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Where I am propositioned....again
Well, at least it wasn't a man this time...
Very, very little.
SC: “Yeah, I got the letter about the building undergoing roof repair and I’m calling to say that’s completely bogus!”
Me: “…..”
You’re going to have to give me a minute to formulate a way of politely explaining how very little I care at 12am without actually coming right out and telling you to carefully fold that letter into a elegant paper crane, unbuckle your pants, sensually slide them off then cram your origami masterpiece as far up your backside as your joint flexibility allows before you head down to the ER and try to explain to the doctor on duty that people always told you they thought you had something up your ass, but this time you think they might actually be right.
Yes I know that’s a horrific run on sentence, but as previously stated I care very little.
Hot Tips for Ameri...wait, what
Me: “Good evening, <agency>.”
SC: “Yeah, I just wanted to ask something.”
Me: “Sure?”
SC: “Am I in trouble with you guys?”
Me: “….not....that I’m aware of….why?”
SC: “Well I use to work for another agency with your government…so I was wondering if I was in trouble with you.”
Me: “Not that I know of, no.”
SC: “Ok, thanks. Bye.”
For all I know, you could be. But it’s not like I’m actually going to tell you. Why spoil the surprise? It’s more fun if you try to board a plane somewhere for an exciting tropical vacation with your family, show up on our watch list, then get politely pulled aside and lead to a room where a stern man with cold hands will explore parts of your body you didn’t even know you had. After which you’ll be whisked away to fabulous Undisclosed Location #14, given a stylish orange jumpsuit and enjoy the marvelous sights of the inside of a cloth hood. Meanwhile, your children will spent the next 4 years asking what happened to daddy until your wife turns to heavy drinking and starts selling off your belongings to pay the mortgage. Once we’ve assessed that you’re not a security threat, you’ll be given a stunning makeover, a shave and a pedicure as our way of saying farewell before we randomly drop you off at a bus stop 3 States over from where you actually live with nothing but the cloths on your back and a $10 Walmart gift card.
I'm a whore! <sob>
Me: “How did you hear about us?”
SC: “A few years ago you did me.”
…I…er….wait, what? I don’t remember at all. I mean I don’t even…er….you know....bat for that, um, team. I don’t drink either, so I’m not entirely sure how our torrid liaison would have taken place…..it certainly wouldn’t have been willing or while I was conscious. So unless you whisked me away in your lustful arms in the night and had me delivered back to my bed by daybreak none the wiser to your love I’m going to have to cast the dark shadow of doubt upon your claims.
Sure you are.
SC: “Yeah my friend was just taken by the cops and I need <lawyer> to get em out.”
Me: “Ok, i-“
SC: “They just like burst in here and suddenly attacked us man!”
Me: “Is he-“
SC: “It’s just not right man, so I want you to get him out.”
Me: “Is he a client of ours?”
SC: “No, I’M the client. S’ok, I’ll pay fer it, yew jush get him out.”
Me: “Would you be able to have him call us from the station?”
SC: “Wha? No, yew jus call em & get em out. I’ll pay fer it.”
Me: “Well-“
SC: “I have a retainer wif <lawyer>….I have a retainer with a lot of lawyers. Well….they all ran out…but I hash one wif <lawyer>! Or I use too….but I’m good fer it man! Jush send me the bill.”
Me: “Ok, h-“
SC: “I was in some trouble before and <lawyer> helped me out. So I’m jush trynna stay outta trouble ya knows?”
Me: “Right.”
SC: “Ya wanna hear a story? I can tell yash the story.”
Me: “That’s al-“
SC: “You got time fer a story?”
Me: “Not really, no-“
SC: “So it was like a few years ago an-“
Wait wait, if I’m going to be forced to sit here and listening to the drunken sermon of the great prophet of the lord Jack Daniels let me get comfortable. There’s certain things one needs to listen to a sermon you know. Perhaps some nice robes, a grassy knoll and a newborn lamb in my lap. Then I could gaze up at you in innocent wonderment while you beguile me with tales of how <lawyer got you off the hook after you blew 3 times over the legal limit then were caught furiously masturbating over the cop’s box of Timbits while they were doing the paperwork.
Shut up Shut Up Shut UP
Me: “Ok, do you have a pen there?”
SC: “Yes.”
Me: “Ok, your confirmation number for the hotel ro-“
SC:“We’ve been sitting on the tarmac for 8 hours.”
Me: “Alright, but your confir-“
SC: “We’re just dead tired-“
Me: “Ok, but the confi-“
SC: “We just want somewhere to sleep.”
