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A Hat for Mr Winky
Ugh, there was deadline ( LAST MINUTE SALE~! ) on a client's order line this week. It was exquisitely suckfuckcularasticles. These people had 3 MONTHS to place their orders. 3 MONTHS. Now they're all calling with 15 minutes left before it ends.
Eat Me.
( and so the deadline begins.... )
Me: “That should arrive in about a week.”
SC: “Great, thanks! I hope you get to go home soon! ”
….hah! Hahahahah, ahhh….yes. Soon. If by soon you mean 8 hours and 17 minutes from now. Thank you for reminding me. Oh! Hey, I still have a tiny bit of happiness left in the very pit of my soul. It’s feeble, but present. Perhaps if you like, you could press ever onward and ensure its complete eradication. Perhaps you’d like to talk about how there’s 45 calls in queue and the next hour and a half shall be a desperate, pitched battle against a rising tide of last minute stupidity. Or how they never stock more than two bags of those delicious little chocolate cookies in the vending machine, if they restock them at all.
Yes, those are my two primary concerns this evening. My world is a simple one and many of its concerns can be alleviated by novelty sized baked goods.
You Can Eat Me Too.
Me: “Ok, and the card number please?”
SC: “xxxx-xxxx-xxxx-xxxx”
( Doesn't go through as valid )
Me: “Hmmm, I think I might have one number off”
SC: “Oh, you should have, yes.”
…..what? That implies you provided incorrect information on purpose. Which implies you are either an idiot, or jackass. Or perhaps some sort of genetic crossbreed between the two. A jackassiot if you will. While I can’t truly verify the existence of such a creature I can give several firsthand accounts of what I believe were encounters with these trouble beasts. Perhaps one day, with my guidance and eye witness accounts, these elusive creatures can be tracked down and officially cataloged by science once and for all. Then we can move onto the next, more vital phase: Population control.
Seriously, Toss My Salad.
SC: “Busy night, huh?”
You were on hold for 10 minutes and that’s the best you came up? I mean I’m not expecting Shakespeare or anything here, but at the very least you could have come up with something more original then stating the blatantly obviously like half of everyone else that’s called so far. You need to think outside the box, get a little creative, use the power of imagination. Failing that, please just shut up your nacho chute and tell me how many tickets you want you flailing anal clown fish.
I'll Even Get the Syrup For You
Me: “do you have your customer ID number?”
SC: “Oh yes, but I threw it out.”
….then go outside, pull the screaming raccoon off the top of the can, roll your sleeves up and prepare to mine the dark, myriad depths of human refuse until you find it. Ignore the smell, the slow erosion of your dignity and any possible rabies you might have come into contact with while battling the furry gatekeeper. You will dig through the layers of your own filth until you find it, then you will bring it to me. Then, and only then, will I concede to granting you the precious <product> you seek.
867
First Wheat & Chocolate, now we have a pair of shoes that come in the colour “BBQ”. I eagerly await the “Steak & Grill” cross trainers.
Yes, I can't escape unless I use a diversion.
On my way out the door this morning, I went to grant my furry underling her nightly treats. As this is the only way I can escape out the door without her making a bid for freedom. But as I was walking towards her dish, I stumbled….and dumped the whole bag on her. For one brief moment she looked up at me with this look on her face like “OH FUCK YES, HOW I HAVE DREAMED OF THIS DAY.”. I didn’t have the time nor the heart to try to clean them all up. So I’m sure she’s at home, engorged now.
Um....no.
SC: “I wanna speak to Matt~”
Me: “Alright, was it an emergency?”
SC: “Uh…yeah! Tell him, um..tell him it’s a psychological emergency.”
Me: “…..”
SC: “No, wait, a spiritual. Tell him it’s a spiritual emergency.”
Me: “Ok, I can take a mes-“
SC: “Economic. Tell him it’s an economic emergency. That’s the big thing now right? I’m watching the BBC now and they’re having tea an’ talkin’ bout how the banks are collapsing.”
Me: “….alright, I’ll take a message and ask him to call you back, ok?”
