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Thanks for the subject line, Squidward.
I've been at work barely two hours and it has already been a parade of misadventure in the obituary department. If I weren't getting my paycheck at the end of the day, I would so bail...
1. MY BRUDDAH
This woman's brother died. I know because she informed me of that fact 27 times over the course of a six minute phone conversation. Probably more than that because I was kind of guessing since I didn't start counting until the second minute.
I'm not sure she was particularly grief-stricken or anything...she almost sounded...proud? At any rate, I guess she thought I wasn't getting it through my thick head that her brother died because she kept repeating it, even though the question I was asking her was "Was there a funeral home involved?" Eventually, I managed to somehow trick her into going away. She'll probably be back later though.
2. I've had this before...
http://www.customerssuck.com/board/s...ad.php?t=12787 Seriously, I have.
An old woman who seemed to be either drunk, high, or at least somehow off her rocker came in, walked over to my desk, and plopped down and said "I need to know how to get an obituary."
Well, I try to figure out what precisely she means by that.
Me: "Do you mean you need to put an obituary in the paper?"
Spaz: "No, no. I need to get a copy of an obituary."
Me: "Oh, okay. What's the name of the deceased?"
Spaz: "Jane Doe."
Me: *looks, finds nothing* "Okay, when did the obit run, ma'am?"
Spaz: "Oh, it didn't run here."
Me: *brain goes Guh?* "Excuse me?"
Spaz: "It didn't run here."
Me: *thinking maybe she's just confused...she's old, old people get confused...I don't know, I'm grasping at straws here* "So, did you want to put in a copy of the obit?"
Spaz: "No, I need a copy of it."
Me: "...and it didn't run here?"
Spaz: "No, ma'am...*ten minute explanation that eventually makes the point that the woman has no local connection to our readership area, aside from the fact that she's friends with the freak sitting in front of me*"
Me: "Um, okay...do you know if there was a funeral home involved? You could call them-,"
Spaz: "Ohhhh. I don't know..."
Me: *grasp, grasp* "What city was she from?"
Spaz: "BFE, Texas...*repeats ten minute explanation*"
Me: *spends ten seconds with Google* "Okay, she died on *date* in *city* and her middle name is *Whatever*?"
Spaz: "Yes, that sounds right."
Me: "Okay, I can write down the phone number for the funeral home for you and you can call them for a copy of the obit."
Spaz: "Can't you print one out for me?"
Me: NO. "Well, there's no website for this funeral home, I found it referenced in *city paper*..."
Spaz: "Can you print me out what's in that paper? I'm old and *blah blah blah gas prices blah blah blah consequences blah blah blah hip hurts*"
Me: "It doesn't look like I can get onto the website for the paper, it looks like their archives are a paid service. But I have the phone number for the funeral home and they can help you out."
Spaz: *sits there and looks pathetic*
Me: *holds out phone number*
Spaz: "Is it an 800 number?"
Me: "No, ma'am, they didn't have one listed."
Spaz: *very reluctantly takes the phone number* "All right, I really appreciate this..."
Me: "It's no problem." IT ARE HUGE PROBLEM GRAH.
Spaz: *takes her time getting up, keeps looking at me, keeps looking pathetic*
Me: *shuffles papers aimlessly*
Spaz: "Thank you for the help."
Me: "You're welcome, ma'am."
Spaz: *putters around, meanders slowly to the elevator, finally realizes I cannot perform miracles for her and leaves*
I mean, seriously. She came up here looking for an obituary for a person who wasn't from here, had no relatives from here, never lived here, an obituary she knew we didn't have, and was very very sure that still, somehow, I would have it for her. It was above and beyond for me to manage to track down what I did track down, and I could tell she still wasn't convinced I wasn't holding out on her. UGH.
3. School groups be fun
There's nothing quite like getting a bunch of bored high school students wandering through and standing there lifelessly while your boss tries to make journalism of things that aren't Britney Spears and Keanu Reeves or whoever's popular now sound interesting. So I thought I'd pitch in and tell them a few stories about the fun fun people we get to deal with, like whoever is mailing us severed Mr. Potatohead body parts piece by piece, or the guy who came up and broke out into Riverdance in the conference room, or the joker I had to bodily fling into the street for threatening our reporters, etc.
Pretty sure I scared them all off journalism for life. Judging by their slack-jawed, vacant facial expressions when they walked in here, I did journalism a favor.
4. Some guy came in and he smelled just like my mice's dirty cage.
Nothing much more to report here. He smelled like cedar shavings and mouse piss. It'd be one thing if he was dressed like he could have recently been rolling around in cedar shavings and mouse piss, but he was in a three-piece suit. A nicely pressed three-piece suit. And otherwise he seemed clean and of moderately acceptable levels of intelligence. I'm not quite sure what happened there.