Me: “Yes, But-“
STOP. WHINING. About the very problem I could fix if you would just shut UP for a 10 seconds at that. Be quiet, pull up your big girl panties and get a pen so we can both end this suffering.
Painful Questions
( This person is, of course, calling a line that quite obviously serves every airport in North America and has not even stated what airport they're at. )
SC: “What’s the name of the hotel across the street from the airport?”
Of course! Now, there are a few difficulties I must overcome to glean this information. Such as time, space and my complete lack of magical power. But worry not, as soon as manage to overcome the laws of physics themselves and somehow bring the realm of the magical and wondrous into our mundane reality thus granting me the use of at least level 1 wizard spells of which I could memorize 3 per day with my intelligence bonus rest assured the first thing I will do upon becoming a conduit to raw elemental power will scribe and memorize a simple Wizard’s Eye spell which I can cast once per day and use to remotely view your location for 1d6 turns + my level upon which I will be able to answer your inquiry.
<deep breath>
OR you could just walk to the airport entrance and LOOK across the street yourself you ravenous cockbiting little urinal gnome.
867
Over the course of our conversation you told me to “Uh, wait. Hold on.” exactly 14 times. Yes, that’s right. I counted. Why you ask? Because I had plenty of time too while I was waiting. What was I waiting for? I’m not entirely sure. If I had to wager a guess I’d say I was waiting for the last 2 brain cells in the guy’s head to drift randomly through the void inside his skull and finally find each other’s desperate embrace to generate a coherent answer to the question “What would you like to order?”.
867
Me: “and what would you like to order?”
SC: “I want this.”
Me: “….”
SC: “….”
You seem to be vastly overestimating the technological capabilities of the telephone. You actually have to tell me what the item is. You can’t just hold the receiver up to the catalog and hope that I can somehow dispatch tiny magic phone imps along the vast distance of telephone cable to peer through the little holes on the ear piece and relay back to me what wondrous item they see. You’re going to have to actually an effort and read. Out loud no less. I know I’m asking much of you and you’re frightened. Reading and talking at the same time is daunting. Why, your grandfather probably died of a stroke after he tried to walk and chew at the same time. Don’t worry, you won’t suffer the same fate. You may feel light headed for a bit, but that’s just normally dormant brain cells being roused into action and trying to wade their way through your 0.37 blood alcohol content.
....<sob>
During my wanderings at the mall last weekend I encountered a peculiar creature. A sort of waddling, hunkered over bridge troll like creature with a thick sheen of sweat and unidentifiable crumbs that inspires the first impression “Sex offender”. Not that that is particularly unusual for Metrotown by itself. But this one was wearing a shirt that said, quote unquote, “I wanna get GEEKY with you.” And sort of wandering around after female shoppers. Much to the horror of all involved with ovaries.
The more disturbing part is I saw him not once, not twice, but three times. Once at EB, then again at HMV, and again at Futureshop. Meaning I must have similar shopping patterns and/or hobbies to this creature.
It seriously made me reconsider my hobbies and any sub-cultures I may be inadvertently scribing too by proxy... -.-
Why Don't You Believe Me!?
Me: “Good evening, <company> emergency line.”
SC: “Is Ben there?”
Me: “Ben?”
SC: “I want to talk to Ben.”
Me: “I think you may have the wrong number, sorry.”
Honest mistake.
10 seconds later…
Me: “Good evening, <company> emergency line.”
SC: “Is Ben there?”
Me: “There’s no one here by that name, no, sorry.”
SC: “I’m trying to find Ben. Do you know Ben?”
Me: “No I don’t, sorry. You have the wrong number.”
Ok, now I’m starting to catch the faint whiff of abject stupidity. It smells vaguely like damp kitty litter.
15 seconds later….
Me: “Good evening, <company> emergency line.”
SC: “Is Ben there?”
Me: “No, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “This is the number my friend gave me for Ben though!”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “Is this xxx-xxxx?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “But this is the number for Ben my friend gave me! I’m trying to find Ben.”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
Are you quite done futilely arguing with reality yet? This is becoming somewhat tiresome. There is no Ben here. I do not know Ben. I cannot help you find Ben. I’m beginning to think Ben intentionally gave your friend the wrong number in order to escape from you. I’m pondering doing the same thing. I think Ben had the right idea and I admire his plan. I shall have to emulate his greatness.
20 seconds later.
Me: “Good evening, <company> emergency line.”