SC: “Oh, thank you! You’re a very nice….uh…concierge. Yeah.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “I want you to be my concierge.”
Well, that went from amusing to bizarre to kind of creepy. I’m not exactly a concierge and I have no desire to be your concierge as you put it. I’m also not exactly sure what your emergency really is but I’m beginning to suspect said emergency is in your pants and I want nothing to do with it.
A New Entry
Thanks to years working in downtown Vancouver I’ve been forced to keep an ever expanding list of times when you should not ask me for spare change. I was pretty sure that I had hit every possible occurrence I could add to the list. Seeing as I haven’t had to add anything to it about 5 or 6 months ever since “Don’t ask me for change while listening to an iPod”. But it seems I was wrong as tonight I had to add a new entry:
Don’t ask me for change while you’re selling pot to the guy to your right. The fact you actually told him to hang on a sec so you could ask me made it all the worse.
867
Me: “Ok, what would like to order?”
SC: “This one here.”
I am not physically present. I cannot see the catalog. Your belief that I can see the catalog speaks volumes about the level of intellect I’m dealing with and I shall resolve to use as few syllables as possible throughout the rest of this call as not to frighten you. If you are particularly good, perhaps I shall present you with a lollipop afterwards.
Me: “What’s the ID number?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
Alright, that’s a hat. A much coveted item in the frozen north lands. A wise choice. You will surely be the envy of the village.
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “This one here.”
As I said, I cannot see the catalog. I hope you’re not actually holding the phone up to the catalog in an attempt to show me.
Me: “What’s the ID number?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
Ok, that too is a hat. Two hats. I guess you need at least two so that you can build more than one outfit around them. Have to make sure your wardrobe has a wide selection of options with which to drink beer and play bingo in.
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “This one here.”
…seriously. See. Can’t. Stop doing that. The colour pictures may have enraptured your simple imagination, and I understand you want to share this happiness with others, but seriously, dude, I can’t see through the telephone.
Me: “What’s the ID number?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
Right, ok, that too is a hat. That’s three hats now. The other villagers are going to think you’re gloating.
Me: “Ok, would you like anything else?”
SC: “Uh, this one here.”
….ok look, I have my own catalog. I too can see the pretty pictures. Trust me, I’m not missing anything. It’s ok. I too can partake of this magnificence, you don’t have to keep trying to show me. I have basked in the glory of <company> catalogs for many years. While you, my friend, are a mere neophyte. Why, it’s almost presumptuous for you to be trying to show me, the very Messiash, of all people.
Me: “What’s the ID number?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
…right, that too is a hat. That’s four hats now. Are you stocking up for the winter? You know you can’t eat these, right? I know they come in Wheat, Chocolate and BBQ, but seriously those are just stupid ways of describing brown, brown and orange. It’s not the actual flavour of the garment should you for some reason decide to begin chewing upon it.
Me: “Ok, would you like anything else?”
SC: “This one here.”
You are so not getting a lollipop.
Me: “What’s the ID number?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
That too….is a hat. Congratulations, you now have a hat for every limb and one more to hang on Mr Winky. I’d point out you just spent over $350 on HATS, but I’m pretty sure it would fail to trigger any alarm bells in your head.
867
Halfway through a call this evening I actually thought “Well, she’s certainly not the sharpest tool in the shed, but she sounds like a nice person”. Then I got mad at myself for having any shred of humanity left and vowed to mentally mock her for the rest of the call.
I am truly a terrible human being.
867
Me: “Ok, and what’s the ID number?”
SC: “One sec. I’ll look for it.”
Me: “…..”
SC: “…..”
Psst. Look under the picture. I get off work in 3 hours and so I don’t have the time to wait for you to work yourself through some sort of bizarre arctic trailer park version of Blue's Clues before you find it.
My Chariot
As I rode my chariot of public transit this evening, the Skytrain I believe you commoners called it, I overheard the pack of fools in the middle of the train start making utterance to the effect of “Oh man, dude, that stinks!”. I assumed, judging by their appearance and apparent level of intellect that one or more of them had dispensed chemical agents from his backside. Perhaps into the face of one or more of the others who had inhaled deeply. But my naivety was my downfall. For no sooner had I resumed ignoring them that something began creeping into my nostrils. Something foul. The kind of aroma that immediately clears out your sinuses and burns your throat.
