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Vick got his ass kicked =p
( Sorry I'm a bit late, mom called. Thats an hour and a half right there. )
867
Me: “Ok, and your last name please?”
SC: “….ummm….”
Me: “……”
SC: "....."
Once again my deep, probing philosophical questions have stumped one of you. I know my inquiries are complex and painfully inquisitive, but you must endure. Surely somewhere in your barren hovel is some sort of document that can identify you and remind you of what you once were? There must be some record of your…..spawning. A birth certificate? An announcement in the local paper? Some sort of omen? Maybe the moon went blood red or all the milk in the village curdled over night or something? Surely at the very least there's one woman somewhere in the village that vividly remembers your birth?
Go ask her. Should be easy. Just go up and go "Hey sis, what's our last name again?".
Wha?
SC: : “Who’s this?”
Me: “This is <company>.”
SC: “Oh, what is this?”
Me: “This is a law firm”
SC: “Welfare? Oh good!”
Wha..? I’m not sure what’s more odd. The fact you somehow got from “law firm” to “welfare” or that your reaction was along the lines of “Oh sweet, I need that!”. You sound pleasantly surprised. So I can assume you did not originally mean to call either a law firm or a welfare office. I guess you were looking for a taxi, a pizza or some sort of per minute…company if you will, but instead you reached me and mistakenly believed I am a provided of social services. Unfortunately, I shall shatter that small bit of sunshine that you mistakenly believed has shown upon your life momentarily. Because that’s what I do here. Destroy hope. Well, and provide excellent customer service of course. But also the destroying of hope.
867
Me: “and what would you like to order?”
SC: “Uh, a chain hoodie.”
Apparently not only has chain mail come back into fashion but it’s now being offered in a stylish hooded sweat. For when your morning jog is at risk of running astray of a Norse raiding party.
Oh who am I kidding. I’d totally wear a chainmail hooded sweat. To work no less. I mean you never know. Sure they’ve died down a bit in recent years but the Norse are a persistent lot and you never know what’ll get on the Skytrain at Broadway.
Like Hell
SC: “It says here you have a sale on. 30-50%. What’s the sale price?”
Me: “The sale price is there in red. $389.”
( It literally says in giant red letters "ON SALE PRICE: $389" under the item )
SC: “Oh, it’s not on top of that?”
Me: "No."
SC: "Oh well its for my grandson, but we didn't plan on spending that much."
So you want me to sell you a $700 pure cashmere long coat for $200? You speak, yet I hear only the braying of donkeys.
That helps.
Me: “Alright, and what product this?”
SC: “<Brand Name>.”
Me: “…..”
Yes, they’re all <Brand Name>. Hence the name of the company. Please try to narrow it down to single product because this is one of those accounts where if you sound like an idiot than by proxy I sound like an idiot when I try to explain your stupidity to the tech. This is not a position I am familiar with and if I, like you, had to exist in this realm 24/7 I would absolutely terrified of opening my mouth for fear of the torrential idiocy that would shower upon those around me.
You however seem to have conquered your fears. Good for you.
Word.
Me: “Ok, and your first name please?”
SC: “S.S.J.R”
Me: “…s.s.j.r?”
SC: “Yes, just the initials. S.S.J.R.”
Just S.S.J.R, eh? Is there any sort of prefix I need to add? Such as “Doctor”, “The Notorious” or “The Pretentious Hole” perhaps?
Hah.
Me: “Good morning, <company> Emergency Line”
SC: “Hi, I don’t know if this is an emergency but I’m not happy.”
Oh oh! I know this one! How about fuck no.
Alas, Poor Uncle Vick
Me: “Good evening, <client>”
SC: “Yes, hi, I had a question.”
Uncle Vick!
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “I’m not sure if it’s important or not.”
Me: “Probably not, but let’s hear it anyway.”
SC: “…..thanks."
Me: "No problem."
SC: "Anyway, Constable such and such told me I deserved to have my ass kicked. Like have my shoulders broken and my nose broken and everything.”
Well you do. I don’t know about breaking limbs, but yes you could stand to be smacked around a little.
Me: “Ok..”
SC: “My objective at the time was just looking up some friends of mine from high school. It was an OBJECTIVE.”
Did they mark it on your mini-map for you?
SC: “So I went to the bar. And I got my ass kicked. And the constable, she said I deserved it! I put three terrorists in jail!”
