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INVISIBLE JEW
Oh. My. God. This week.....sweet jeebus. ><
This will be....epic length. Brace yourselves.
867
Me: “and your phone number please?”
SC: “Don’t have a phone.”
Me: “Unfortunately I need a phone number to place an order.”
SC: “Oh…ok. I’ll wait.”
…..wait for what? Your arctic hovel to finally teeter into the 20th century like a drunken yak with rickets? I don’t mind holding on for a minute for you to find an item in the catalog. But I have to draw the line at patiently waiting for an industrial revolution to strike in an area that’s just barely adapting to indoor plumbing.
Going with the Flow
SC: “Hi, my name is Vick.”
Me: “Hello, Vick!”
Vick either has way too much time on his hands or is very very lonely. Or both.
SC: “I’ve been watching CNN, CBS, CBC and ABC. I have all the facts.”
Oh good. Here I was worried your normal ramblings would be factually inaccurate. So good of you to double check on them all for me this time. I hope you can at least cite references should I have any questions. Have you written a Wiki article yet?
SC: “I keep seeing all these politicians just saying whatever they want on TV!”
Technically, they say what you want. Not what they want. Most of them wouldn’t have jobs anymore if they said what they want.
Me: “Alright, but once again I must ask you: What does this have to do with US?”
SC: “Uh. Well they talk and talk and say whatever they want and they get away with it.”
That does not answer my question. My question is a familiar one. I have asked you it many times. By now should have been able to take some notes, do some research, Google a few things and form a semi-coherent answer to my inquiry. Heck, check your Wiki article.
Me: “Ok, but what does that have to do with us?”
SC: “Well I was accused of being a terrorist once and you guys helped clear my name. So I’m really thankful.”
Me: “You know that has nothing to do with us right? That’s more a CIA or CSIS thing. Not us.”
SC: “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I called the wrong department.”
Me: “No problem, bye bye.”
See, as long as you sort of immerse yourself ( But not too far, the smell will never come out ) in his world and just go along with his little hallucinations, reason actually works on him. Oddly enough.
867
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “Pants....Uh…..xxxx-xx”
Me: “Ok….looks like I don't have those in stock, sorry.”
SC: “NOOOOOO~!"
Search your feelings. You know it to be true!
Flashback
Soo….Broadway Station. As usual, the font of everything that’s wrong with humanity. Guy got on, sat in front of me….bleach blond bed head hair, blue bandanna and bright yellow shirt with a collar high enough to be suitable for hang gliding. This guy thought he was stylin’ too. He kept standing up to check out his reflection in the window so he could probably flare his amazing flannel neck wings. He thought he was amazingly cool. I almost felt kind of sorry for him.
I haven’t seen anyone dressed like that since I was 10 and then he was on TV, banging two GI Joes together and telling me how “radical” it was.
Breaking News
SC: “Hi, my name is Vick.”
Me: “Hello, Vick!”
You’re almost a nightly sitcom onto yourself now, you know that right?
SC: “I just wanted to thank you for allowing me to tell the media what I know.”
Me: “…..alright?”
SC: “Thanks.”
Me: “Ok…..sure...”
SC: “Bye.”
Me: “Bye bye.”
I shall watch the morning news with baited breath for the revelations of what secrets you supposedly possess. I’m anticipating a headline similar to “Naked man barges into CTV lobby astride homemade butter sculpture of Garth Brookes. Demands Pledge dust wipes for thighs.”.
867
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “12 items.”
Oh joy. The whole village needs to be re-equipped. Somehow the daily struggle to open beer cans and resist obtaining a high school education has worn out all of your pants. Now you need more. Many, many more. Chapped buttocks are peering through the worn holes of your most prized possessions. Once again, you need my help.
Me: “Will this be by COD?”
SC: “Yes.”
12 items. $900 limit. CAN SHE DO IT?
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
Me: “Unfortunately, that puts it over the COD limit.”
Ooooooh, and she drops out at #9. But it was a valiant effort. You almost embraced and shielded the quivering buttocks of all of your fellows. But not quite. You were short by 3. So 3 poor souls will continue to have the bitter arctic winds nip at their glazed buns through the tattered remnants of last year’s pants.
Unreasonable Requests
Me: “Good morning, your paging <company>.”
SC: “Hi, do you speak English?”
Me: “….yes.”
