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On the phones at the newspaper’s newsroom…
The Regular SC
“[paper] Newsroom.”
“Hello, is Stan there?”
“Ah… what’s the last name on that?
”You know, Stan.”
I get this call at least once a week when I'm working on the phones. My department is over 200 people. My particular division of the company, over a thousand. The entire corporation probably has enough people to populate a small suburb. Furthermore, we don't have contact numbers for freelancers at the phone desk, so if you're asking for someone because you spotted the first name in their byline, we're in Lost-cause Land. You know what, lady? Stan's here, but if you don't pay the ransom, you'll never hear from him again!
Way to break those stereotypes
“[paper] Newsroom.”
(Elderly Male): “Why isn’t it littering when your neighbors have trees and you don’t and their leaves blow all over your lawn?”
“I’m… sorry?”
”I’ve got ten feet of leaves on my lawn, and I don’t even have a tree. Why isn’t that considered littering?”
“Well, sir, I’m not sure if it is technically littering, though I can certainly understand that it’s annoying.”
“No, it’s littering! If it wasn’t happening, I wouldn’t have to be calling the editorial board of [paper].”
“Well, I--” CLICK.
I'm surprised he didn't complain about those damn kids, too.
Despair is my mistress
“[paper] Newsroom.”
“I’m looking for Carol Zellman. That’s Z-e-l-l-m-a-n.”
“Let me just check that for you… I’m sorry, sir, we don’t seem to have anyone in the company by that name.”
“Oh, no, I’m looking for her. She lives in Chicago, you see.”
… “So, you’re just trying to get in touch with this person?”
“Yeah, and I was thinking you could help.”
“Um… honestly, sir, I think you would be better off calling Information and giving them the name.”
“Oh, well, I think her number’s unlisted.”
(You know, I think that might tell you something....) “Uh, well, we don’t really have a service like that…”
“Well, I was thinking I could, you know, send in a photo and you could put it in the paper.”
“You mean, like in an advertisement.”
“Well, or something. She’s about 5’9”, you see…”
“Wait, sir, that sort of thing really doesn’t matter. I think what you really need to do is call information and ask for a private detective agency.”
”Oh, well, I don’t have that kind of money. Can’t I just send you a picture and put it in the paper?”
”Well, I can connect you to the advertising department, but that’s kind of expensive in its own right.”
“Well, I could afford maybe $5 or $10.”
“No, no sir, I don’t think that’ll be enough.”
“Oh, well then. Thanks anyway.”
Sure, no problem. And thank YOU for calling, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go get a gun and a single bullet. Oh, wait, the phone's ringing again....
I'm just talking so you can jack off to the sound of human suffering; pay no attention to the content
“[Paper] Newsroom.”
“Is this Entourage?”
“Could you repeat that? You've reached the [Paper] Newsroom.”
“Is this Entourage? Oh, wait, you said this is the newsroom? Sorry about that, buddy.” Click.
I still have no idea if he was looking for a club, a person or the staff of a TV show....
Didn't any of you people ever hear of a public library?!?!
(Caller seems to be patched into the phone line via a Styrofoam cup and string. The tautness on the string seems to vary a bit, too, causing the blurry voice to fade every so often--so not only to I get to run through this conversation, I get to strain to hear it.)
“I’m calling about that dermatologist, you know the one who was murdered on Michigan?”
Pause. Dig through memory to a year-old murder investigation (that was, admittedly, noteworthy at the time). “Oh, right, I remember.” Get to Google real quick, ‘cause I know what’s coming next.
“What was his name again?”
“Dr. David Cornbleet.”
‘What was that?”
“David. Cornbleet. C-o-r-n—“
“Wait, wait… C…”
“o-r-n-basinboy-l-e-e-t.”
“o-r-n-b-l-e-e…”
“t as in tom.”
“And he was killed in his office on Michigan?”
“Yes.”
“How did he die?”
“He was stabbed.”
“And it was in his office?”
“Yes.”
“Where on Michigan was that?”
“30 N. Michigan.”
“Do you know if they have improved security there?”
… “No, no I don’t have that information.”
“Okay, thank you.” Click
And here I was hoping that we could go over the Hoffa case, too.
