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My God I hit a stupid one last night....ugh ><
867
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
Ah, of course. Head gear.
Me: “Ok, what colour?”
SC: “Pink camo.”
Ah, of course. Chromatic sin against God.
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “Can I get it uh, you know, embroidered?”
Ah, of cou-….wait what? It’s not bad enough that it’s a pink camo trucker’s cap, you actually want to have it embroidered with something? What exactly? “If you’re close enough to read this you’re starting to go blind.”?
867
SC: “I need to cancel an order I placed yesterday.”
Me: “Alright, well-“
SC: “Something’s come up and I can’t afford it, sorry. I feel so bad about it.”
Me: “Alright, well you’ll have to speak with customer service.”
SC: “I have to pay for other things. I feel like sh*t about it.”
Are you……fishing for sympathy? From me of all people? Hah. You know, you’re fishing in an empty pool. At an old YMCA building that was abandoned in 1978 and is now home to little more than squatters and errant hobos with their hooch, cans o’ beans and maybe a faithful hobo dog. If you’re lucky you might catch a beer can. Or rabies. But sympathy? I think not. My outward demeanor may be pleasant, but inside I feed on your misfortune and anguish. It gives me happiness. Each of your tears makes my black, shriveled, coal like heart piddle patter once with the faintest glimmer of warmth. Which I bask in for a moment whilst a slow, malicious grin comes across my face.
Than it fades...and the shadows come back.
Dr GK
Me: “Alright, I’ll get a hold of the doctor for you.”
SC: “Thank you, doctor.”
I’m not a doctor. The very thought of me being a doctor should be utterly terrifying to you. Because I’m pretty sure I would become as desensitized in the medical profession as I am in the customer service industry. To the point where I would be mutter smart ass comments under my breath during operations: “Ugh, brain hemorrhaging? Worthless jackass, wear a HELMET next time. Hell, why even bother? Not like he used it to begin with.”.
But, I would remember my CSR training and thank the next of kin for coming and make sure I used please and thank you as I helpfully explain how to pick up the body.
Voodoo Magic
SC: “The woman in 105 keep’s lighting incense and it keeps setting off the fire alarm. This is the 6th time the fire dept has been down here for it.”
Me: “Oh, ok-“
SC: “I’m allergic too it too. I live right next to her and it comes in under my door. She’s always setting them off in her little rituals. The fire dept has better things to do then to come down here at her pleasure with her smells.”
Me: “….”
SC: “She has two cats and this incense. There’s something off about here. She has two cats. She’s from Ethiopia so she’s not right in the head.”
….ok I was following you right up to that point. But, I am a CSR and I am here to serve. So I will dutifully pass your concerns on to the office: “Tenant in 106 reports that tenant in 105 is an Ethiopia cat herder whose voodoo rituals are setting off fire alarm. Tenant in 106 is allergic to voodoo and would like the issue addressed.”. That sound about right?
...ok?
SC: “The <building next door>'s lights are too bright! They shine into our building and we can’t sleep!”
Me: “Alright.....?”
SC: “They’re wasting power! Especially in this time of economic crisis!”
You know I have a vivid, active, even protege like imagination and even I can't come up with the faintest idea of what the flying pudding cup fuck down a ski hill it is you want me to do about that.
Spell. It.
Me: “Ok, and your name please?”
SC: “Farazel.”
Me: “Alright, how do you spell that?”
SC: "Farazel."
Me: “….....yes, but how do you spell it?”
Unless they added a whimsically named 27th letter to the alphabet recently you’re going to have to give it up and demonstrate basic literacy to my satisfaction.
Hot Tips fo....Ok, Red Card.
Me: “Good evening, <client>”
SC: “Yeah, uh, my keyboard is black and…<mumbling> there’s black on the wall….uh..climbing the wall...an Obama...<mumble> My keyboard fell over.”
Me: “Alright…and this is important to the US how?”
SC: “I’m drunk.”
Me: “Yes, that’s quite obvious.”
SC: “There’s a black on the wall. Obama? <mumbling>….wall….blacks. Blacks like the sports. You know? The n*ggers?”
Me: “Right. Ok, goodbye.”
Alright, you’ve dropped the N word. So now I have to officially disqualify you. Unfortunately, all I can do is hang up and make a small offering of M&M’s to Set in the hopes his dark magic’s can steer you into accidentally and awkwardly stepping into the path of an oncoming Skytrain. Not all the way mind you. I’m not so terrible as to wish death upon you. Just far enough to get a limb caught in the wheels and have you dragged the length of the platform till someone hits the emergency stop.