Wait, you went to the bar to meet some of your friends from high school, called them terrorists and got your ass kicked? Yes, you did deserve it.
SC: “One of em stabbed me in the head.”
That explains a lot.
SC: “The other’s in Gitmo. I think you guys have the other one up in New York.”
Yes, I’m sure we do.
SC: “So my question is, did I deserve that?”
Yes.
SC: “If I deserved it then did all those people that died in the bombings deserve it?”
Me: “That’s a rhetorical question. We don’t deal with rhetorical questions.”
SC: “Well I just think if you were doing your job right those people wouldn’t have died!”
Me: “You do realize that has nothing to do with us and isn't our job, right?"
SC: “……yeah.”
Thus I must present a single question to you, yet again: Why are you calling than? I mean, your intellectual flailings are entertaining but seriously, why do you keep calling? You’ve not once called and told me anything I should remotely care about. Nor do I predict any change in this tendency at any point in the future. All you do is continue to provide me with fuel for my nocturnal ranting.
Which I suppose is actually fairly useful. Carry on, citizen.
Oh I Would
SC: “Send me the lucky ticket!”
I have no such control over the allocated fortune or misfortune of any given ticket. If I did I would ensure you received the single most unlucky ticket we could possibly craft. One that had been printed with ink mixed from the tears of puppies on paper recycled from nothing but the obituary section of the newspaper and shredded overdue bill notices than left for a fortnight in the violated tomb of an Egyptian king before being mailed to your house, packed in the shaven fur of a 100 black cats and hand delivered by a man that’s been struck by lightning twice.
Hopefully, you would win a magnificent prize. Like scabies.
Head Towards The Light
SC: “The lights are on in the upper lounge at the building across from me again! They’re too bright and they shine onto my building and no one can sleep!”
Ah yes, you again. I believe last week you cited the global economic crisis as your argument against these overly bright lights. What’s your angle this week? The lights are so bright that the excess heat is slowly melting away the multiple layers of blinds and curtains you’re using to shield yourself which in turn is causing them to give off potentially dangerous carcinogens and it’s my fault you have cancer?
I’m really curious how they’re keeping you awake. No one else ever calls about this. Yet you call about it every single weekend. Are they over at the other building using mirrors to construct some sort of crude solar furnace to direct a single beam of pure illuminant terror upon your bedroom window?
Do You Know What Time It Is?
“Yeah hi, I’m looking to get a quote on a new roof.”
Do you know what time it is where I am right now? 1 O’clock in the morning. Do you know what time it is where you are right now? 3 O’clock in the morning. Do you know how important your quote is right now? Not even remotely you stump chewing alpaca…..er…O’clock in the morning.
Monkey See
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “…….”
Me: “Hello?”
SC: “Hello?”
Me: “…can I help you?”
SC: “Can I help you?”
Alright, this is about as funny as testing positive for Hepatitis B. You can go away now.
Easy There
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Oh, is this is a cab?”
Me: “No its not sorry.”
SC: “Oh! Sorry, honey.”
Whoa, easy there. I know I’m 176lbs of spindly irresistible geekmeat but I am on the clock right now and I’d hate to have to charge you per minute.
Enough!
Me: “Ok, and your phone number please?”
SC: “It’s xxx-xxx-xxxx”
Me: “Alright, a-“
SC: “Oh, let me give you the number to security too just in case.”
Me: “Ok”
SC: “It’s xxx-xxx-xxxx”
Me: “Alright-“
SC: “I better give you the number to one of the guy’s at the restaurant too. It’s xxx-“
Ok, enough. I have enough numbers now. I have a veritably bonanza of numbers from which to choose from. I do not need any more numbers. It’s ok, relax. If I need the number to the guy that’s standing next to the guy that’s at the restaurant or your son’s soccer coach or your dog’s vet or something, I’ll ask. Put the phone book down and back away.
No.
Me “Alright, by what credit card?”
SC: “Do you have a Visa?”
No, I have a Mastercard to be exact. However, if you’re expecting moi to purchase your tickets for you than you have, as my mother use to so ominously put it, another thing coming.
867
I’m not sure if you’ve ever heard someone that can barely form a coherent sentence attempt to pronounce “Periwinkle”, but it’s an intriguing experience. Sort of like trying to teach a parrot a new word. Except you've filled the parrot's water bottle full of Jack Daniels and than violently shook him for 15 minutes first.
