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Day Two....( Language / Disturbing imagery warning. Mainly because I'm not allowed the same level of debauchery in my original reports at work. ) =p
Mystery Balls
I'm not entirely sure what that unmarked bag of white frothy mystery balls is in the break room there. But like any rational, intelligent human being my first impulse was "Well, I'll just put one in my mouth and see what happens.". Luckily for me it turned out to be some form of candy and not some form of dissolving toilet bowl cleaner. Least I hope it was candy…..oh well I'll find out soon enough whether or not I'm about to become intimate with one of the operators at Poison Control.
Meow
Me: "Hi, is this Jim? It’s <my company> here-"
SC: "Oh, hi, dear."
Me: "….hi."
Reowr, you can call me Barbie.
867
( For reference its $36 to COD ship anything to the boonies in Nunavut )
SC: "How come its so expensive to COD here?"
Because, where you live, there's really only two methods of transporting anything to you from the civilized world: Air drop or dog sled and the dog sled team only has about a 50/50 chance of making it without dying of exposure. That leaves air drop. Its expensive to have a plane fly over head and shove a crate out the door. Then your local "post office" has to get together the hunting dogs and rifles ( to ward off bears and witches ) and make the 3 day round trip into the wilderness to retrieve the crate.
Of course then there's the event of when you couldn't turn in enough beer bottles to pay for it. In that case we also need to cover the cost if shipping it back. As you know this is a simple process of strapping it to a beaver in a waterproof leather satchel, tying the beavers rear legs together and throwing him in the closest river. Then a team of highly trained Canada Post aquatic beaver interception engineers ( We call them Beavermen for short ) will fish him out down river when he floats within range of a post office.
So, as you can see, there's quite a few factors involved here that drive up the price. Unlike the majority of other consumer products in your life, clothes cannot be produced by leaving them in an old septic tank out back with some yeast for a fortnight.
The Parkade Strikes Again
( This is the same parkade.... )
SC: "My car is stuck in the parkade! I didn't see the sign that said when it closed."
Yeah, actually having to read signs is kind of a pain in the arse, isn't it? Its not like they oft contain vital information or anything that could have prevented you from being stranded down town without a vehicle. We'll take good care of it though. Our team of "client care specialists" ( term from our website, inside joke =p ) will work it over so well you won't even recognize it when its done! Mainly because pieces of it will be spread out across several other vehicles and shady "family" run service stations across the lower mainland.
Oh, but don't worry, we'll mail you back the fuzzy dice when we're done with it.
( On a side note the on calls for the company they keep calling regarding the parkade got so sick and tired of sending someone over to let fuckwits out of the parkade every damn night that they've refused to do it anymore. Which leads me too the next call..... )
Round 2
( Oh, oh, here's Mr Parkade again. )
SC: "Oh I see! You just don't care! It's not your problem, right? Why should you give a damn?!"
There's a difference between "Can't" and "Don't". Allow me to illustrate it for you: See, when you called the first time it was "Can't". As in I "can't" do anything to assist you because you being an idiot does not constitute an emergency. But since you decided to call back and act like a 4 year old, you're right, now I "don't" care. However, you're the one that made me this way. Do you see the horror of what you've wrought? Why, before you came along, I was a cheerful, naive, optimistic employee completely untouched by the callous cruelty of the real world. But now I am a dark, bitter, pessimistic shell of my former self. All because you were too much of a dumbass to bother reading a sign. Are you happy now, butt nugget?
This Guy REEKED of SC.
( I seriously think some of you on the frontlines have met this dickhead before. )
SC: "Yeah, you're attendant here, Tim, should not be working for <client>!!"
I am intrigued, on what do you base this theory? Do go on.
SC: "He has no customer service! He's arrogant, egotistical and should not be working here! I'm going to take this to the newspaper, TV stations and anywhere else I can get it!"
You're inflated, near delusional sense of what actually merits "news" is duly noted. I noticed you don't offer any particular evidence to support why Tim is such a bastard. But none the less you could end right there. I could note your complaint that you think the attendant there seems to have the personality profile of Skeletor, and we could both go on our merry ways.
SC: "I have two family members that work for <client>!"
Ok, that….wait, what? Er….ok, but what does that have to do with anything?
SC: "One of them has worked for <client> for 42 years!"
You have a family member that worked at a gas station for 42 years? Christ, you must be proud.
SC: "You better follow up on this! I'll be calling back to follow up on it!"