I’d like to disqualify you from the gene pool. But unfortunately no one takes me seriously when I suggest government imposed neutering and if I try to accomplish it at a community level with a pair of hedge trimmers suddenly I’m the bad guy for some reason.
A Message
SC: “Message for Rob.”
Me: “Ok, and your name?”
SC: “Dan.”
Me: “and the message please?”
SC: “He knows.”
…he does, does he? You’re not like….outside of his house, peering through a window watching him undress or something are you? I mean I am a customer service representative and all. It’s my job to help. But I have to draw the line at helping you dig through some guy’s trash for underwear and tooth brushes to add to your tool shed Rob Shrine.
Luck of the Irish
Me: “Ok, and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “Oh, I’ll just get a 4 pack.”
Me: “Ok.”
SC: “You know I did this last year and the tickets were all sequential in the pack.”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “Do they have to be like that? Can’t you just mix them up?”
Ah, right. Here we go again. Random = Good. Sequential = Font of all misfortune. Let me let you in on a little secret: The draw itself is random. There is an equal chance for any of your ticket numbers to been drawn regardless of whether or not they are random or sequential. You are not gaining any sort of statistical advantage. You are merely appeasing your own false belief in some sort of mythical concept of luck or fortune. This is no more effective at increasing your chance of winning the grand prize than carrying a horseshoe, avoiding black felines, coping a feel from Buddha or going down on a Leprechaun. Well, maybe the latter would work if you could locate a Leprechaun. A real Leprechaun. Not the one down by London Drugs with the empty Mcdonald’s cup for spare change that unzipped his pants and offered to let you go after his lucky charms.
Decide First, THAN Call
Me: “and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “Well…….considering the prices….hmm..”
You were suppose to take time to consider and come to a conclusion before you called and gave me your credit card. It’s a much more effective method. I doubt you’ve ever walked into a store at the mall, went right to the counter, slapped down a $100 bill and told the clerk “Here’s 100 bucks. I don’t know what I want yet but let me pay for it first.”.
Or have you?
Random Encounter
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
Drunken Caller appears!
SC: “Yeah, can I get a cab?”
Drunken Caller attacks you with her Flawed Listening Skills!
You block the attack!
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
You hit Drunken Caller with your Blatantly Obvious for 64 damage! Drunken Caller was defeated!
You gained 43 experience!
SC: "…….”
Me: “….hello?”
Your target is already dead.
SC: “……”
Me: “Hellllo?”
Your target is already dead.
You search the corpse…..
You received Wallet!
You received Half Eaten Bag of Doritos!
You received Coupon for Chuck E Cheese!
You received 75 silver and 3 copper!
You use skinning knife….
You received 6 scraps of tattered leather!
Stop It
Ok, if you called and got the pager the first time….and the second time….and the third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh time maybe it’s time to just accept it and move on with your life. I mean I know you’re sad, and it hurts. But you’re just hurting yourself more by dragging this out. It’s better to make a clean break and never, ever, ever call again. Ever. In fact, have your phone line disconnected and drop your cell phone down a storm drain. They’re both too good for you. It’s time to move on and let the healing begin.
I hear the post office is single. Maybe you should hook up with them. Letters are slow moving, quiet and flammable. All qualities I myself look for in a relationship.
Suuure you don't
Ok, so you were pulled over and the police have their shotguns out and the dogs with them. Yet you have no idea why this is. You sure? Cops don’t typically pull shotguns and hounds on you for a speeding ticket. No idea? They’re using the dogs to search your car. Doesn’t clue you in to anything? No? Wouldn’t have anything to do with stashes of illegal narcotics anywhere in the vehicle? No? Of course not. They’re not yours after all. Some cunning hobo must have jimmied open the trunk and hide his $2000 pot stash to use you as an unwilling mule to ferry them to the drop point for the hobo mafia to retrieve. Completely unbeknownst to you. Heck, it’s not even your car. You just found it somewhere. Perfectly legit. It was just sitting on the curb in Surrey with the door open and “FREE CAR” scrawled on the fender in white out.
Amuse Me
Me: “Good evening, <company>.”
SC: “Yes. Someone has my phone number.”
Ah geez, you again.
SC: “and they’re doing this prank thing. They’re using my phone number to wreck my ID and my finances!”
