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Now that I have your attention.
Yes, I'm still alive. Just been kinda nut ball at work. They'll be trying a new shift arrangement that may result in abject terror: They're dropping the 3rd operator out of graveyard rotation and leaving it up to the remaining two of us. So they'll be some nights where I'm working alone again. Which means 100% unfiltered stupidity instead of the regular 50%. But also makes me much busier so its harder to get in writing time. ><
What?
SC: "I tried that email it wasn't the kind of email you could send mail too."
Ah, ornamental emails. I hear those are all the rage now amongst the computer illiterate. What better way to pretend you're actually in the know then your very own
trailermonkey@ihadadellonceandfilledthecdromwithwa fflebatter*com email address.
Ah, Vancouver
There was a smoking, jittery French hobo with big puppy dog eyes panhandling at 7/11 this evening. He was only about 5'1 and had long scraggy hair so he sort of looked liked a miniature Michael Bolton in a trench coat 3 times too big.
He opened the door for me and told me he loved me. Which is very sweet but sadly I don't have those kinds of feelings for him so all I said was "Ok".
I broke his heart.
The Battlecry
Had what I can only describe as the March of the Asshats this evening. It all began with a single prank call from some drunken dumbass making the worse impression of an old lady I'd ever heard. So I hung up on him. He immediately called back….
SC: "Go &$*@ yourself, a-hole! Uh……um...uh...uh...PENIS!"
Me: "…alrighty then."
I've been sworn at many times but that last bit is new. I don't know if it was some sort of battlecry or if "penis" is the new "goodbye". Sooooo….I hung up on them again.
They then proceeded to call literally about 25 more times over the next half hour or so. From two different phones at the same time no less. Their plan had a fatal flaw, however: Caller ID. Despite the fact I immediately knew it was them and disconnected them before they even got past the automated recording they *still* persisted. Every now and then they'd stop for a minute or two then started again. Perhaps hoping to somehow catch me off guard. Sadly, this plan, like many other aspects of their lvies, was doomed to failure.
They gave up after I went on break and Operator #2 came back. Apparently she's not as entertaining as being instantly hung up on by me is.
Penis!
Not Again
SC: "Thank you, dear."
…..ok the first time was kinda funny. Now its just getting creepy….you're the *same* guy too.....
867
Me: "Alright, and what would you like to order?"
SC: "….uh……..what?"
Me: "What would you like to order?"
SC: "..uh….i would…uh…like to order…."
Me: "…yes, but what would you like to order?"
SC: "…um…COD?"
Me: "…alright, but what is it you would like to order?"
SC: "….wha?"
Me: "What. Would. You. Like. To. Order."
SC: "uh…..xx…xx-xx." ( The item number. )
Me: "Ok, unfortunately that’s out of stock at the moment. Was there anything else you would like?"
SC: "Um…uh…no."
Me: "There's nothing else you would like to order?"
SC: "uh…no."
Me: "Ok."
SC: "…….."
Me: "…….."
SC: "Bye."
Wow….all that effort only to walk away empty headed, er, handed. But wait! She calls again a bit later….
Round 2:
…ok round 2 was actually rather short. Apparently she burned through what little brain juice she had in the first call so sadly she didn't make it past postal code on the second. At which point the engine stalled and she had to hang up to save what little dignity she thinks she has left. Or maybe her braincase overheated and she slumped over the table mid sentence. I'm not sure. Either way she hung up on me and I was not sad.
Round 3:
After regaining consciousness she was not one to give up that easily. So she called back….yet again….a few minutes later……and this time did not even make it past her phone number. What few braincells she has left are desperately clinging to the wreckage of her mind as they're battered about in an unforgiving sea of Jack Daniels.
Round 4:
Didn't get past her name…..what precious little is left of her mind is eroding at an alarming rate. It's actually kind of morbidly fascinating. Like watching brain death slowly set in.
Round 5:
This time she had someone else call for her. Someone she managed to flag down on the mental highway after she herself rode the short bus into the guard rail and burst into flames. I had higher hopes for this one as she was able to make it past all the most confounding hurdles I could throw in her path ( You know….name, phone number, address…..difficult questions ). But alas, she ordered a $30 hat with $40 shipping. However, I cannot blame her, for I know she is but the spirit medium channeling the failures of the original idiot. Making her sort of a Fail Gypsy if you will.