Wow, what the Hell did Tim do to you anyway to warrant this kind of wrath? Did he scratch your truck? Did he make a pass at your underage daughter? Did he pleasure your dog orally while you were pumping gas? Oh oh! Wait, I know! This all sounds so familiar....don't tell me...ah ha! He carded you for cigarettes didn't he! That FUCKER!
Guidance
Me: "Good morning, <company name>-"
SC: "Friday morning or Friday afternoon?"
Me: "Pardon?"
SC: "Is it Friday morning or Friday afternoon?!"
Me: "…it's Friday morning."
SC: "Ok, thanks, bye."
……right, ok. So there are no clocks, computers, tvs, dvd players, microwaves, stoves, sundials, windows or watches in your house? But there's a phone? Or did you just wake up broke, sticky and confused in a ditch and now you require my guidance? If that's the case I can think of more important questions you should be asking yourself first before "what time of day is it?". Questions like "Where am I?", "Where's my pants?", "What's this taste in my mouth?" or "Why does my butt hurt so much?".
867
Me: "and what's your name?"
SC: "<gives me something that must use at least 3/4th's of the alphabet>"
Me: "Alright, how do you spell your name?"
SC: "My name?"
Me: "Yes."
…yes, your name. The name we were just discussing. The topic of conversation from approximately 3 seconds ago. Please man, try to retain information at least THAT long or this is going to be a very long, painful experience for both of us. Well, for me anyway. You won't remember any of it long enough for it to actually feel "long" to you. So for you this will be more like an extended series of small, painful moments linked together by a general theme ( In this case the desire for pants. ). Kind of like acupuncture. But no where near as therapeutic.
867
Me: "Alright, what's your phone number?"
SC: "xxx-xxxx"
Me: "and the area code?"
SC: "<Give's postal code.>"
Me: "Ok, but what's the area code on your phone number?"
SC: "Oh, it's 867."
Me: "So 867-xxx-xxxx?"
SC: "No."
Me: ".....867, correct?"
SC: "No."
Me: "Is the area code 867?"
SC: "No."
Me: ".....ok, what's your phone number then?"
SC: "867-xxx-xxxx"
Me: "......"
Actually, you know what? I don't blame you. If I accidentally admitted I lived there I'd be back paddling my canoe up a certain river in Egypt too.
Day Two: Complete
Mystery Balls
I'm not entirely sure what that unmarked bag of white frothy mystery balls is in the break room there. But like any rational, intelligent human being my first impulse was "Well, I'll just put one in my mouth and see what happens.". Luckily for me it turned out to be some form of candy and not some form of dissolving toilet bowl cleaner. Least I hope it was candy…..oh well I'll find out soon enough whether or not I'm about to become intimate with one of the operators at Poison Control.
Meow
Me: "Hi, is this Jim? It’s <my company> here-"
SC: "Oh, hi, dear."
Me: "….hi."
Reowr, you can call me Barbie.
867
( For reference its $36 to COD ship anything to the boonies in Nunavut )
SC: "How come its so expensive to COD here?"
Because, where you live, there's really only two methods of transporting anything to you from the civilized world: Air drop or dog sled and the dog sled team only has about a 50/50 chance of making it without dying of exposure. That leaves air drop. Its expensive to have a plane fly over head and shove a crate out the door. Then your local "post office" has to get together the hunting dogs and rifles ( to ward off bears and witches ) and make the 3 day round trip into the wilderness to retrieve the crate.
Of course then there's the event of when you couldn't turn in enough beer bottles to pay for it. In that case we also need to cover the cost if shipping it back. As you know this is a simple process of strapping it to a beaver in a waterproof leather satchel, tying the beavers rear legs together and throwing him in the closest river. Then a team of highly trained Canada Post aquatic beaver interception engineers ( We call them Beavermen for short ) will fish him out down river when he floats within range of a post office.
So, as you can see, there's quite a few factors involved here that drive up the price. Unlike the majority of other consumer products in your life, clothes cannot be produced by leaving them in an old septic tank out back with some yeast for a fortnight.
The Parkade Strikes Again
( This is the same parkade.... )
SC: "My car is stuck in the parkade! I didn't see the sign that said when it closed."
Yeah, actually having to read signs is kind of a pain in the arse, isn't it? Its not like they oft contain vital information or anything that could have prevented you from being stranded down town without a vehicle. We'll take good care of it though. Our team of "client care specialists" ( term from our website, inside joke =p ) will work it over so well you won't even recognize it when its done! Mainly because pieces of it will be spread out across several other vehicles and shady "family" run service stations across the lower mainland.