867
Me: “Ok, and the product ID number?”
SC: “….it doesn’t say”
Yes it does. It’s right there by the picture. The picture you’re greasily pawing at. I know you can at least read numbers. Because you somehow managed to dial my number to begin with. Unless you had assistant of some sort to dial for you. In which case go find them and put them on the phone. Unless they’re unable to speak and you’re currently standing on their shoulders because combined with a trench coat thrown over you and a hat the two of you form a whole, somewhat functional man. In which case, please hold the catalogue up to your groin and then have it signal the corresponding numbers to you by holding up the appropriate amount of fingers.
Well, That Was Odd
Me: "Good evening, <company>"
SC: “This may sound strange….but can you tell me what day it is?”
…sure. I can do that. I can’t tell you where you are, what you did last night or what that thing asleep next to you is. But yeah, I can at least tell you what day it is today.
Bingui Was Her Name, O
My coworker is wiley and disruptive.
Me: "Ok, can you spell your last name for me?"
C: "Ok, it's B"
CW: "I!"
C: "O"
CW: "G!"
C: "N"
CW: "U!"
Me: "Oh, you bastard."
CW: "I!"
Me: "God, I hope her name is Bingui."
CW: "Hahah"
Not Really
My evening sup is horrified and appalled.
( We have a relatively new guy, he's still...adjusting to the environment )
Me: "Alright, that comes to $xxx and should take about 2 weeks to arrive."
SC: "Great, thanks. You know I order every year and I never win anything!"
Me: "......"
SC: "We ordered 3 last year, than 2 more for my daughter and none of us won anything and blah blah blah snarf wikki twat"
Me: "<Muting my mic> Shut up shut up shut up"
SC: "WHARGHARBL"
Me: "Shut UP you warbling SEA COW"
( She finally shuts up and I turn and see the evening sup. He is gaping at me. )
Me: "......?"
SC: "Did you just tell that caller to shut up!?"
Me: "What? No."
SC: "?!!?"
Me: "I had my mic muted."
SC: "Oh, whew. I was like "OMIGAWD WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"
Thus ends my week. -.-
( Sorry I'm a bit late, mom called. Thats an hour and a half right there. )
867
Me: “Ok, and your last name please?”
SC: “….ummm….”
Me: “……”
SC: "....."
Once again my deep, probing philosophical questions have stumped one of you. I know my inquiries are complex and painfully inquisitive, but you must endure. Surely somewhere in your barren hovel is some sort of document that can identify you and remind you of what you once were? There must be some record of your…..spawning. A birth certificate? An announcement in the local paper? Some sort of omen? Maybe the moon went blood red or all the milk in the village curdled over night or something? Surely at the very least there's one woman somewhere in the village that vividly remembers your birth?
Go ask her. Should be easy. Just go up and go "Hey sis, what's our last name again?".
Wha?
SC: : “Who’s this?”
Me: “This is <company>.”
SC: “Oh, what is this?”
Me: “This is a law firm”
SC: “Welfare? Oh good!”
Wha..? I’m not sure what’s more odd. The fact you somehow got from “law firm” to “welfare” or that your reaction was along the lines of “Oh sweet, I need that!”. You sound pleasantly surprised. So I can assume you did not originally mean to call either a law firm or a welfare office. I guess you were looking for a taxi, a pizza or some sort of per minute…company if you will, but instead you reached me and mistakenly believed I am a provided of social services. Unfortunately, I shall shatter that small bit of sunshine that you mistakenly believed has shown upon your life momentarily. Because that’s what I do here. Destroy hope. Well, and provide excellent customer service of course. But also the destroying of hope.
867
Me: “and what would you like to order?”
SC: “Uh, a chain hoodie.”
Apparently not only has chain mail come back into fashion but it’s now being offered in a stylish hooded sweat. For when your morning jog is at risk of running astray of a Norse raiding party.
Oh who am I kidding. I’d totally wear a chainmail hooded sweat. To work no less. I mean you never know. Sure they’ve died down a bit in recent years but the Norse are a persistent lot and you never know what’ll get on the Skytrain at Broadway.
Like Hell
SC: “It says here you have a sale on. 30-50%. What’s the sale price?”
Me: “The sale price is there in red. $389.”