5. But it's MY job...
Fellow brings me in a handwritten obit that appears to have been scribbled on hotel stationary. Always a good sign.
Fellow then informs me that "S" a guy who works on the copy desk, is who should receive this obituary, as he knows the woman in the obituary and he will know what to do with it. Informing him that S's job is to lay out pages and it is MY job to deal with the dead people seems to only confuse him. I inform him of this fact a couple of times, and he argues with me that he knows S, and this lady knew S, and therefore that means that S is the person who will do the obituary. I reply that even if I do give the obituary to S, he will just hand it right back to me. His eyes glaze. So I just tell him that yes, I will let S have the obituary, and then add it to my pile the instant his back is turned.
Because knowing someone = instant knowledge of other jobs aside from your own.
6. KINDERLACH.
This wasn't sucky, it just amused me. My boss brought in his two-year-old son for about half an hour before his wife could get by to pick up the kid and take him to daycare. For the entire half hour, the soundtrack of the newsroom was:
"DADDY DADDY DADDY!" *CRASH* "NO NO NO NO NO!" "DADDY DADDY DADDY!" *KSHHTINKLETINKLE* "NO NO AH NO!" "DADDY DADDY DADDY!!"
Of course, I have the triplets at home and this is happening nowhere near my desk, so I can actually just smile and go on with my work while this destruction rains down.
7. Oh shi-
*answering phone*
Me: "Newsroom."
Jagoff: "Yes, YOUUUU just transferred me to "J" and I only got his VOICEMAIL. I NEED his e-mail address."
First of all, this was the first I was hearing of this guy so I was pissed right off the get-go. Second of all, his tone of voice clearly implied that I should be honored to give him information over the phone. Grrrr.
Me: "J isn't in right now which is probably why you got his voicemail. The address is *address*."
Jagoff: "And I need "L's" address, TOO."
Me: *grrrrr* "*address*"
Jagoff: *talking to a two-year-old voice* "VERY GOOD. Very good JOB. Now I can do what I HAVE TO. VERY GOOD."
Me: "Fuck you."
Jagoff: "What?"
Me:
*super cheerful* "Thank you!"
Jagoff: *still sounding pleased with himself* "Well, you are welcome!" *hangs up*
Me:
Oh I am so glad that our calls aren't monitored...
And I still have seven hours to go and already I can't stop myself from cursing on the phone. This is going to be a good day...
I've been at work barely two hours and it has already been a parade of misadventure in the obituary department. If I weren't getting my paycheck at the end of the day, I would so bail...
1. MY BRUDDAH
This woman's brother died. I know because she informed me of that fact 27 times over the course of a six minute phone conversation. Probably more than that because I was kind of guessing since I didn't start counting until the second minute.
I'm not sure she was particularly grief-stricken or anything...she almost sounded...proud? At any rate, I guess she thought I wasn't getting it through my thick head that her brother died because she kept repeating it, even though the question I was asking her was "Was there a funeral home involved?" Eventually, I managed to somehow trick her into going away. She'll probably be back later though.
2. I've had this before...
http://www.customerssuck.com/board/s...ad.php?t=12787 Seriously, I have.
An old woman who seemed to be either drunk, high, or at least somehow off her rocker came in, walked over to my desk, and plopped down and said "I need to know how to get an obituary."
Well, I try to figure out what precisely she means by that.
Me: "Do you mean you need to put an obituary in the paper?"
Spaz: "No, no. I need to get a copy of an obituary."
Me: "Oh, okay. What's the name of the deceased?"
Spaz: "Jane Doe."
Me: *looks, finds nothing* "Okay, when did the obit run, ma'am?"
Spaz: "Oh, it didn't run here."
Me: *brain goes Guh?* "Excuse me?"
Spaz: "It didn't run here."
Me: *thinking maybe she's just confused...she's old, old people get confused...I don't know, I'm grasping at straws here* "So, did you want to put in a copy of the obit?"
Spaz: "No, I need a copy of it."
Me: "...and it didn't run here?"
Spaz: "No, ma'am...*ten minute explanation that eventually makes the point that the woman has no local connection to our readership area, aside from the fact that she's friends with the freak sitting in front of me*"
Me: "Um, okay...do you know if there was a funeral home involved? You could call them-,"
Spaz: "Ohhhh. I don't know..."
Me: *grasp, grasp* "What city was she from?"
Spaz: "BFE, Texas...*repeats ten minute explanation*"
Me: *spends ten seconds with Google* "Okay, she died on *date* in *city* and her middle name is *Whatever*?"
Spaz: "Yes, that sounds right."
Me: "Okay, I can write down the phone number for the funeral home for you and you can call them for a copy of the obit."
Spaz: "Can't you print one out for me?"