SC: “Oh, I have the wrong number.”
Yes, I believe I told you that. Many times now. I’m hoping that by now you’ve started to feel the cold, damp unhappiness of reality slowly sink into your undies.
5 seconds later.
Me: “Good evening, <company> emergency line.”
SC: “Wrong number, sorry.
It’s not just a river in Egypt, is it?
Moo.
SC: “Oh, I was just calling to see what the staff schedule was.”
Me: “Sorry, I don’t have that information we're just the afterhours message desk.”
SC: “Well, don’t you think you should?”
Me: “We only have as much information as the office has provides us.”
SC: “Don’t you think you should get the schedule from them? I mean, that’s what everyone calls for.”
( Actually, 99.5% of the calls are just asking for the business hours. )
Me “Well, you can ask them about it when they get in if you wish. But unfortunately we don’t have the staff schedule.”
SC: “Well why don’t you ask them for it then!?”
Are you quite done being a cow yet? The other kids want to have a turn. Go be the horsie for a while.
Not Quite
Me: “Good evening, <company>.”
SC: “Is this a taxi?”
Me: “No.”
SC: “Yes.”
Me: “….”
If you’re quite done waving your hand and trying to use the Jedi mind trick on a payphone, I have other things to do.
Hot Tips For Ame....ok, what the Hell?
Me: “Good evening, <agency>.”
SC: “Parlez vous Francais?”
Me: “No I don’t, sorry.”
( Well, I do, a little, I am Canadian after all. But I'm not fluent and I'm certainly not going to attempt it. )
SC: “Parlez vous Francais?”
Me: “No, sorry.”
SC: “Parlez vous Francais?”
Me: : “I only speak English, sorry.”
SC: “Does anyone there speak French?”
Me: “No, not at this hour, sorry.”
SC: “Parlez vous Francais?”
Me: “No, sorry, I do not.”
SC: “Parlez vous Francais?”
Me: “I only speak English.”
( At this point some other knob otter grabs the phone. )
SC2: “Ha ha! You got thrown out of France you frog eating bastard!”
Me: “…..”
SC2: “…..”
That was not only the saddest attempt at a prank call I’ve had in a while but you didn’t even succeed in getting the set up right despite your rectum amigo's increasingly desperate attempts to make me speak French. Perhaps you should scale back to something more your level like “HA HA, YOU SMELL LIKE FART!” and hanging up.
I'll do that.
SC: “Yeah, Imma tryin’ ta usesh ma calling card.”
Me: “I’m sorry, but you have the wrong number.”
SC: “Huh? You can’t help me wif ma card?”
Me: “No, sorry.”
SC: “Well f**k offsh then!”
How about no? In fact, hey, how about you, being the one who called, go find, say, a pine tree, , saunter up to it, do a flirty little strip tease and and fuck it until you can spark kindling off your boybag?
...hah.
Me: “and what was he being charged with?”
Officer: “Impaired operation of a vessel.”
For those of you keeping notes this means they picked this guy up for drinking and boating at 4 in the morning. Boating. You have to be pretty damn liquored up for someone to notice you’re drunken sailing. It’s not like there’s much out there to hit. Especially at 4am. Plus he was picked up by the cops, not the coast guard. So this guy probably hit something stationary. Like, say, Stanley Park. They probably found him down on the beach with his pants down, straddling the mast and singing the theme from the Love Boat.
867
Me: “Good morning, <company>.”
SC: “Yeah, do you guys need a carpenter?”
Me: “….pardon?”
SC: “Do you need a carpenter?”
Me: “…a...carpenter?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “….this is <company>, are you sure you have the right number?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “I ordered some sunglasses a few weeks ago-”
…..Ok, what the hell just happened? No, seriously. I want to know. I need some explanation for that surreal little moment we just had there before you decided to start making sense. A carpenter? What the hell? Where did that come from? Were you hoping to trade your services for a pair sunglasses? I’m sorry but regardless of how bitchin’ of a birdhouse you think you can make, I doubt it’s worth a $600 pair of Oakley’s. But thank you for playing.
867
One pink camo trucker’s hat: $20
Tax $2.60
COD Shipping to the very ass end of the world: $40
Being blissfully unaware your mom is your sister: Priceless
Hot Tips For Am....ok just leave me alone.
Me: "Good evening, <agency>"
SC: "Wanna come sleep with me?"
Not if you were the absolute last moist hole still wandering this earth and I had gone blind, accidentally ingested a near fatal dose of Viagra and lost my pants 3 days ago.