The Regular SC
“[paper] Newsroom.”
“Hello, is Stan there?”
“Ah… what’s the last name on that?
”You know, Stan.”
I get this call at least once a week when I'm working on the phones. My department is over 200 people. My particular division of the company, over a thousand. The entire corporation probably has enough people to populate a small suburb. Furthermore, we don't have contact numbers for freelancers at the phone desk, so if you're asking for someone because you spotted the first name in their byline, we're in Lost-cause Land. You know what, lady? Stan's here, but if you don't pay the ransom, you'll never hear from him again!
Way to break those stereotypes
“[paper] Newsroom.”
(Elderly Male): “Why isn’t it littering when your neighbors have trees and you don’t and their leaves blow all over your lawn?”
“I’m… sorry?”
”I’ve got ten feet of leaves on my lawn, and I don’t even have a tree. Why isn’t that considered littering?”
“Well, sir, I’m not sure if it is technically littering, though I can certainly understand that it’s annoying.”
“No, it’s littering! If it wasn’t happening, I wouldn’t have to be calling the editorial board of [paper].”
“Well, I--” CLICK.
I'm surprised he didn't complain about those damn kids, too.
Despair is my mistress
“[paper] Newsroom.”
“I’m looking for Carol Zellman. That’s Z-e-l-l-m-a-n.”
“Let me just check that for you… I’m sorry, sir, we don’t seem to have anyone in the company by that name.”
“Oh, no, I’m looking for her. She lives in Chicago, you see.”
… “So, you’re just trying to get in touch with this person?”
“Yeah, and I was thinking you could help.”
“Um… honestly, sir, I think you would be better off calling Information and giving them the name.”
“Oh, well, I think her number’s unlisted.”
(You know, I think that might tell you something....) “Uh, well, we don’t really have a service like that…”
“Well, I was thinking I could, you know, send in a photo and you could put it in the paper.”
“You mean, like in an advertisement.”
“Well, or something. She’s about 5’9”, you see…”
“Wait, sir, that sort of thing really doesn’t matter. I think what you really need to do is call information and ask for a private detective agency.””Oh, well, I don’t have that kind of money. Can’t I just send you a picture and put it in the paper?”
”Well, I can connect you to the advertising department, but that’s kind of expensive in its own right.”
“Well, I could afford maybe $5 or $10.”
“No, no sir, I don’t think that’ll be enough.”
“Oh, well then. Thanks anyway.”
Sure, no problem. And thank YOU for calling, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go get a gun and a single bullet. Oh, wait, the phone's ringing again....
I'm just talking so you can jack off to the sound of human suffering; pay no attention to the content
“[Paper] Newsroom.”
“Is this Entourage?”
“Could you repeat that? You've reached the [Paper] Newsroom.”
“Is this Entourage? Oh, wait, you said this is the newsroom? Sorry about that, buddy.” Click.
I still have no idea if he was looking for a club, a person or the staff of a TV show....
Didn't any of you people ever hear of a public library?!?!
(Caller seems to be patched into the phone line via a Styrofoam cup and string. The tautness on the string seems to vary a bit, too, causing the blurry voice to fade every so often--so not only to I get to run through this conversation, I get to strain to hear it.)
“I’m calling about that dermatologist, you know the one who was murdered on Michigan?”
Pause. Dig through memory to a year-old murder investigation (that was, admittedly, noteworthy at the time). “Oh, right, I remember.” Get to Google real quick, ‘cause I know what’s coming next.
“What was his name again?”
“Dr. David Cornbleet.”
‘What was that?”
“David. Cornbleet. C-o-r-n—“
“Wait, wait… C…”
“o-r-n-basinboy-l-e-e-t.”
“o-r-n-b-l-e-e…”
“t as in tom.”
“And he was killed in his office on Michigan?”
“Yes.”
“How did he die?”
“He was stabbed.”
“And it was in his office?”
“Yes.”
“Where on Michigan was that?”
“30 N. Michigan.”
“Do you know if they have improved security there?”
… “No, no I don’t have that information.”
“Okay, thank you.” Click
And here I was hoping that we could go over the Hoffa case, too.
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