I struggled for some way to describe the scent, so that I may convey it to you, my coworkers, because I feel I must share any measure of horror I experience on my way to work. Let’s say you had a truck, and for some reason you had filled the back of this truck with a certain deceased mustelidae. Or skunk if you will. Yes, I learned a new word today. So say you had this truck full of said carcasses. I don’t know why, perhaps McDonald’s pays out bonuses for bulk product. So you took this truck and drove it to an undisclosed location where, say, a tire fire was raging out of control. Then you backed this truck up and began to shovel these carcasses upon the tire fire. Let them begin to roast for a few minutes then step right up and take a deep, deep breath.
That, that’s the smell. Right there.
I have no idea how or what could have produced such an aroma as I saw no skunk nor tire fire. I assume it originated with this group of baboons. Somehow. They quickly fled the Skytrain at Broadway, of course, and the aroma left with them. Which means that whatever this horrific stench was it was physically attached to one of these sub-humans.
Benefit of The Doubt
SC: “Hi, its Bob from <company>.”
Me: “Yes, you just called to open a service call right? What can I do for you?”
SC: “Someone was suppose to call me back.”
Why yes, yes someone was. Of course you originally called at 11:03pm and it is now 11:08pm. Now, I’m a reasonable man and I did want to give you the benefit of the doubt. So I walked over to the window and looked outside. However, I did not see any rain of fire, earth quakes, red moon or War, Pestilence, Famine and Death kicking the hobo urinating on the back bumper of the red Sedan in the parking lot from horseback. So I can only assume this is not, in fact, the end of the world and you are merely an impatient little cock giblet.
You Do That.
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: “Hey Jeff!”
Me: “This isn’t J-“
SC: “Jeff, dude. Jeff.”
Me: “This is <company>-“
SC: “Hey Jeff, man. Jeff!”
Me: “I’m not Jeff.”
SC: “Well then tell Jeff I’m outside!”
Me: “I have no contact for any J-“
SC: “Tell em I’m outside an’ lemme in!”
Me: “I cannot contact him-“
SC: “You’re his office aren't you?!”
Me: “We'r-"
SC: “Then just tell him I’m outside!”
Me: “I-“
SC: “Doesn’t matter when he gets the message, I’ll still be here! <click>”
I hope you’ve packed canned goods, bottled water and something to piss in then. Because you’re going to be there till Satan himself rouses from his slumber, rolls himself out of his towering lair woven from the very souls of eternally burning damned, shivers and asks his wife if she turned the thermostat down.
A Slight Flaw
Me: “Alright, I’ll sign you up for the subscription then, and you should receive the first issue in a few days.”
SC: “Great, thanks. HAH! <click>”
…you sound as if you just completed a major step to some nefarious master plan. If that truly is the case you might want to revise some of your steps to world domination. If your evil plot involves signing up for <magazine> of all things I somehow have my doubts about its long term success and suspect it may have started when you responded to the inquiry “Gee, Brain, what are we going to do tonight?”.
867
Me: “Ok, by credit card or COD?”
SC: “Credit card”
And with that, I once again found myself at the window, peering into the parking lot beside our building for any sign of the Four Horsemen. But again, all I beheld was the erratic urination ritual of a hobo. The universe is sending me mixed signals.
867
$19 hat. $40 shipping. 2 weeks shipping time. You just paid twice as much for the shipping as you did the actual hat. Is there seriously no where you can buy a hat up there? Someone must have SOMETHING you can wear on your head there. Maybe an old traffic cone, beer box or a fan belt. Something. Anything. The need can’t be so dire as to order a cheap, ugly $20 and then cough up $40 shipping to get that hat. I’ve seen the hat. It’s not that special. Even if it does come in pink camo. Pink camo is not a good thing no matter the other villagers might tell you. It’s a horrible, eye searing sin against God.