Oh, but don't worry, we'll mail you back the fuzzy dice when we're done with it.
( On a side note the on calls for the company they keep calling regarding the parkade got so sick and tired of sending someone over to let fuckwits out of the parkade every damn night that they've refused to do it anymore. Which leads me too the next call..... )
Round 2
( Oh, oh, here's Mr Parkade again. )
SC: "Oh I see! You just don't care! It's not your problem, right? Why should you give a damn?!"
There's a difference between "Can't" and "Don't". Allow me to illustrate it for you: See, when you called the first time it was "Can't". As in I "can't" do anything to assist you because you being an idiot does not constitute an emergency. But since you decided to call back and act like a 4 year old, you're right, now I "don't" care. However, you're the one that made me this way. Do you see the horror of what you've wrought? Why, before you came along, I was a cheerful, naive, optimistic employee completely untouched by the callous cruelty of the real world. But now I am a dark, bitter, pessimistic shell of my former self. All because you were too much of a dumbass to bother reading a sign. Are you happy now, butt nugget?
This Guy REEKED of SC.
( I seriously think some of you on the frontlines have met this dickhead before. )
SC: "Yeah, you're attendant here, Tim, should not be working for <client>!!"
I am intrigued, on what do you base this theory? Do go on.
SC: "He has no customer service! He's arrogant, egotistical and should not be working here! I'm going to take this to the newspaper, TV stations and anywhere else I can get it!"
You're inflated, near delusional sense of what actually merits "news" is duly noted. I noticed you don't offer any particular evidence to support why Tim is such a bastard. But none the less you could end right there. I could note your complaint that you think the attendant there seems to have the personality profile of Skeletor, and we could both go on our merry ways.
SC: "I have two family members that work for <client>!"
Ok, that….wait, what? Er….ok, but what does that have to do with anything?
SC: "One of them has worked for <client> for 42 years!"
You have a family member that worked at a gas station for 42 years? Christ, you must be proud.
SC: "You better follow up on this! I'll be calling back to follow up on it!"
Wow, what the Hell did Tim do to you anyway to warrant this kind of wrath? Did he scratch your truck? Did he make a pass at your underage daughter? Did he pleasure your dog orally while you were pumping gas? Oh oh! Wait, I know! This all sounds so familiar....don't tell me...ah ha! He carded you for cigarettes didn't he! That FUCKER!
Guidance
Me: "Good morning, <company name>-"
SC: "Friday morning or Friday afternoon?"
Me: "Pardon?"
SC: "Is it Friday morning or Friday afternoon?!"
Me: "…it's Friday morning."
SC: "Ok, thanks, bye."
……right, ok. So there are no clocks, computers, tvs, dvd players, microwaves, stoves, sundials, windows or watches in your house? But there's a phone? Or did you just wake up broke, sticky and confused in a ditch and now you require my guidance? If that's the case I can think of more important questions you should be asking yourself first before "what time of day is it?". Questions like "Where am I?", "Where's my pants?", "What's this taste in my mouth?" or "Why does my butt hurt so much?".
867
Me: "and what's your name?"
SC: "<gives me something that must use at least 3/4th's of the alphabet>"
Me: "Alright, how do you spell your name?"
SC: "My name?"
Me: "Yes."
…yes, your name. The name we were just discussing. The topic of conversation from approximately 3 seconds ago. Please man, try to retain information at least THAT long or this is going to be a very long, painful experience for both of us. Well, for me anyway. You won't remember any of it long enough for it to actually feel "long" to you. So for you this will be more like an extended series of small, painful moments linked together by a general theme ( In this case the desire for pants. ). Kind of like acupuncture. But no where near as therapeutic.
867
Me: "Alright, what's your phone number?"
SC: "xxx-xxxx"
Me: "and the area code?"
SC: "<Give's postal code.>"
Me: "Ok, but what's the area code on your phone number?"
SC: "Oh, it's 867."
Me: "So 867-xxx-xxxx?"
SC: "No."
Me: ".....867, correct?"
SC: "No."
Me: "Is the area code 867?"
SC: "No."
Me: ".....ok, what's your phone number then?"
SC: "867-xxx-xxxx"
Me: "......"
Actually, you know what? I don't blame you. If I accidentally admitted I lived there I'd be back paddling my canoe up a certain river in Egypt too.
Day Two: Complete
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