867
Me: "Alright, that'll come to $150"
SC: "Uh…but it says $114 here!"
Me: "Yes, but that doesn't include taxes or shipping."
SC: "um.....oh."
Yes, once you step into the outside world whose economy isn't based on fur pelts, beer cans and old car parts, the rules change a bit. Unlike your world where you could have easily bartered Jimmy Bob Naqkulucluk down to 1 beaver, a six pack and an old Datsun pick up headlight our rules are rigid and uncompromising. However, our currency is colourful and entertaining. You should enveadour to obtain some without government assistance.
Survival Instinct
Me: "The office will be back in, in an hour."
SC: "Ok, so when should I call back to reach them?"
Me: "…in an hour…."
SC: "OK, thanks."
If working here for years has taught me anything its that I seem to function as a sort of mental bridge for callers. Linking them from Point Blatant to Point Obvious. How they manage to function in daily life without me there to draw even the most basic conclusions on their behalf is still a mystery to me. But they’re obviously managing to survive till the next time they call me. So they must have figured out some sort of survival mechanism. I'm assuming its parasitic in nature. They must have someone or thing in their daily life that they can latch onto and rely on to keep them from inadvertently drinking bleach. Or perhaps they just move from person to person like some sort of brain flea.
The only true danger then would be when they finally return home. At which point I assume one remaining braincell looks at the other and says "Its cold and dark in here, and I am frightened. Hold me.". Then together they generate just enough warmth to make sure she keeps remembering to breath till morning.
.....and again
"I'm not home till the evenings, dear. So have them call then."
Right-o, creepy middle aged man of indeterminable foreign descent. This seems to be becoming an common issue. Either foreign men find my voice fantastically hawt or I need to wonder exactly what the women in your respective countries sound like normally.
<twitch>
SC: "Oh wow! You're still awake?"
I love how you call anyway despite the fact you don't think anyone will be here or awake. I'm not sure I can accurately sum up how much I loath you but I shall try none the less. If you could siphon off the rage from about 6 month's worth of drunken Scottish soccer fans, bury it beneath the bitter crust of earth formed out of all the feelings Barney inspires in everyone over the age of 6 then let that sit for a 1000 years being compressed between the global resentment of the Bush administration and what everyone with an IQ beyond that of day old toast thinks of Paris Hilton. There it will slowly compress into a dark, bitter diamond of hate as black as Dick Cheney's heart. A festering jewel of resentment that can cut the weak glass of happiness like a hot knife through I Can't Believe it's not Butter.
<deep breath>
Yeah, so....um, there you go. No, go on. Take it. It's a gift. Keep it somewhere where the sun doesn't shine.
867
Me: "Ok, and your postal code please?"
SC: "...uh...po box xxxx"
Me: "Yes, but what is your postal code?"
SC: "uh.....what?"
Me: "Your postal code?"
SC: "um.....I don't know."
Me: "Alright, but you can't place an order without a postal code."
SC: "Uh....uh...I got no one.....I got nothing."
Me: "....ok...but you need a postal code to place an order."
SC: "...maybe tomorrow?"
Me: "You'll still need a postal code if you call back tomorrow."
SC: "Uh...ok."
Me: "Ok then."
SC: "........"
Me: "........"
SC: "Ok."
Me: ".....alright."
SC: "....uh...polkapole?"
Me: ".....I'm sorry?"
SC: "...polcopolt?"
Me: ".....pardon? I don't understand."
SC: "What's polkalcoo?"
Me: "...you mean postal code? It's part of your address. We need it to be able to send you your order."
SC: "uh...ok"
Me: "Alright.."
SC: "Ok, bye."
You know, Darwin was actually wrong. Because she's still alive and I'm desperately trying not to end my own life. If natural selection actually worked she'd have been dragged off into the woods and devoured by wolves after her parents forgot her in the parking lot at Walmart. Whereas I would be a God among men.
I'm assuming they have Walmarts in Nunavut. They have Walmarts everywhere. Nothing else of course. Just 5 cabins, a shed, a single telephone booth, a Walmart and the shattered dreams of all who dwell there.
Ah.......Vancouver
Guy on Street: "Hey, do you live downtown?"
Me: "No, sorry, I live out in Burnaby."
Guy on Street: "FUCKER! <stomps off>"
....what just happened?
