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Argghh..... -.-
Tourists....
( There's a shitload of tourists in town for the Symphony of Fire and the fireworks end JUST as I arrive downtown for work. So there's tons of out of town idjits wandering aimlessly around the downtown core.... )
It seems like half the population of Jackholestania flew in for the fireworks this week. Allow me to simply list off everything I've witnessed tonight alone and you can just put a check mark beside everything that pisses you off as an employee of the customer service industry:
1. When I was waiting in line at 7/11, some monkey tourist walks in ( I shall call him Rotcrotch ), *cuts* in line ahead and asks the clerk if they sell Advil/Tylenol etc and if its "behind the counter". For those of you unfamiliar with the lay out of the store, its psychically impossible to NOT see the drug shelves as you enter unless you are being accompanied by a guide dog or your mother dropped you on your head as a child. They're *right there* in front of you.
2. Rotcrotch, after receiving a kind of "well dur" answer from the clerk goes to retrieve Advil. He then returns and cuts back into line in the same place he cut into line in the first place. As if thinking he has some sort of right to that place in line because he cut in to it 30 seconds previous. Canadians are a polite bunch so he merely got glares from half the store. Which of course he just looked baffled about as if he did nothing wrong.
3. Rotcrotch, while waiting in line, rips the Advil package open, pops the cap and downs a couple before even paying for it. The store clerk attempts to kill Rotcrotch with his eyes, but fails. Rotcrotch quickly pays for his plundered drugs and flees the scene.
4. This man I simply call "Lonesome". Lonesome ( Like 7 other people in the last two nights ) spots me, sees glasses, and assumes I know directions to every street, store, hotel, bar and strip joint is. ( Yes I've been asked where the nearest strip joint is before ). Problem is Lonesome doesn't talk very loud and he's very very desperate for human contact. So Lonesome steps directly into my personal space as if he expects a hug ( seriously he was so close he was leaning against me ) and asks his question 2 inches from my ear.
I did in fact know the answer to his inquiry. However, I did not tell it to him. He can go rut a fire hydrant till be ruptures his wookie.
5. This woman I shall simply call Tit Goblin. As they were barely being contained and she was quite unashamed in her blatant advertisement of them. Tit Goblin pulled the "cut in to ask clerk who is busy with another customer a retarded question" routine too. Except Tit Goblin's question was, while pointing to the hot dogs sitting under the heat lamps, "Are those hot dogs cooked?"
That was just one night. I'll be so glad when the bloody fireworks end. ><
Separated At Birth
Me: "Alright, and what's your phone number?"
SC: "<gives me the address>"
Me: "Yes, but what is your phone number?"
SC: "What?"
Me: "What's your phone number?"
SC: "Their phone number?"
Me: "No, your phone number."
Are you from Nunavut by any chance? Because this all seems eerily familiar. If you are, that explains everything. If you're not, I think I have some bad news for you: You're probably adopted. But I have some good news for you too: I'm pretty sure I can help reunite you with your real family. I just hope you have a borderline fetish appreciation for plaid and camo trucker caps.
Missing Persons
Me: "Good morning, <company name>-"
SC: "<mumbling>"
Me: "Hello?"
SC: "<more mumbling>"
Me: "Hello?"
SC: "Is Melissa there?"
Me: "Pardon?"
SC: "Is Melissa there?"
Me: "This is <company name>, are you sure you have the right number?"
SC: "Is Melissa there?"
Me: "I think you have the wrong number."
SC: "Uh….jus a sec."
<she dives for the ropes and tags out to another idiot who comes on the line>
SC2: "Hello?"
Me: "Hi."
SC2: "Is Melissa there?"
Me: "…..this is <company name>, you have the wrong number?"
SC: "………."
Me: "……….."
SC: "….ok, bye."
…bye. Good luck trying to find Melissa. You'll probably need it. Judging from the 30 seconds I spent in glorious company of you two, Melissa has probably quit her job, shaved her head, cleaned out her bank account and fled to Sweden to join a traveling circus.
Anatomy of a Dumbass
Since repeating anything this guy said would be rather offensive, allow me to describe it blow by blow instead:
Me: "<Cheerful Greeting and offer of assistance>"
SC: "<Declaration that I am a expletative of racial slur descent>"
Me: "<Stunned silence>"
SC: "<Threat of violence should I enter the region of the down town east side.>"
Me: "<Sarcastic acceptance of terms>"
SC: "<Reinforcement that I am an expletive of racial slur descent>"
Me: "<Bemused affirmation>"
SC: "<Enraged departure from line>"
Me: "<Commencement of cranial scratching>"
Alrighty then.
Yar Har Fiddle Dee Dee
SC: "Do you have any more rooms at that place for $49?"