( It literally says in giant red letters "ON SALE PRICE: $389" under the item )
SC: “Oh, it’s not on top of that?”
Me: "No."
SC: "Oh well its for my grandson, but we didn't plan on spending that much."
So you want me to sell you a $700 pure cashmere long coat for $200? You speak, yet I hear only the braying of donkeys.
That helps.
Me: “Alright, and what product this?”
SC: “<Brand Name>.”
Me: “…..”
Yes, they’re all <Brand Name>. Hence the name of the company. Please try to narrow it down to single product because this is one of those accounts where if you sound like an idiot than by proxy I sound like an idiot when I try to explain your stupidity to the tech. This is not a position I am familiar with and if I, like you, had to exist in this realm 24/7 I would absolutely terrified of opening my mouth for fear of the torrential idiocy that would shower upon those around me.
You however seem to have conquered your fears. Good for you.
Word.
Me: “Ok, and your first name please?”
SC: “S.S.J.R”
Me: “…s.s.j.r?”
SC: “Yes, just the initials. S.S.J.R.”
Just S.S.J.R, eh? Is there any sort of prefix I need to add? Such as “Doctor”, “The Notorious” or “The Pretentious Hole” perhaps?
Hah.
Me: “Good morning, <company> Emergency Line”
SC: “Hi, I don’t know if this is an emergency but I’m not happy.”
Oh oh! I know this one! How about fuck no.
Alas, Poor Uncle Vick
Me: “Good evening, <client>”
SC: “Yes, hi, I had a question.”
Uncle Vick!
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “I’m not sure if it’s important or not.”
Me: “Probably not, but let’s hear it anyway.”
SC: “…..thanks."
Me: "No problem."
SC: "Anyway, Constable such and such told me I deserved to have my ass kicked. Like have my shoulders broken and my nose broken and everything.”
Well you do. I don’t know about breaking limbs, but yes you could stand to be smacked around a little.
Me: “Ok..”
SC: “My objective at the time was just looking up some friends of mine from high school. It was an OBJECTIVE.”
Did they mark it on your mini-map for you?
SC: “So I went to the bar. And I got my ass kicked. And the constable, she said I deserved it! I put three terrorists in jail!”
Wait, you went to the bar to meet some of your friends from high school, called them terrorists and got your ass kicked? Yes, you did deserve it.
SC: “One of em stabbed me in the head.”
That explains a lot.
SC: “The other’s in Gitmo. I think you guys have the other one up in New York.”
Yes, I’m sure we do.
SC: “So my question is, did I deserve that?”
Yes.
SC: “If I deserved it then did all those people that died in the bombings deserve it?”
Me: “That’s a rhetorical question. We don’t deal with rhetorical questions.”
SC: “Well I just think if you were doing your job right those people wouldn’t have died!”
Me: “You do realize that has nothing to do with us and isn't our job, right?"
SC: “……yeah.”
Thus I must present a single question to you, yet again: Why are you calling than? I mean, your intellectual flailings are entertaining but seriously, why do you keep calling? You’ve not once called and told me anything I should remotely care about. Nor do I predict any change in this tendency at any point in the future. All you do is continue to provide me with fuel for my nocturnal ranting.
Which I suppose is actually fairly useful. Carry on, citizen.
Oh I Would
SC: “Send me the lucky ticket!”
I have no such control over the allocated fortune or misfortune of any given ticket. If I did I would ensure you received the single most unlucky ticket we could possibly craft. One that had been printed with ink mixed from the tears of puppies on paper recycled from nothing but the obituary section of the newspaper and shredded overdue bill notices than left for a fortnight in the violated tomb of an Egyptian king before being mailed to your house, packed in the shaven fur of a 100 black cats and hand delivered by a man that’s been struck by lightning twice.
Hopefully, you would win a magnificent prize. Like scabies.
Head Towards The Light
SC: “The lights are on in the upper lounge at the building across from me again! They’re too bright and they shine onto my building and no one can sleep!”
Ah yes, you again. I believe last week you cited the global economic crisis as your argument against these overly bright lights. What’s your angle this week? The lights are so bright that the excess heat is slowly melting away the multiple layers of blinds and curtains you’re using to shield yourself which in turn is causing them to give off potentially dangerous carcinogens and it’s my fault you have cancer?