Hey, actually, tell you what. Lemme dig up the number of the guy that ordered 5 the other night. I’m sure if you ask Mr Winky really nicely he’ll lend you his. You might to wash it before you try it on though. Vigorously.
annnnd I rest.
Eat Me.
( and so the deadline begins.... )
Me: “That should arrive in about a week.”
SC: “Great, thanks! I hope you get to go home soon! ”
….hah! Hahahahah, ahhh….yes. Soon. If by soon you mean 8 hours and 17 minutes from now. Thank you for reminding me. Oh! Hey, I still have a tiny bit of happiness left in the very pit of my soul. It’s feeble, but present. Perhaps if you like, you could press ever onward and ensure its complete eradication. Perhaps you’d like to talk about how there’s 45 calls in queue and the next hour and a half shall be a desperate, pitched battle against a rising tide of last minute stupidity. Or how they never stock more than two bags of those delicious little chocolate cookies in the vending machine, if they restock them at all.
Yes, those are my two primary concerns this evening. My world is a simple one and many of its concerns can be alleviated by novelty sized baked goods.
You Can Eat Me Too.
Me: “Ok, and the card number please?”
SC: “xxxx-xxxx-xxxx-xxxx”
( Doesn't go through as valid )
Me: “Hmmm, I think I might have one number off”
SC: “Oh, you should have, yes.”
…..what? That implies you provided incorrect information on purpose. Which implies you are either an idiot, or jackass. Or perhaps some sort of genetic crossbreed between the two. A jackassiot if you will. While I can’t truly verify the existence of such a creature I can give several firsthand accounts of what I believe were encounters with these trouble beasts. Perhaps one day, with my guidance and eye witness accounts, these elusive creatures can be tracked down and officially cataloged by science once and for all. Then we can move onto the next, more vital phase: Population control.
Seriously, Toss My Salad.
SC: “Busy night, huh?”
You were on hold for 10 minutes and that’s the best you came up? I mean I’m not expecting Shakespeare or anything here, but at the very least you could have come up with something more original then stating the blatantly obviously like half of everyone else that’s called so far. You need to think outside the box, get a little creative, use the power of imagination. Failing that, please just shut up your nacho chute and tell me how many tickets you want you flailing anal clown fish.
I'll Even Get the Syrup For You
Me: “do you have your customer ID number?”
SC: “Oh yes, but I threw it out.”
….then go outside, pull the screaming raccoon off the top of the can, roll your sleeves up and prepare to mine the dark, myriad depths of human refuse until you find it. Ignore the smell, the slow erosion of your dignity and any possible rabies you might have come into contact with while battling the furry gatekeeper. You will dig through the layers of your own filth until you find it, then you will bring it to me. Then, and only then, will I concede to granting you the precious <product> you seek.
867
First Wheat & Chocolate, now we have a pair of shoes that come in the colour “BBQ”. I eagerly await the “Steak & Grill” cross trainers.
Yes, I can't escape unless I use a diversion.
On my way out the door this morning, I went to grant my furry underling her nightly treats. As this is the only way I can escape out the door without her making a bid for freedom. But as I was walking towards her dish, I stumbled….and dumped the whole bag on her. For one brief moment she looked up at me with this look on her face like “OH FUCK YES, HOW I HAVE DREAMED OF THIS DAY.”. I didn’t have the time nor the heart to try to clean them all up. So I’m sure she’s at home, engorged now.
Um....no.
SC: “I wanna speak to Matt~”
Me: “Alright, was it an emergency?”
SC: “Uh…yeah! Tell him, um..tell him it’s a psychological emergency.”
Me: “…..”
SC: “No, wait, a spiritual. Tell him it’s a spiritual emergency.”
Me: “Ok, I can take a mes-“
SC: “Economic. Tell him it’s an economic emergency. That’s the big thing now right? I’m watching the BBC now and they’re having tea an’ talkin’ bout how the banks are collapsing.”
Me: “….alright, I’ll take a message and ask him to call you back, ok?”
SC: “Oh, thank you! You’re a very nice….uh…concierge. Yeah.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “I want you to be my concierge.”