Days off... -.-
Very, very little.
SC: “Yeah, I got the letter about the building undergoing roof repair and I’m calling to say that’s completely bogus!”
Me: “…..”
You’re going to have to give me a minute to formulate a way of politely explaining how very little I care at 12am without actually coming right out and telling you to carefully fold that letter into a elegant paper crane, unbuckle your pants, sensually slide them off then cram your origami masterpiece as far up your backside as your joint flexibility allows before you head down to the ER and try to explain to the doctor on duty that people always told you they thought you had something up your ass, but this time you think they might actually be right.
Yes I know that’s a horrific run on sentence, but as previously stated I care very little.
Hot Tips for Ameri...wait, what
Me: “Good evening, <agency>.”
SC: “Yeah, I just wanted to ask something.”
Me: “Sure?”
SC: “Am I in trouble with you guys?”
Me: “….not....that I’m aware of….why?”
SC: “Well I use to work for another agency with your government…so I was wondering if I was in trouble with you.”
Me: “Not that I know of, no.”
SC: “Ok, thanks. Bye.”
For all I know, you could be. But it’s not like I’m actually going to tell you. Why spoil the surprise? It’s more fun if you try to board a plane somewhere for an exciting tropical vacation with your family, show up on our watch list, then get politely pulled aside and lead to a room where a stern man with cold hands will explore parts of your body you didn’t even know you had. After which you’ll be whisked away to fabulous Undisclosed Location #14, given a stylish orange jumpsuit and enjoy the marvelous sights of the inside of a cloth hood. Meanwhile, your children will spent the next 4 years asking what happened to daddy until your wife turns to heavy drinking and starts selling off your belongings to pay the mortgage. Once we’ve assessed that you’re not a security threat, you’ll be given a stunning makeover, a shave and a pedicure as our way of saying farewell before we randomly drop you off at a bus stop 3 States over from where you actually live with nothing but the cloths on your back and a $10 Walmart gift card.
I'm a whore! <sob>
Me: “How did you hear about us?”
SC: “A few years ago you did me.”
…I…er….wait, what? I don’t remember at all. I mean I don’t even…er….you know....bat for that, um, team. I don’t drink either, so I’m not entirely sure how our torrid liaison would have taken place…..it certainly wouldn’t have been willing or while I was conscious. So unless you whisked me away in your lustful arms in the night and had me delivered back to my bed by daybreak none the wiser to your love I’m going to have to cast the dark shadow of doubt upon your claims.
Sure you are.
SC: “Yeah my friend was just taken by the cops and I need <lawyer> to get em out.”
Me: “Ok, i-“
SC: “They just like burst in here and suddenly attacked us man!”
Me: “Is he-“
SC: “It’s just not right man, so I want you to get him out.”
Me: “Is he a client of ours?”
SC: “No, I’M the client. S’ok, I’ll pay fer it, yew jush get him out.”
Me: “Would you be able to have him call us from the station?”
SC: “Wha? No, yew jus call em & get em out. I’ll pay fer it.”
Me: “Well-“
SC: “I have a retainer wif <lawyer>….I have a retainer with a lot of lawyers. Well….they all ran out…but I hash one wif <lawyer>! Or I use too….but I’m good fer it man! Jush send me the bill.”
Me: “Ok, h-“
SC: “I was in some trouble before and <lawyer> helped me out. So I’m jush trynna stay outta trouble ya knows?”
Me: “Right.”
SC: “Ya wanna hear a story? I can tell yash the story.”
Me: “That’s al-“
SC: “You got time fer a story?”
Me: “Not really, no-“
SC: “So it was like a few years ago an-“
Wait wait, if I’m going to be forced to sit here and listening to the drunken sermon of the great prophet of the lord Jack Daniels let me get comfortable. There’s certain things one needs to listen to a sermon you know. Perhaps some nice robes, a grassy knoll and a newborn lamb in my lap. Then I could gaze up at you in innocent wonderment while you beguile me with tales of how <lawyer got you off the hook after you blew 3 times over the legal limit then were caught furiously masturbating over the cop’s box of Timbits while they were doing the paperwork.
Shut up Shut Up Shut UP
Me: “Ok, do you have a pen there?”
SC: “Yes.”
Me: “Ok, your confirmation number for the hotel ro-“
SC:“We’ve been sitting on the tarmac for 8 hours.”
Me: “Alright, but your confir-“
SC: “We’re just dead tired-“
Me: “Ok, but the confi-“
SC: “We just want somewhere to sleep.”