Right-o. Why don’t any of you loons have entertaining delusions? I mean if you called up and said “OPTIMUS PRIME IS BREAKDANCING IN MY KITCHEN” I’d be like “Sweet!~”. But noooo, its always something about narco terrorists or deploying the Hell’s Angels in Iraq to suppress the insurgents or something. I never get calls that just degrade into “Go Prime! It’s your birthday! Go Prime!”. At least I’d get a laugh out of it and I could play along.
86.....404?!
( American callers are exceedingly rare on this line since this is a Canadian company and they don't advertise in the US. )
Me: “Good evening, <company>.”
SC: “I’ve been looking fer a hoodie FOREVER.”
Me: “Alright?”
SC: “I finally found it on your website. But you guys are in Canada, right?”
Me: “Yes we are.”
SC: “Do you have any stores in the US?”
Me: “No we don’t, sorry.”
( This is mainly an online retailer. There's one local store in BC, and that's it. )
SC: “So I can only order it from you?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “Do you guys sell your cloths to any stores?”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “Is there anywhere else I can get em? Do you sell your stuff any other stores?”
Me: “We’re not a manufacturer, we’re a retailer.”
SC: “I’ve been looking for it forever and you guys are the only ones that have it! Can I get your hoodie at any other store?”
Me: “We don’t make the hoodie. We only sell it. We're not the clothing label.”
SC: “So you don’t sell to retailers?”
Me: “…no, we are a retailer.”
SC: “You don’t sell to retailers?”
Me: “No, we ARE a retailer, so we don’t sell to other retailers. We’re a retailer ourselves.”
SC: “Uhhh…….. Imma have my wife call you. Cus I don’t understand.”
Me: “…Alright.”
Cripes, if that wasn’t the understatement of the last millennia. I have to be careful…your stunning lack of comprehension cannot possibly be natural or healthy. There must be some sort of insidious biological agent, genetic flaw or viral skull rot at work here. I don’t know what it is but I need to ensure my own intellectual safety by maintaining my distance and giving simple yes or no answers until you lose interest and wander away.
404
( Really hit stunned disbelief this round.. )
Me: “Good evening, <company>.”
SC: “Yeah I’m trying to order this hoodie on your website.”
Ah cripes, you again. Give me a sec I have to try and sort of hold the headset away from my ear far enough so I don’t catch whatever skull rot you have but still close enough to hear you.
Me: “Ok.”
SC: “and on the Hoodie it says up to XXL than it says “Click here for sizing guide.”
Me: “Right.”
SC: “When I go to the sizing guide it goes up to XXXL. So you guys have it in XXXL right?”
Me: “....No, some of our items do go up to XXXL so it’s on the sizing chart for reference. But if XXXL is not available on the product itself than they don't make that item in that size.”
SC: “So how am I suppose to know if this will fit than!?!”
Me: “…....use….the sizing guide?”
SC: “Uhhh…the sizing guide……uh…”
Me: “…….”
SC: “You know I really wish there was some PLACE I could go TRY THIS ON to see if it FIT!!!”
Me: “…….just take your measurements…..and check the guide....”
SC: “You know like a STORE OR SOMETHING! REAL GREAT BUSINESS YOU GUYS ARE RUNNING! <click>”
….wha…bu….th…..holy flying waffle batter in a wind tunnel you are goddamn STUPID. Period. Seriously. I have no clever anecdote, metaphor or simile to describe it. You are just simply an utterly and fantastically idiotic human being and I am both surprised and awed you were even let out of your cage in the basement long enough to reach a phone and paw at it until you reached me. Do they need to fit you with some sort of special gloves to protect your knuckles from dragging on the ground? Do they at least give you a helmet with a mouth guard? Because by gods there’s not much up there, you’d better protect every last precious ounce of it from the daily impacts I’m pretty sure you inflict upon yourself while conducting even the most rudimentary activities.
I’m not kidding either. I can quite easily envision you losing an eye while trying to brush your teeth. So maybe you should look into some goggles or something too.
….Gods, how do you even DRESS yourself? No seriously. Yes I’m still going on about this. Because I really just don’t understand how you can be THIS stupid. I mean, I’ve talked to some pretty damn stupid people over the years but you desire some sort of flippin’ trophy for this. Preferably made out of foam so you don’t hurt yourself.
Does the rest of the house have chew guards on the counters or something? Do they have to put that plastic over the furniture so you'd urinate directly on the fabric? Are you kept on a leash?
Wait, fucking hell, and you’re MARRIED? To WHAT? Did you slip an onion ring onto the coat rack?! Is that why your wife didn't call? Did you just spent the last 30 minutes trying to talk the coat rack into dialing the phone?