Ugh.....1 day down. 3 to go. ><
Yes, I'm still alive. Just been kinda nut ball at work. They'll be trying a new shift arrangement that may result in abject terror: They're dropping the 3rd operator out of graveyard rotation and leaving it up to the remaining two of us. So they'll be some nights where I'm working alone again. Which means 100% unfiltered stupidity instead of the regular 50%. But also makes me much busier so its harder to get in writing time. ><
What?
SC: "I tried that email it wasn't the kind of email you could send mail too."
Ah, ornamental emails. I hear those are all the rage now amongst the computer illiterate. What better way to pretend you're actually in the know then your very own
trailermonkey@ihadadellonceandfilledthecdromwithwa fflebatter*com email address.
Ah, Vancouver
There was a smoking, jittery French hobo with big puppy dog eyes panhandling at 7/11 this evening. He was only about 5'1 and had long scraggy hair so he sort of looked liked a miniature Michael Bolton in a trench coat 3 times too big.
He opened the door for me and told me he loved me. Which is very sweet but sadly I don't have those kinds of feelings for him so all I said was "Ok".
I broke his heart.
The Battlecry
Had what I can only describe as the March of the Asshats this evening. It all began with a single prank call from some drunken dumbass making the worse impression of an old lady I'd ever heard. So I hung up on him. He immediately called back….
SC: "Go &$*@ yourself, a-hole! Uh……um...uh...uh...PENIS!"
Me: "…alrighty then."
I've been sworn at many times but that last bit is new. I don't know if it was some sort of battlecry or if "penis" is the new "goodbye". Sooooo….I hung up on them again.
They then proceeded to call literally about 25 more times over the next half hour or so. From two different phones at the same time no less. Their plan had a fatal flaw, however: Caller ID. Despite the fact I immediately knew it was them and disconnected them before they even got past the automated recording they *still* persisted. Every now and then they'd stop for a minute or two then started again. Perhaps hoping to somehow catch me off guard. Sadly, this plan, like many other aspects of their lvies, was doomed to failure.
They gave up after I went on break and Operator #2 came back. Apparently she's not as entertaining as being instantly hung up on by me is.
Penis!
Not Again
SC: "Thank you, dear."
…..ok the first time was kinda funny. Now its just getting creepy….you're the *same* guy too.....
867
Me: "Alright, and what would you like to order?"
SC: "….uh……..what?"
Me: "What would you like to order?"
SC: "..uh….i would…uh…like to order…."
Me: "…yes, but what would you like to order?"
SC: "…um…COD?"
Me: "…alright, but what is it you would like to order?"
SC: "….wha?"
Me: "What. Would. You. Like. To. Order."
SC: "uh…..xx…xx-xx." ( The item number. )
Me: "Ok, unfortunately that’s out of stock at the moment. Was there anything else you would like?"
SC: "Um…uh…no."
Me: "There's nothing else you would like to order?"
SC: "uh…no."
Me: "Ok."
SC: "…….."
Me: "…….."
SC: "Bye."
Wow….all that effort only to walk away empty headed, er, handed. But wait! She calls again a bit later….
Round 2:
…ok round 2 was actually rather short. Apparently she burned through what little brain juice she had in the first call so sadly she didn't make it past postal code on the second. At which point the engine stalled and she had to hang up to save what little dignity she thinks she has left. Or maybe her braincase overheated and she slumped over the table mid sentence. I'm not sure. Either way she hung up on me and I was not sad.
Round 3:
After regaining consciousness she was not one to give up that easily. So she called back….yet again….a few minutes later……and this time did not even make it past her phone number. What few braincells she has left are desperately clinging to the wreckage of her mind as they're battered about in an unforgiving sea of Jack Daniels.
Round 4:
Didn't get past her name…..what precious little is left of her mind is eroding at an alarming rate. It's actually kind of morbidly fascinating. Like watching brain death slowly set in.
Round 5:
This time she had someone else call for her. Someone she managed to flag down on the mental highway after she herself rode the short bus into the guard rail and burst into flames. I had higher hopes for this one as she was able to make it past all the most confounding hurdles I could throw in her path ( You know….name, phone number, address…..difficult questions ). But alas, she ordered a $30 hat with $40 shipping. However, I cannot blame her, for I know she is but the spirit medium channeling the failures of the original idiot. Making her sort of a Fail Gypsy if you will.