Me: "No, sorry, they have no vacancies left."
( She accepts another hotel. I get her all booked there. I give her her confirmation number, transportation directions, etc )
SC: "Are you sure you can't get a room for me at that place for $49?"
Me: "They don;t have any rooms left that I can give you."
SC: "Well, can't you do anything about that?!"
Like what, exactly? Lead a band of dubious scallywags down to the hotel and forcibly eject someone from their room on your behalf? After which of course we would plunder the room for any potential bootie that could be appropriated and carted off to our den of ill repute. Mainly credit cards, tiny bars of soap and panty hose. Always panty hose. Pirates have an unspoken desire for panty hose you know.
Oh, right, then we would turn the room over to you of course.
867
Me: "Alright, and what size would you like?"
SC: "Olive."
Unless you're ordering for your hamster, I think that might be a bit too small for you. You may wish to reconsider your answer. Don't worry, I'll wait. I know decision making isn't your forte. I'm not entirely sure what your forte is. Probably something along the lines of "Managing to dress yourself in the morning". Which is a talent that'll be damn handy after your order arrives. At the moment though it probably won't do you any good.
867
Me: "Alright, anything else?"
SC: "…..uh………..uh……..wait……"
( 20 seconds of dead silence )
SC: "..uh….item number xxxx-xx"
Me: "Ok, did you want anything else?"
SC: "….uh………wait…….uh……"
Me: "…….."
( Another 20 seconds of dead silence... )
Ok, it should *not* be this hard. The catalog has *pictures* in it. PICTURES. Just flick through the catalog and find the picture of the thing you want to wear on your head, then tell me what the numbers next to it are. This is not a life altering decision. It does not require extended periods of contemplation on your part. Neither the fate of you, your village, the world, nor the universe depend on your answer. The only thing riding on you right now is what particular pattern and color of camo will be covering the top half of your immense, misshapen cantaloupe like head.
867
( Side note: He's ordering COD...as they all do )
SC: "Where you gonna send it? The post office?"
That's generally how this whole far fangled "postal system" works, yes. I know to you it may seem like witchcraft, but I assure you no such cantrips, hexes, spells or curses are involved. As I've mentioned before its purely the work of a low flying aircraft and an armed, dog sled equipped team of postal employees that undertake the arduous bear laden crate retrieval safari. They all put their lives on the line so *you* can have your silly hat.
Highly Trained
( One of our client's techs calling in to pick up a case )
Me: "Ok, the case is for-"
SC: "Who's on call?"
Me: "….you are."
SC: "What? Uh…….one sec, lemme check….."
Me: "……."
SC: "…..oh."
Stand back, ladies and gentlemen, this man's a professional.
Details
SC: "Yeah I'm here with my grandson, he's 14, an our flight couldn't land in Atlanta cus of fog. So we had to com' all way back here and now we need a cheap, nice room in a nice area so we can wait for my son and my husband to come pick us up-"
Me: "Alright, what city are you in?"
SC: : "We was on our way to Atlanta-"
Me: "Yes, but what city are you in right now?"
SC: "Charlotte."
Me: "Ok-"
SC: "North Carolina-"
Me: "Yes, I-"
SC: "In the airport-"
Me: "Ok-"
Lets stop this train right there before you tell me what terminal you're in, what floor you're on, how many feet away the escalator is, what the colour of the ceiling tiles above you are and how far up your ass crack your underwear is riding at the moment ( I bet you can taste your underwear ). The only inquiry I made of you was "What city". You should have just nudged the train up to the station and left it there. Now you've gone and derailed it at a train crossing, through a busload of Girl Scouts and into a field of unsuspecting dairy cows.
Bootleggin'
Me: Good evening, <very well known real estate company>"
SC: "Hi, yeah, can I get a case of Bud too-"
Me: "You have the wrong number.
SC: "Is this for alcohol delivery?"
Me: "No, this is <company>."
SC: "But they gave me this number for delivery."
Me: "This is <company>, you have the wrong number."
SC: "<company>, as in real estate?"
Me: "Yes."
SC: "Why would they have given me your number?"
I don't know. I believe I said "<company>" not "Madam Cleo's". ( Psst, don't marry that tall guy with the dark hair. He only wants you for your money, girl! )
Pleasantries
Me: "Good evening, <company>"
SC: "Is this a cab?"
Me: "No, its not, sorry. You have the wrong number."
SC: "Well, fuck you then."
Right-o then. Glad to be of service. If and when you get a cab I'd *really* appreciate it if you could sort of step out in front of it in such a fashion that not only do you get struck, but the corner of the car right above the headlight actually impacts your groin first. kthxbye.