Well, that went from amusing to bizarre to kind of creepy. I’m not exactly a concierge and I have no desire to be your concierge as you put it. I’m also not exactly sure what your emergency really is but I’m beginning to suspect said emergency is in your pants and I want nothing to do with it.
A New Entry
Thanks to years working in downtown Vancouver I’ve been forced to keep an ever expanding list of times when you should not ask me for spare change. I was pretty sure that I had hit every possible occurrence I could add to the list. Seeing as I haven’t had to add anything to it about 5 or 6 months ever since “Don’t ask me for change while listening to an iPod”. But it seems I was wrong as tonight I had to add a new entry:
Don’t ask me for change while you’re selling pot to the guy to your right. The fact you actually told him to hang on a sec so you could ask me made it all the worse.
867
Me: “Ok, what would like to order?”
SC: “This one here.”
I am not physically present. I cannot see the catalog. Your belief that I can see the catalog speaks volumes about the level of intellect I’m dealing with and I shall resolve to use as few syllables as possible throughout the rest of this call as not to frighten you. If you are particularly good, perhaps I shall present you with a lollipop afterwards.
Me: “What’s the ID number?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
Alright, that’s a hat. A much coveted item in the frozen north lands. A wise choice. You will surely be the envy of the village.
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “This one here.”
As I said, I cannot see the catalog. I hope you’re not actually holding the phone up to the catalog in an attempt to show me.
Me: “What’s the ID number?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
Ok, that too is a hat. Two hats. I guess you need at least two so that you can build more than one outfit around them. Have to make sure your wardrobe has a wide selection of options with which to drink beer and play bingo in.
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “This one here.”
…seriously. See. Can’t. Stop doing that. The colour pictures may have enraptured your simple imagination, and I understand you want to share this happiness with others, but seriously, dude, I can’t see through the telephone.
Me: “What’s the ID number?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
Right, ok, that too is a hat. That’s three hats now. The other villagers are going to think you’re gloating.
Me: “Ok, would you like anything else?”
SC: “Uh, this one here.”
….ok look, I have my own catalog. I too can see the pretty pictures. Trust me, I’m not missing anything. It’s ok. I too can partake of this magnificence, you don’t have to keep trying to show me. I have basked in the glory of <company> catalogs for many years. While you, my friend, are a mere neophyte. Why, it’s almost presumptuous for you to be trying to show me, the very Messiash, of all people.
Me: “What’s the ID number?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
…right, that too is a hat. That’s four hats now. Are you stocking up for the winter? You know you can’t eat these, right? I know they come in Wheat, Chocolate and BBQ, but seriously those are just stupid ways of describing brown, brown and orange. It’s not the actual flavour of the garment should you for some reason decide to begin chewing upon it.
Me: “Ok, would you like anything else?”
SC: “This one here.”
You are so not getting a lollipop.
Me: “What’s the ID number?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
That too….is a hat. Congratulations, you now have a hat for every limb and one more to hang on Mr Winky. I’d point out you just spent over $350 on HATS, but I’m pretty sure it would fail to trigger any alarm bells in your head.
867
Halfway through a call this evening I actually thought “Well, she’s certainly not the sharpest tool in the shed, but she sounds like a nice person”. Then I got mad at myself for having any shred of humanity left and vowed to mentally mock her for the rest of the call.
I am truly a terrible human being.
867
Me: “Ok, and what’s the ID number?”
SC: “One sec. I’ll look for it.”
Me: “…..”
SC: “…..”
Psst. Look under the picture. I get off work in 3 hours and so I don’t have the time to wait for you to work yourself through some sort of bizarre arctic trailer park version of Blue's Clues before you find it.
My Chariot
As I rode my chariot of public transit this evening, the Skytrain I believe you commoners called it, I overheard the pack of fools in the middle of the train start making utterance to the effect of “Oh man, dude, that stinks!”. I assumed, judging by their appearance and apparent level of intellect that one or more of them had dispensed chemical agents from his backside. Perhaps into the face of one or more of the others who had inhaled deeply. But my naivety was my downfall. For no sooner had I resumed ignoring them that something began creeping into my nostrils. Something foul. The kind of aroma that immediately clears out your sinuses and burns your throat.