RAaagghhHhh~!
867
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
Ah, of course. Head gear.
Me: “Ok, what colour?”
SC: “Pink camo.”
Ah, of course. Chromatic sin against God.
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “Can I get it uh, you know, embroidered?”
Ah, of cou-….wait what? It’s not bad enough that it’s a pink camo trucker’s cap, you actually want to have it embroidered with something? What exactly? “If you’re close enough to read this you’re starting to go blind.”?
867
SC: “I need to cancel an order I placed yesterday.”
Me: “Alright, well-“
SC: “Something’s come up and I can’t afford it, sorry. I feel so bad about it.”
Me: “Alright, well you’ll have to speak with customer service.”
SC: “I have to pay for other things. I feel like sh*t about it.”
Are you……fishing for sympathy? From me of all people? Hah. You know, you’re fishing in an empty pool. At an old YMCA building that was abandoned in 1978 and is now home to little more than squatters and errant hobos with their hooch, cans o’ beans and maybe a faithful hobo dog. If you’re lucky you might catch a beer can. Or rabies. But sympathy? I think not. My outward demeanor may be pleasant, but inside I feed on your misfortune and anguish. It gives me happiness. Each of your tears makes my black, shriveled, coal like heart piddle patter once with the faintest glimmer of warmth. Which I bask in for a moment whilst a slow, malicious grin comes across my face.
Than it fades...and the shadows come back.
Dr GK
Me: “Alright, I’ll get a hold of the doctor for you.”
SC: “Thank you, doctor.”
I’m not a doctor. The very thought of me being a doctor should be utterly terrifying to you. Because I’m pretty sure I would become as desensitized in the medical profession as I am in the customer service industry. To the point where I would be mutter smart ass comments under my breath during operations: “Ugh, brain hemorrhaging? Worthless jackass, wear a HELMET next time. Hell, why even bother? Not like he used it to begin with.”.
But, I would remember my CSR training and thank the next of kin for coming and make sure I used please and thank you as I helpfully explain how to pick up the body.
Voodoo Magic
SC: “The woman in 105 keep’s lighting incense and it keeps setting off the fire alarm. This is the 6th time the fire dept has been down here for it.”
Me: “Oh, ok-“
SC: “I’m allergic too it too. I live right next to her and it comes in under my door. She’s always setting them off in her little rituals. The fire dept has better things to do then to come down here at her pleasure with her smells.”
Me: “….”
SC: “She has two cats and this incense. There’s something off about here. She has two cats. She’s from Ethiopia so she’s not right in the head.”
….ok I was following you right up to that point. But, I am a CSR and I am here to serve. So I will dutifully pass your concerns on to the office: “Tenant in 106 reports that tenant in 105 is an Ethiopia cat herder whose voodoo rituals are setting off fire alarm. Tenant in 106 is allergic to voodoo and would like the issue addressed.”. That sound about right?
...ok?
SC: “The <building next door>'s lights are too bright! They shine into our building and we can’t sleep!”
Me: “Alright.....?”
SC: “They’re wasting power! Especially in this time of economic crisis!”
You know I have a vivid, active, even protege like imagination and even I can't come up with the faintest idea of what the flying pudding cup fuck down a ski hill it is you want me to do about that.
Spell. It.
Me: “Ok, and your name please?”
SC: “Farazel.”
Me: “Alright, how do you spell that?”
SC: "Farazel."
Me: “….....yes, but how do you spell it?”
Unless they added a whimsically named 27th letter to the alphabet recently you’re going to have to give it up and demonstrate basic literacy to my satisfaction.
Hot Tips fo....Ok, Red Card.
Me: “Good evening, <client>”
SC: “Yeah, uh, my keyboard is black and…<mumbling> there’s black on the wall….uh..climbing the wall...an Obama...<mumble> My keyboard fell over.”
Me: “Alright…and this is important to the US how?”
SC: “I’m drunk.”
Me: “Yes, that’s quite obvious.”
SC: “There’s a black on the wall. Obama? <mumbling>….wall….blacks. Blacks like the sports. You know? The n*ggers?”
Me: “Right. Ok, goodbye.”
Alright, you’ve dropped the N word. So now I have to officially disqualify you. Unfortunately, all I can do is hang up and make a small offering of M&M’s to Set in the hopes his dark magic’s can steer you into accidentally and awkwardly stepping into the path of an oncoming Skytrain. Not all the way mind you. I’m not so terrible as to wish death upon you. Just far enough to get a limb caught in the wheels and have you dragged the length of the platform till someone hits the emergency stop.