Week Complete. ><
Tourists....
( There's a shitload of tourists in town for the Symphony of Fire and the fireworks end JUST as I arrive downtown for work. So there's tons of out of town idjits wandering aimlessly around the downtown core.... )
It seems like half the population of Jackholestania flew in for the fireworks this week. Allow me to simply list off everything I've witnessed tonight alone and you can just put a check mark beside everything that pisses you off as an employee of the customer service industry:
1. When I was waiting in line at 7/11, some monkey tourist walks in ( I shall call him Rotcrotch ), *cuts* in line ahead and asks the clerk if they sell Advil/Tylenol etc and if its "behind the counter". For those of you unfamiliar with the lay out of the store, its psychically impossible to NOT see the drug shelves as you enter unless you are being accompanied by a guide dog or your mother dropped you on your head as a child. They're *right there* in front of you.
2. Rotcrotch, after receiving a kind of "well dur" answer from the clerk goes to retrieve Advil. He then returns and cuts back into line in the same place he cut into line in the first place. As if thinking he has some sort of right to that place in line because he cut in to it 30 seconds previous. Canadians are a polite bunch so he merely got glares from half the store. Which of course he just looked baffled about as if he did nothing wrong.
3. Rotcrotch, while waiting in line, rips the Advil package open, pops the cap and downs a couple before even paying for it. The store clerk attempts to kill Rotcrotch with his eyes, but fails. Rotcrotch quickly pays for his plundered drugs and flees the scene.
4. This man I simply call "Lonesome". Lonesome ( Like 7 other people in the last two nights ) spots me, sees glasses, and assumes I know directions to every street, store, hotel, bar and strip joint is. ( Yes I've been asked where the nearest strip joint is before ). Problem is Lonesome doesn't talk very loud and he's very very desperate for human contact. So Lonesome steps directly into my personal space as if he expects a hug ( seriously he was so close he was leaning against me ) and asks his question 2 inches from my ear.
I did in fact know the answer to his inquiry. However, I did not tell it to him. He can go rut a fire hydrant till be ruptures his wookie.
5. This woman I shall simply call Tit Goblin. As they were barely being contained and she was quite unashamed in her blatant advertisement of them. Tit Goblin pulled the "cut in to ask clerk who is busy with another customer a retarded question" routine too. Except Tit Goblin's question was, while pointing to the hot dogs sitting under the heat lamps, "Are those hot dogs cooked?"
That was just one night. I'll be so glad when the bloody fireworks end. ><
Separated At Birth
Me: "Alright, and what's your phone number?"
SC: "<gives me the address>"
Me: "Yes, but what is your phone number?"
SC: "What?"
Me: "What's your phone number?"
SC: "Their phone number?"
Me: "No, your phone number."
Are you from Nunavut by any chance? Because this all seems eerily familiar. If you are, that explains everything. If you're not, I think I have some bad news for you: You're probably adopted. But I have some good news for you too: I'm pretty sure I can help reunite you with your real family. I just hope you have a borderline fetish appreciation for plaid and camo trucker caps.
Missing Persons
Me: "Good morning, <company name>-"
SC: "<mumbling>"
Me: "Hello?"
SC: "<more mumbling>"
Me: "Hello?"
SC: "Is Melissa there?"
Me: "Pardon?"
SC: "Is Melissa there?"
Me: "This is <company name>, are you sure you have the right number?"
SC: "Is Melissa there?"
Me: "I think you have the wrong number."
SC: "Uh….jus a sec."
<she dives for the ropes and tags out to another idiot who comes on the line>
SC2: "Hello?"
Me: "Hi."
SC2: "Is Melissa there?"
Me: "…..this is <company name>, you have the wrong number?"
SC: "………."
Me: "……….."
SC: "….ok, bye."
…bye. Good luck trying to find Melissa. You'll probably need it. Judging from the 30 seconds I spent in glorious company of you two, Melissa has probably quit her job, shaved her head, cleaned out her bank account and fled to Sweden to join a traveling circus.
Anatomy of a Dumbass
Since repeating anything this guy said would be rather offensive, allow me to describe it blow by blow instead:
Me: "<Cheerful Greeting and offer of assistance>"
SC: "<Declaration that I am a expletative of racial slur descent>"
Me: "<Stunned silence>"
SC: "<Threat of violence should I enter the region of the down town east side.>"
Me: "<Sarcastic acceptance of terms>"
SC: "<Reinforcement that I am an expletive of racial slur descent>"
Me: "<Bemused affirmation>"
SC: "<Enraged departure from line>"
Me: "<Commencement of cranial scratching>"
Alrighty then.
Yar Har Fiddle Dee Dee
SC: "Do you have any more rooms at that place for $49?"