Me: NO. "Well, there's no website for this funeral home, I found it referenced in *city paper*..."
Spaz: "Can you print me out what's in that paper? I'm old and *blah blah blah gas prices blah blah blah consequences blah blah blah hip hurts*"
Me: "It doesn't look like I can get onto the website for the paper, it looks like their archives are a paid service. But I have the phone number for the funeral home and they can help you out."
Spaz: *sits there and looks pathetic*
Me: *holds out phone number*
Spaz: "Is it an 800 number?"
Me: "No, ma'am, they didn't have one listed."
Spaz: *very reluctantly takes the phone number* "All right, I really appreciate this..."
Me: "It's no problem." IT ARE HUGE PROBLEM GRAH.
Spaz: *takes her time getting up, keeps looking at me, keeps looking pathetic*
Me: *shuffles papers aimlessly*
Spaz: "Thank you for the help."
Me: "You're welcome, ma'am."
Spaz: *putters around, meanders slowly to the elevator, finally realizes I cannot perform miracles for her and leaves*
I mean, seriously. She came up here looking for an obituary for a person who wasn't from here, had no relatives from here, never lived here, an obituary she knew we didn't have, and was very very sure that still, somehow, I would have it for her. It was above and beyond for me to manage to track down what I did track down, and I could tell she still wasn't convinced I wasn't holding out on her. UGH.
3. School groups be fun
There's nothing quite like getting a bunch of bored high school students wandering through and standing there lifelessly while your boss tries to make journalism of things that aren't Britney Spears and Keanu Reeves or whoever's popular now sound interesting. So I thought I'd pitch in and tell them a few stories about the fun fun people we get to deal with, like whoever is mailing us severed Mr. Potatohead body parts piece by piece, or the guy who came up and broke out into Riverdance in the conference room, or the joker I had to bodily fling into the street for threatening our reporters, etc.
Pretty sure I scared them all off journalism for life. Judging by their slack-jawed, vacant facial expressions when they walked in here, I did journalism a favor.
4. Some guy came in and he smelled just like my mice's dirty cage.
Nothing much more to report here. He smelled like cedar shavings and mouse piss. It'd be one thing if he was dressed like he could have recently been rolling around in cedar shavings and mouse piss, but he was in a three-piece suit. A nicely pressed three-piece suit. And otherwise he seemed clean and of moderately acceptable levels of intelligence. I'm not quite sure what happened there.
5. But it's MY job...
Fellow brings me in a handwritten obit that appears to have been scribbled on hotel stationary. Always a good sign.
Fellow then informs me that "S" a guy who works on the copy desk, is who should receive this obituary, as he knows the woman in the obituary and he will know what to do with it. Informing him that S's job is to lay out pages and it is MY job to deal with the dead people seems to only confuse him. I inform him of this fact a couple of times, and he argues with me that he knows S, and this lady knew S, and therefore that means that S is the person who will do the obituary. I reply that even if I do give the obituary to S, he will just hand it right back to me. His eyes glaze. So I just tell him that yes, I will let S have the obituary, and then add it to my pile the instant his back is turned.
Because knowing someone = instant knowledge of other jobs aside from your own.
6. KINDERLACH.
This wasn't sucky, it just amused me. My boss brought in his two-year-old son for about half an hour before his wife could get by to pick up the kid and take him to daycare. For the entire half hour, the soundtrack of the newsroom was:
"DADDY DADDY DADDY!" *CRASH* "NO NO NO NO NO!" "DADDY DADDY DADDY!" *KSHHTINKLETINKLE* "NO NO AH NO!" "DADDY DADDY DADDY!!"
Of course, I have the triplets at home and this is happening nowhere near my desk, so I can actually just smile and go on with my work while this destruction rains down.
7. Oh shi-
*answering phone*
Me: "Newsroom."
Jagoff: "Yes, YOUUUU just transferred me to "J" and I only got his VOICEMAIL. I NEED his e-mail address."
First of all, this was the first I was hearing of this guy so I was pissed right off the get-go. Second of all, his tone of voice clearly implied that I should be honored to give him information over the phone. Grrrr.
Me: "J isn't in right now which is probably why you got his voicemail. The address is *address*."
Jagoff: "And I need "L's" address, TOO."
Me: *grrrrr* "*address*"
Jagoff: *talking to a two-year-old voice* "VERY GOOD. Very good JOB. Now I can do what I HAVE TO. VERY GOOD."
Me: "Fuck you."
Jagoff: "What?"
Me:
*super cheerful* "Thank you!"Jagoff: *still sounding pleased with himself* "Well, you are welcome!" *hangs up*
Me:
Oh I am so glad that our calls aren't monitored...
And I still have seven hours to go and already I can't stop myself from cursing on the phone. This is going to be a good day...
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