I’d like to disqualify you from the gene pool. But unfortunately no one takes me seriously when I suggest government imposed neutering and if I try to accomplish it at a community level with a pair of hedge trimmers suddenly I’m the bad guy for some reason.
A Message
SC: “Message for Rob.”
Me: “Ok, and your name?”
SC: “Dan.”
Me: “and the message please?”
SC: “He knows.”
…he does, does he? You’re not like….outside of his house, peering through a window watching him undress or something are you? I mean I am a customer service representative and all. It’s my job to help. But I have to draw the line at helping you dig through some guy’s trash for underwear and tooth brushes to add to your tool shed Rob Shrine.
Luck of the Irish
Me: “Ok, and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “Oh, I’ll just get a 4 pack.”
Me: “Ok.”
SC: “You know I did this last year and the tickets were all sequential in the pack.”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “Do they have to be like that? Can’t you just mix them up?”
Ah, right. Here we go again. Random = Good. Sequential = Font of all misfortune. Let me let you in on a little secret: The draw itself is random. There is an equal chance for any of your ticket numbers to been drawn regardless of whether or not they are random or sequential. You are not gaining any sort of statistical advantage. You are merely appeasing your own false belief in some sort of mythical concept of luck or fortune. This is no more effective at increasing your chance of winning the grand prize than carrying a horseshoe, avoiding black felines, coping a feel from Buddha or going down on a Leprechaun. Well, maybe the latter would work if you could locate a Leprechaun. A real Leprechaun. Not the one down by London Drugs with the empty Mcdonald’s cup for spare change that unzipped his pants and offered to let you go after his lucky charms.
Decide First, THAN Call
Me: “and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “Well…….considering the prices….hmm..”
You were suppose to take time to consider and come to a conclusion before you called and gave me your credit card. It’s a much more effective method. I doubt you’ve ever walked into a store at the mall, went right to the counter, slapped down a $100 bill and told the clerk “Here’s 100 bucks. I don’t know what I want yet but let me pay for it first.”.
Or have you?
Random Encounter
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
Drunken Caller appears!
SC: “Yeah, can I get a cab?”
Drunken Caller attacks you with her Flawed Listening Skills!
You block the attack!
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
You hit Drunken Caller with your Blatantly Obvious for 64 damage! Drunken Caller was defeated!
You gained 43 experience!
SC: "…….”
Me: “….hello?”
Your target is already dead.
SC: “……”
Me: “Hellllo?”
Your target is already dead.
You search the corpse…..
You received Wallet!
You received Half Eaten Bag of Doritos!
You received Coupon for Chuck E Cheese!
You received 75 silver and 3 copper!
You use skinning knife….
You received 6 scraps of tattered leather!
Stop It
Ok, if you called and got the pager the first time….and the second time….and the third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh time maybe it’s time to just accept it and move on with your life. I mean I know you’re sad, and it hurts. But you’re just hurting yourself more by dragging this out. It’s better to make a clean break and never, ever, ever call again. Ever. In fact, have your phone line disconnected and drop your cell phone down a storm drain. They’re both too good for you. It’s time to move on and let the healing begin.
I hear the post office is single. Maybe you should hook up with them. Letters are slow moving, quiet and flammable. All qualities I myself look for in a relationship.
Suuure you don't
Ok, so you were pulled over and the police have their shotguns out and the dogs with them. Yet you have no idea why this is. You sure? Cops don’t typically pull shotguns and hounds on you for a speeding ticket. No idea? They’re using the dogs to search your car. Doesn’t clue you in to anything? No? Wouldn’t have anything to do with stashes of illegal narcotics anywhere in the vehicle? No? Of course not. They’re not yours after all. Some cunning hobo must have jimmied open the trunk and hide his $2000 pot stash to use you as an unwilling mule to ferry them to the drop point for the hobo mafia to retrieve. Completely unbeknownst to you. Heck, it’s not even your car. You just found it somewhere. Perfectly legit. It was just sitting on the curb in Surrey with the door open and “FREE CAR” scrawled on the fender in white out.
Amuse Me
Me: “Good evening, <company>.”
SC: “Yes. Someone has my phone number.”
Ah geez, you again.
SC: “and they’re doing this prank thing. They’re using my phone number to wreck my ID and my finances!”