867
Me: "Alright, that'll come to $150"
SC: "Uh…but it says $114 here!"
Me: "Yes, but that doesn't include taxes or shipping."
SC: "um.....oh."
Yes, once you step into the outside world whose economy isn't based on fur pelts, beer cans and old car parts, the rules change a bit. Unlike your world where you could have easily bartered Jimmy Bob Naqkulucluk down to 1 beaver, a six pack and an old Datsun pick up headlight our rules are rigid and uncompromising. However, our currency is colourful and entertaining. You should enveadour to obtain some without government assistance.
Survival Instinct
Me: "The office will be back in, in an hour."
SC: "Ok, so when should I call back to reach them?"
Me: "…in an hour…."
SC: "OK, thanks."
If working here for years has taught me anything its that I seem to function as a sort of mental bridge for callers. Linking them from Point Blatant to Point Obvious. How they manage to function in daily life without me there to draw even the most basic conclusions on their behalf is still a mystery to me. But they’re obviously managing to survive till the next time they call me. So they must have figured out some sort of survival mechanism. I'm assuming its parasitic in nature. They must have someone or thing in their daily life that they can latch onto and rely on to keep them from inadvertently drinking bleach. Or perhaps they just move from person to person like some sort of brain flea.
The only true danger then would be when they finally return home. At which point I assume one remaining braincell looks at the other and says "Its cold and dark in here, and I am frightened. Hold me.". Then together they generate just enough warmth to make sure she keeps remembering to breath till morning.
.....and again
"I'm not home till the evenings, dear. So have them call then."
Right-o, creepy middle aged man of indeterminable foreign descent. This seems to be becoming an common issue. Either foreign men find my voice fantastically hawt or I need to wonder exactly what the women in your respective countries sound like normally.
<twitch>
SC: "Oh wow! You're still awake?"
I love how you call anyway despite the fact you don't think anyone will be here or awake. I'm not sure I can accurately sum up how much I loath you but I shall try none the less. If you could siphon off the rage from about 6 month's worth of drunken Scottish soccer fans, bury it beneath the bitter crust of earth formed out of all the feelings Barney inspires in everyone over the age of 6 then let that sit for a 1000 years being compressed between the global resentment of the Bush administration and what everyone with an IQ beyond that of day old toast thinks of Paris Hilton. There it will slowly compress into a dark, bitter diamond of hate as black as Dick Cheney's heart. A festering jewel of resentment that can cut the weak glass of happiness like a hot knife through I Can't Believe it's not Butter.
<deep breath>
Yeah, so....um, there you go. No, go on. Take it. It's a gift. Keep it somewhere where the sun doesn't shine.
867
Me: "Ok, and your postal code please?"
SC: "...uh...po box xxxx"
Me: "Yes, but what is your postal code?"
SC: "uh.....what?"
Me: "Your postal code?"
SC: "um.....I don't know."
Me: "Alright, but you can't place an order without a postal code."
SC: "Uh....uh...I got no one.....I got nothing."
Me: "....ok...but you need a postal code to place an order."
SC: "...maybe tomorrow?"
Me: "You'll still need a postal code if you call back tomorrow."
SC: "Uh...ok."
Me: "Ok then."
SC: "........"
Me: "........"
SC: "Ok."
Me: ".....alright."
SC: "....uh...polkapole?"
Me: ".....I'm sorry?"
SC: "...polcopolt?"
Me: ".....pardon? I don't understand."
SC: "What's polkalcoo?"
Me: "...you mean postal code? It's part of your address. We need it to be able to send you your order."
SC: "uh...ok"
Me: "Alright.."
SC: "Ok, bye."
You know, Darwin was actually wrong. Because she's still alive and I'm desperately trying not to end my own life. If natural selection actually worked she'd have been dragged off into the woods and devoured by wolves after her parents forgot her in the parking lot at Walmart. Whereas I would be a God among men.
I'm assuming they have Walmarts in Nunavut. They have Walmarts everywhere. Nothing else of course. Just 5 cabins, a shed, a single telephone booth, a Walmart and the shattered dreams of all who dwell there.
Ah.......Vancouver
Guy on Street: "Hey, do you live downtown?"
Me: "No, sorry, I live out in Burnaby."
Guy on Street: "FUCKER! <stomps off>"
....what just happened?
Ugh.....1 day down. 3 to go. ><
Very eyecaching title.
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