Me: “Yes, But-“
STOP. WHINING. About the very problem I could fix if you would just shut UP for a 10 seconds at that. Be quiet, pull up your big girl panties and get a pen so we can both end this suffering.
Painful Questions
( This person is, of course, calling a line that quite obviously serves every airport in North America and has not even stated what airport they're at. )
SC: “What’s the name of the hotel across the street from the airport?”
Of course! Now, there are a few difficulties I must overcome to glean this information. Such as time, space and my complete lack of magical power. But worry not, as soon as manage to overcome the laws of physics themselves and somehow bring the realm of the magical and wondrous into our mundane reality thus granting me the use of at least level 1 wizard spells of which I could memorize 3 per day with my intelligence bonus rest assured the first thing I will do upon becoming a conduit to raw elemental power will scribe and memorize a simple Wizard’s Eye spell which I can cast once per day and use to remotely view your location for 1d6 turns + my level upon which I will be able to answer your inquiry.
<deep breath>
OR you could just walk to the airport entrance and LOOK across the street yourself you ravenous cockbiting little urinal gnome.
867
Over the course of our conversation you told me to “Uh, wait. Hold on.” exactly 14 times. Yes, that’s right. I counted. Why you ask? Because I had plenty of time too while I was waiting. What was I waiting for? I’m not entirely sure. If I had to wager a guess I’d say I was waiting for the last 2 brain cells in the guy’s head to drift randomly through the void inside his skull and finally find each other’s desperate embrace to generate a coherent answer to the question “What would you like to order?”.
867
Me: “and what would you like to order?”
SC: “I want this.”
Me: “….”
SC: “….”
You seem to be vastly overestimating the technological capabilities of the telephone. You actually have to tell me what the item is. You can’t just hold the receiver up to the catalog and hope that I can somehow dispatch tiny magic phone imps along the vast distance of telephone cable to peer through the little holes on the ear piece and relay back to me what wondrous item they see. You’re going to have to actually an effort and read. Out loud no less. I know I’m asking much of you and you’re frightened. Reading and talking at the same time is daunting. Why, your grandfather probably died of a stroke after he tried to walk and chew at the same time. Don’t worry, you won’t suffer the same fate. You may feel light headed for a bit, but that’s just normally dormant brain cells being roused into action and trying to wade their way through your 0.37 blood alcohol content.
....<sob>
During my wanderings at the mall last weekend I encountered a peculiar creature. A sort of waddling, hunkered over bridge troll like creature with a thick sheen of sweat and unidentifiable crumbs that inspires the first impression “Sex offender”. Not that that is particularly unusual for Metrotown by itself. But this one was wearing a shirt that said, quote unquote, “I wanna get GEEKY with you.” And sort of wandering around after female shoppers. Much to the horror of all involved with ovaries.
The more disturbing part is I saw him not once, not twice, but three times. Once at EB, then again at HMV, and again at Futureshop. Meaning I must have similar shopping patterns and/or hobbies to this creature.
It seriously made me reconsider my hobbies and any sub-cultures I may be inadvertently scribing too by proxy... -.-
Why Don't You Believe Me!?
Me: “Good evening, <company> emergency line.”
SC: “Is Ben there?”
Me: “Ben?”
SC: “I want to talk to Ben.”
Me: “I think you may have the wrong number, sorry.”
Honest mistake.
10 seconds later…
Me: “Good evening, <company> emergency line.”
SC: “Is Ben there?”
Me: “There’s no one here by that name, no, sorry.”
SC: “I’m trying to find Ben. Do you know Ben?”
Me: “No I don’t, sorry. You have the wrong number.”
Ok, now I’m starting to catch the faint whiff of abject stupidity. It smells vaguely like damp kitty litter.
15 seconds later….
Me: “Good evening, <company> emergency line.”
SC: “Is Ben there?”
Me: “No, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “This is the number my friend gave me for Ben though!”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “Is this xxx-xxxx?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “But this is the number for Ben my friend gave me! I’m trying to find Ben.”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
Are you quite done futilely arguing with reality yet? This is becoming somewhat tiresome. There is no Ben here. I do not know Ben. I cannot help you find Ben. I’m beginning to think Ben intentionally gave your friend the wrong number in order to escape from you. I’m pondering doing the same thing. I think Ben had the right idea and I admire his plan. I shall have to emulate his greatness.
20 seconds later.
Me: “Good evening, <company> emergency line.”
SC: “Oh, I have the wrong number.”