I’m really curious how they’re keeping you awake. No one else ever calls about this. Yet you call about it every single weekend. Are they over at the other building using mirrors to construct some sort of crude solar furnace to direct a single beam of pure illuminant terror upon your bedroom window?
Do You Know What Time It Is?
“Yeah hi, I’m looking to get a quote on a new roof.”
Do you know what time it is where I am right now? 1 O’clock in the morning. Do you know what time it is where you are right now? 3 O’clock in the morning. Do you know how important your quote is right now? Not even remotely you stump chewing alpaca…..er…O’clock in the morning.
Monkey See
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “…….”
Me: “Hello?”
SC: “Hello?”
Me: “…can I help you?”
SC: “Can I help you?”
Alright, this is about as funny as testing positive for Hepatitis B. You can go away now.
Easy There
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Oh, is this is a cab?”
Me: “No its not sorry.”
SC: “Oh! Sorry, honey.”
Whoa, easy there. I know I’m 176lbs of spindly irresistible geekmeat but I am on the clock right now and I’d hate to have to charge you per minute.
Enough!
Me: “Ok, and your phone number please?”
SC: “It’s xxx-xxx-xxxx”
Me: “Alright, a-“
SC: “Oh, let me give you the number to security too just in case.”
Me: “Ok”
SC: “It’s xxx-xxx-xxxx”
Me: “Alright-“
SC: “I better give you the number to one of the guy’s at the restaurant too. It’s xxx-“
Ok, enough. I have enough numbers now. I have a veritably bonanza of numbers from which to choose from. I do not need any more numbers. It’s ok, relax. If I need the number to the guy that’s standing next to the guy that’s at the restaurant or your son’s soccer coach or your dog’s vet or something, I’ll ask. Put the phone book down and back away.
No.
Me “Alright, by what credit card?”
SC: “Do you have a Visa?”
No, I have a Mastercard to be exact. However, if you’re expecting moi to purchase your tickets for you than you have, as my mother use to so ominously put it, another thing coming.
867
I’m not sure if you’ve ever heard someone that can barely form a coherent sentence attempt to pronounce “Periwinkle”, but it’s an intriguing experience. Sort of like trying to teach a parrot a new word. Except you've filled the parrot's water bottle full of Jack Daniels and than violently shook him for 15 minutes first.
867
Me: “Ok, and the product ID number?”
SC: “….it doesn’t say”
Yes it does. It’s right there by the picture. The picture you’re greasily pawing at. I know you can at least read numbers. Because you somehow managed to dial my number to begin with. Unless you had assistant of some sort to dial for you. In which case go find them and put them on the phone. Unless they’re unable to speak and you’re currently standing on their shoulders because combined with a trench coat thrown over you and a hat the two of you form a whole, somewhat functional man. In which case, please hold the catalogue up to your groin and then have it signal the corresponding numbers to you by holding up the appropriate amount of fingers.
Well, That Was Odd
Me: "Good evening, <company>"
SC: “This may sound strange….but can you tell me what day it is?”
…sure. I can do that. I can’t tell you where you are, what you did last night or what that thing asleep next to you is. But yeah, I can at least tell you what day it is today.
Bingui Was Her Name, O
My coworker is wiley and disruptive.
Me: "Ok, can you spell your last name for me?"
C: "Ok, it's B"
CW: "I!"
C: "O"
CW: "G!"
C: "N"
CW: "U!"
Me: "Oh, you bastard."
CW: "I!"
Me: "God, I hope her name is Bingui."
CW: "Hahah"
Not Really
My evening sup is horrified and appalled.
( We have a relatively new guy, he's still...adjusting to the environment )
Me: "Alright, that comes to $xxx and should take about 2 weeks to arrive."
SC: "Great, thanks. You know I order every year and I never win anything!"
Me: "......"
SC: "We ordered 3 last year, than 2 more for my daughter and none of us won anything and blah blah blah snarf wikki twat"
Me: "<Muting my mic> Shut up shut up shut up"
SC: "WHARGHARBL"
Me: "Shut UP you warbling SEA COW"
( She finally shuts up and I turn and see the evening sup. He is gaping at me. )
Me: "......?"
SC: "Did you just tell that caller to shut up!?"
Me: "What? No."
SC: "?!!?"
Me: "I had my mic muted."
SC: "Oh, whew. I was like "OMIGAWD WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"
Thus ends my week. -.-
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