I struggled for some way to describe the scent, so that I may convey it to you, my coworkers, because I feel I must share any measure of horror I experience on my way to work. Let’s say you had a truck, and for some reason you had filled the back of this truck with a certain deceased mustelidae. Or skunk if you will. Yes, I learned a new word today. So say you had this truck full of said carcasses. I don’t know why, perhaps McDonald’s pays out bonuses for bulk product. So you took this truck and drove it to an undisclosed location where, say, a tire fire was raging out of control. Then you backed this truck up and began to shovel these carcasses upon the tire fire. Let them begin to roast for a few minutes then step right up and take a deep, deep breath.
That, that’s the smell. Right there.
I have no idea how or what could have produced such an aroma as I saw no skunk nor tire fire. I assume it originated with this group of baboons. Somehow. They quickly fled the Skytrain at Broadway, of course, and the aroma left with them. Which means that whatever this horrific stench was it was physically attached to one of these sub-humans.
Benefit of The Doubt
SC: “Hi, its Bob from <company>.”
Me: “Yes, you just called to open a service call right? What can I do for you?”
SC: “Someone was suppose to call me back.”
Why yes, yes someone was. Of course you originally called at 11:03pm and it is now 11:08pm. Now, I’m a reasonable man and I did want to give you the benefit of the doubt. So I walked over to the window and looked outside. However, I did not see any rain of fire, earth quakes, red moon or War, Pestilence, Famine and Death kicking the hobo urinating on the back bumper of the red Sedan in the parking lot from horseback. So I can only assume this is not, in fact, the end of the world and you are merely an impatient little cock giblet.
You Do That.
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: “Hey Jeff!”
Me: “This isn’t J-“
SC: “Jeff, dude. Jeff.”
Me: “This is <company>-“
SC: “Hey Jeff, man. Jeff!”
Me: “I’m not Jeff.”
SC: “Well then tell Jeff I’m outside!”
Me: “I have no contact for any J-“
SC: “Tell em I’m outside an’ lemme in!”
Me: “I cannot contact him-“
SC: “You’re his office aren't you?!”
Me: “We'r-"
SC: “Then just tell him I’m outside!”
Me: “I-“
SC: “Doesn’t matter when he gets the message, I’ll still be here! <click>”
I hope you’ve packed canned goods, bottled water and something to piss in then. Because you’re going to be there till Satan himself rouses from his slumber, rolls himself out of his towering lair woven from the very souls of eternally burning damned, shivers and asks his wife if she turned the thermostat down.
A Slight Flaw
Me: “Alright, I’ll sign you up for the subscription then, and you should receive the first issue in a few days.”
SC: “Great, thanks. HAH! <click>”
…you sound as if you just completed a major step to some nefarious master plan. If that truly is the case you might want to revise some of your steps to world domination. If your evil plot involves signing up for <magazine> of all things I somehow have my doubts about its long term success and suspect it may have started when you responded to the inquiry “Gee, Brain, what are we going to do tonight?”.
867
Me: “Ok, by credit card or COD?”
SC: “Credit card”
And with that, I once again found myself at the window, peering into the parking lot beside our building for any sign of the Four Horsemen. But again, all I beheld was the erratic urination ritual of a hobo. The universe is sending me mixed signals.
867
$19 hat. $40 shipping. 2 weeks shipping time. You just paid twice as much for the shipping as you did the actual hat. Is there seriously no where you can buy a hat up there? Someone must have SOMETHING you can wear on your head there. Maybe an old traffic cone, beer box or a fan belt. Something. Anything. The need can’t be so dire as to order a cheap, ugly $20 and then cough up $40 shipping to get that hat. I’ve seen the hat. It’s not that special. Even if it does come in pink camo. Pink camo is not a good thing no matter the other villagers might tell you. It’s a horrible, eye searing sin against God.
Hey, actually, tell you what. Lemme dig up the number of the guy that ordered 5 the other night. I’m sure if you ask Mr Winky really nicely he’ll lend you his. You might to wash it before you try it on though. Vigorously.
annnnd I rest.
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