Yes, I believe I told you that. Many times now. I’m hoping that by now you’ve started to feel the cold, damp unhappiness of reality slowly sink into your undies.
5 seconds later.
Me: “Good evening, <company> emergency line.”
SC: “Wrong number, sorry.
It’s not just a river in Egypt, is it?
Moo.
SC: “Oh, I was just calling to see what the staff schedule was.”
Me: “Sorry, I don’t have that information we're just the afterhours message desk.”
SC: “Well, don’t you think you should?”
Me: “We only have as much information as the office has provides us.”
SC: “Don’t you think you should get the schedule from them? I mean, that’s what everyone calls for.”
( Actually, 99.5% of the calls are just asking for the business hours. )
Me “Well, you can ask them about it when they get in if you wish. But unfortunately we don’t have the staff schedule.”
SC: “Well why don’t you ask them for it then!?”
Are you quite done being a cow yet? The other kids want to have a turn. Go be the horsie for a while.
Not Quite
Me: “Good evening, <company>.”
SC: “Is this a taxi?”
Me: “No.”
SC: “Yes.”
Me: “….”
If you’re quite done waving your hand and trying to use the Jedi mind trick on a payphone, I have other things to do.
Hot Tips For Ame....ok, what the Hell?
Me: “Good evening, <agency>.”
SC: “Parlez vous Francais?”
Me: “No I don’t, sorry.”
( Well, I do, a little, I am Canadian after all. But I'm not fluent and I'm certainly not going to attempt it. )
SC: “Parlez vous Francais?”
Me: “No, sorry.”
SC: “Parlez vous Francais?”
Me: : “I only speak English, sorry.”
SC: “Does anyone there speak French?”
Me: “No, not at this hour, sorry.”
SC: “Parlez vous Francais?”
Me: “No, sorry, I do not.”
SC: “Parlez vous Francais?”
Me: “I only speak English.”
( At this point some other knob otter grabs the phone. )
SC2: “Ha ha! You got thrown out of France you frog eating bastard!”
Me: “…..”
SC2: “…..”
That was not only the saddest attempt at a prank call I’ve had in a while but you didn’t even succeed in getting the set up right despite your rectum amigo's increasingly desperate attempts to make me speak French. Perhaps you should scale back to something more your level like “HA HA, YOU SMELL LIKE FART!” and hanging up.
I'll do that.
SC: “Yeah, Imma tryin’ ta usesh ma calling card.”
Me: “I’m sorry, but you have the wrong number.”
SC: “Huh? You can’t help me wif ma card?”
Me: “No, sorry.”
SC: “Well f**k offsh then!”
How about no? In fact, hey, how about you, being the one who called, go find, say, a pine tree, , saunter up to it, do a flirty little strip tease and and fuck it until you can spark kindling off your boybag?
...hah.
Me: “and what was he being charged with?”
Officer: “Impaired operation of a vessel.”
For those of you keeping notes this means they picked this guy up for drinking and boating at 4 in the morning. Boating. You have to be pretty damn liquored up for someone to notice you’re drunken sailing. It’s not like there’s much out there to hit. Especially at 4am. Plus he was picked up by the cops, not the coast guard. So this guy probably hit something stationary. Like, say, Stanley Park. They probably found him down on the beach with his pants down, straddling the mast and singing the theme from the Love Boat.
867
Me: “Good morning, <company>.”
SC: “Yeah, do you guys need a carpenter?”
Me: “….pardon?”
SC: “Do you need a carpenter?”
Me: “…a...carpenter?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “….this is <company>, are you sure you have the right number?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “I ordered some sunglasses a few weeks ago-”
…..Ok, what the hell just happened? No, seriously. I want to know. I need some explanation for that surreal little moment we just had there before you decided to start making sense. A carpenter? What the hell? Where did that come from? Were you hoping to trade your services for a pair sunglasses? I’m sorry but regardless of how bitchin’ of a birdhouse you think you can make, I doubt it’s worth a $600 pair of Oakley’s. But thank you for playing.
867
One pink camo trucker’s hat: $20
Tax $2.60
COD Shipping to the very ass end of the world: $40
Being blissfully unaware your mom is your sister: Priceless
Hot Tips For Am....ok just leave me alone.
Me: "Good evening, <agency>"
SC: "Wanna come sleep with me?"
Not if you were the absolute last moist hole still wandering this earth and I had gone blind, accidentally ingested a near fatal dose of Viagra and lost my pants 3 days ago.
Days off... -.-
(I got to write a whole paper in 
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