Me: "No, sorry, they have no vacancies left."
( She accepts another hotel. I get her all booked there. I give her her confirmation number, transportation directions, etc )
SC: "Are you sure you can't get a room for me at that place for $49?"
Me: "They don;t have any rooms left that I can give you."
SC: "Well, can't you do anything about that?!"
Like what, exactly? Lead a band of dubious scallywags down to the hotel and forcibly eject someone from their room on your behalf? After which of course we would plunder the room for any potential bootie that could be appropriated and carted off to our den of ill repute. Mainly credit cards, tiny bars of soap and panty hose. Always panty hose. Pirates have an unspoken desire for panty hose you know.
Oh, right, then we would turn the room over to you of course.
867
Me: "Alright, and what size would you like?"
SC: "Olive."
Unless you're ordering for your hamster, I think that might be a bit too small for you. You may wish to reconsider your answer. Don't worry, I'll wait. I know decision making isn't your forte. I'm not entirely sure what your forte is. Probably something along the lines of "Managing to dress yourself in the morning". Which is a talent that'll be damn handy after your order arrives. At the moment though it probably won't do you any good.
867
Me: "Alright, anything else?"
SC: "…..uh………..uh……..wait……"
( 20 seconds of dead silence )
SC: "..uh….item number xxxx-xx"
Me: "Ok, did you want anything else?"
SC: "….uh………wait…….uh……"
Me: "…….."
( Another 20 seconds of dead silence... )
Ok, it should *not* be this hard. The catalog has *pictures* in it. PICTURES. Just flick through the catalog and find the picture of the thing you want to wear on your head, then tell me what the numbers next to it are. This is not a life altering decision. It does not require extended periods of contemplation on your part. Neither the fate of you, your village, the world, nor the universe depend on your answer. The only thing riding on you right now is what particular pattern and color of camo will be covering the top half of your immense, misshapen cantaloupe like head.
867
( Side note: He's ordering COD...as they all do )
SC: "Where you gonna send it? The post office?"
That's generally how this whole far fangled "postal system" works, yes. I know to you it may seem like witchcraft, but I assure you no such cantrips, hexes, spells or curses are involved. As I've mentioned before its purely the work of a low flying aircraft and an armed, dog sled equipped team of postal employees that undertake the arduous bear laden crate retrieval safari. They all put their lives on the line so *you* can have your silly hat.
Highly Trained
( One of our client's techs calling in to pick up a case )
Me: "Ok, the case is for-"
SC: "Who's on call?"
Me: "….you are."
SC: "What? Uh…….one sec, lemme check….."
Me: "……."
SC: "…..oh."
Stand back, ladies and gentlemen, this man's a professional.
Details
SC: "Yeah I'm here with my grandson, he's 14, an our flight couldn't land in Atlanta cus of fog. So we had to com' all way back here and now we need a cheap, nice room in a nice area so we can wait for my son and my husband to come pick us up-"
Me: "Alright, what city are you in?"
SC: : "We was on our way to Atlanta-"
Me: "Yes, but what city are you in right now?"
SC: "Charlotte."
Me: "Ok-"
SC: "North Carolina-"
Me: "Yes, I-"
SC: "In the airport-"
Me: "Ok-"
Lets stop this train right there before you tell me what terminal you're in, what floor you're on, how many feet away the escalator is, what the colour of the ceiling tiles above you are and how far up your ass crack your underwear is riding at the moment ( I bet you can taste your underwear ). The only inquiry I made of you was "What city". You should have just nudged the train up to the station and left it there. Now you've gone and derailed it at a train crossing, through a busload of Girl Scouts and into a field of unsuspecting dairy cows.
Bootleggin'
Me: Good evening, <very well known real estate company>"
SC: "Hi, yeah, can I get a case of Bud too-"
Me: "You have the wrong number.
SC: "Is this for alcohol delivery?"
Me: "No, this is <company>."
SC: "But they gave me this number for delivery."
Me: "This is <company>, you have the wrong number."
SC: "<company>, as in real estate?"
Me: "Yes."
SC: "Why would they have given me your number?"
I don't know. I believe I said "<company>" not "Madam Cleo's". ( Psst, don't marry that tall guy with the dark hair. He only wants you for your money, girl! )
Pleasantries
Me: "Good evening, <company>"
SC: "Is this a cab?"
Me: "No, its not, sorry. You have the wrong number."
SC: "Well, fuck you then."
Right-o then. Glad to be of service. If and when you get a cab I'd *really* appreciate it if you could sort of step out in front of it in such a fashion that not only do you get struck, but the corner of the car right above the headlight actually impacts your groin first. kthxbye.
Week Complete. ><
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