be on sale.”
Me: “The on sale price should be included right below the regular price.”
( In giant red text I might add )
SC: “Yeah but it says there’s a sale for 50%”
Me: “Yes, that price includes that sale.”
SC: “Are you sure?!”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: "But its says there's a sale-"
Ok seriously, follow with me here: The banner say “Hey, you! Yes you, wiping slobber off your keyboard with the corner of your Snuggie. There’s a sale on! ZOMIGAWD!” then you go to the item and it says “Regular Price” and then below that it says “Sale Price” in giant red letters. Do those two things not sound like they would be, oh, I don’t know, linked in some way? Do stores often declare sales on other sales? I can’t say as I’ve ever seen such phenomena myself. So yes, I am sure and no, you can’t have a $400 cashmere coat for $100.
This Does Not Bode Well
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Ya! It’s ok I get paid on Thursday!”
…so the very first thing that occurred to you to do was desperately reassure me you actually have money? Somehow my confidence in this call has not been inspired as it were.
Me: “Do you have a box number?”
SC: “Uh, imma use my mom’s box number cus I can’t remember ma sister’s”
….and what’s wrong with your box number? Did we blacklist it already? Do you live in a ditch? On second thought, don’t answer that.
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “Imma order a hoodie fer ma girlfriend”
That’s nice. I mean, I don’t care in any way shape or form, but that’s nice. Might I recommend the Vanilla Ice one.
SC: “Uhhh………I put some marks on it so I could find it again……ummm…..”
Me: “……..”
SC: “I’m trynna look for it……”
Me: "......."
SC: "Ummmm.....uh oh..."
I applaud the foresight, but as always, the execution is dangerously lacking. I would suggest, in the future, that you use a bookmark. However, that would imply the presence of both books and literacy. Of which I'm sure neither has gained much of a beachhead in your reality.
Annnnnnd rest.
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