Right-o. Why don’t any of you loons have entertaining delusions? I mean if you called up and said “OPTIMUS PRIME IS BREAKDANCING IN MY KITCHEN” I’d be like “Sweet!~”. But noooo, its always something about narco terrorists or deploying the Hell’s Angels in Iraq to suppress the insurgents or something. I never get calls that just degrade into “Go Prime! It’s your birthday! Go Prime!”. At least I’d get a laugh out of it and I could play along.
86.....404?!
( American callers are exceedingly rare on this line since this is a Canadian company and they don't advertise in the US. )
Me: “Good evening, <company>.”
SC: “I’ve been looking fer a hoodie FOREVER.”
Me: “Alright?”
SC: “I finally found it on your website. But you guys are in Canada, right?”
Me: “Yes we are.”
SC: “Do you have any stores in the US?”
Me: “No we don’t, sorry.”
( This is mainly an online retailer. There's one local store in BC, and that's it. )
SC: “So I can only order it from you?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “Do you guys sell your cloths to any stores?”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “Is there anywhere else I can get em? Do you sell your stuff any other stores?”
Me: “We’re not a manufacturer, we’re a retailer.”
SC: “I’ve been looking for it forever and you guys are the only ones that have it! Can I get your hoodie at any other store?”
Me: “We don’t make the hoodie. We only sell it. We're not the clothing label.”
SC: “So you don’t sell to retailers?”
Me: “…no, we are a retailer.”
SC: “You don’t sell to retailers?”
Me: “No, we ARE a retailer, so we don’t sell to other retailers. We’re a retailer ourselves.”
SC: “Uhhh…….. Imma have my wife call you. Cus I don’t understand.”
Me: “…Alright.”
Cripes, if that wasn’t the understatement of the last millennia. I have to be careful…your stunning lack of comprehension cannot possibly be natural or healthy. There must be some sort of insidious biological agent, genetic flaw or viral skull rot at work here. I don’t know what it is but I need to ensure my own intellectual safety by maintaining my distance and giving simple yes or no answers until you lose interest and wander away.
404
( Really hit stunned disbelief this round.. )
Me: “Good evening, <company>.”
SC: “Yeah I’m trying to order this hoodie on your website.”
Ah cripes, you again. Give me a sec I have to try and sort of hold the headset away from my ear far enough so I don’t catch whatever skull rot you have but still close enough to hear you.
Me: “Ok.”
SC: “and on the Hoodie it says up to XXL than it says “Click here for sizing guide.”
Me: “Right.”
SC: “When I go to the sizing guide it goes up to XXXL. So you guys have it in XXXL right?”
Me: “....No, some of our items do go up to XXXL so it’s on the sizing chart for reference. But if XXXL is not available on the product itself than they don't make that item in that size.”
SC: “So how am I suppose to know if this will fit than!?!”
Me: “…....use….the sizing guide?”
SC: “Uhhh…the sizing guide……uh…”
Me: “…….”
SC: “You know I really wish there was some PLACE I could go TRY THIS ON to see if it FIT!!!”
Me: “…….just take your measurements…..and check the guide....”
SC: “You know like a STORE OR SOMETHING! REAL GREAT BUSINESS YOU GUYS ARE RUNNING! <click>”
….wha…bu….th…..holy flying waffle batter in a wind tunnel you are goddamn STUPID. Period. Seriously. I have no clever anecdote, metaphor or simile to describe it. You are just simply an utterly and fantastically idiotic human being and I am both surprised and awed you were even let out of your cage in the basement long enough to reach a phone and paw at it until you reached me. Do they need to fit you with some sort of special gloves to protect your knuckles from dragging on the ground? Do they at least give you a helmet with a mouth guard? Because by gods there’s not much up there, you’d better protect every last precious ounce of it from the daily impacts I’m pretty sure you inflict upon yourself while conducting even the most rudimentary activities.
I’m not kidding either. I can quite easily envision you losing an eye while trying to brush your teeth. So maybe you should look into some goggles or something too.
….Gods, how do you even DRESS yourself? No seriously. Yes I’m still going on about this. Because I really just don’t understand how you can be THIS stupid. I mean, I’ve talked to some pretty damn stupid people over the years but you desire some sort of flippin’ trophy for this. Preferably made out of foam so you don’t hurt yourself.
Does the rest of the house have chew guards on the counters or something? Do they have to put that plastic over the furniture so you'd urinate directly on the fabric? Are you kept on a leash?
Wait, fucking hell, and you’re MARRIED? To WHAT? Did you slip an onion ring onto the coat rack?! Is that why your wife didn't call? Did you just spent the last 30 minutes trying to talk the coat rack into dialing the phone?
RAaagghhHhh~!
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