Right, off to a great start. I do in fact speak English. I was not engaging in parrot like mimicry of English. I actually formed that sentence by myself using my own knowledge of the English language. If you had paid attention for even the barest fraction of a moment you would have already grasped the answer to your question.
SC: “I’m looking for Bob, do you have his email address?”
Me: “No I don’t sorry, we’re only their paging service. I don’t have contact information for their employees.”
SC: “Well he asked for this proposal to be emailed to him.”
Me: “I don’t have his email, sorry.”
SC: “Well what’s your email? I’ll just email it you and you can email it to him.”
Right. Ok, first off: You sir, are an idiot. Now that that’s out of the way; I told you I don’t have his email address. Even if for some half cranked reason I let you email it to me, I still could not email it to him. Because I do not have his email address. I am also not clairvoyant. I cannot touch the email on my screen, delicately caress the pixels and divine his identity and email from it. Secondly: No. Jerkflap. I’m his paging service. That’s it. That’s the whole level of service we’re paid to provide. We’re not his secretary, assistant, coffee slave, pool boy or leather clad man servant. I am not compelled nor required to do anymore than pass along a text based version of your dribbling annoyance to whomever is currently holding the device in question.
Why not
Me: “Good morning, <company>, how can I help you?"
SC: “Is this the Bob & Sherry show?”
…..sure, what the hell. My shift’s almost over. What can Bob do for you?
Never, NEVER AGAIN.
I did something tonight I swore I’d never do again. I went to 7/11. I missed my bus so I was a few minutes behind by the time I got downtown. I figured I didn’t have time to hit IGA so I’d just swing by 7/11. I mean…it can’t always be filled with freaks right? Oh how wrong I was.
All was fine at first till I moved towards the deli section and this hulking ogre of a man stepped into my path, his backpack raised in front of him like a shield. He had no neck to speak of and a vein pulsing on his forehead. I halted my advance in bewilderment. To which he bellowed, and this is a direct quote: “WHERE’S THE ELEPHANT BOY?!”. I had no answer for this inquiry and mentally began formulating a battle plan. He had no obvious weaknesses. Did I have to use my hookshot to pull the backpack away and expose his weak point?
But the fates are…somewhat merciful…and I realized he was not actually enraged with me specifically. Just someone or something that was invisible and standing in front of me. When I moved to the side to try and slip around him, his eyes and his rage did not follow. They were fixed ahead. I was safe! As I reached his back he turned, seemingly catching notice of movement. Dammit! I should have stayed still. Perhaps he’s like a T-Rex. They can’t see you if you don’t move. Eyeing me he bellowed, again, and I quote: “Where’d they get this b*tch?!”. I don’t know! Dear Lord! I can’t see whatever drug induced apparition is haunting you. I am not a member of this spectral meth world that seems to be overlapping your own. Not wishing to engage, I fled to the nuts and took refuge amongst them. For some reason the sight of pistachio’s and cashews caused him to lose interest and he moved on.
But his presence was still in the store. People were slinking off to the sides in hope of avoiding his aggro radius as he moved back to the beverages. Believing myself safe and desiring immediate escape, I moved to the counter ( As did half the store ) in the hopes of obtaining my purchases and fleeing into the night. But alas, it was not to be. He came up behind me to stand in line. Oddly enough it seems all he wanted was a Pepsi. Or rather he stood behind the person behind me in line, but that person fled and threw me to the wolves.
His insane muttering continued till I heard him drop something on the ground at which he screamed, and I quote yet again: “STOP IT YOU INVISIBLE JEW!”. Well. That rendered the store dead silent. But at least we now knew the form of his torment. Oddly, he seemed aware that his Jewish tormentor was invisible to us. So he’s lucid enough to realize only he can see it, but not lucid enough to realize screaming obscenities at it in public makes him look ragingly insane. He continued to struggle with his Jewish aggressor for some time.
….and than a scruffy guy by the magazine rack, perhaps sensing another of his sewer dwelling kin had emerged on the surface world, began chuckling and asked Shrek how many “brown people” it took to use a surf board. Which….makes utterly no sense but no one said racists were a smart lot. However, the ogre ignored him and kept doing battle with his spectral rabbi. This made scruffy guy sad as he was one again the only sewer dwelling racist fuckface in the store and he had just blown his cover.
I was hoping to hurry my transaction and elude capture while Shrek complained to his invisible friend about how this was the “slowest f**king 7/11 in the city”. Again proving he’s lucid enough to know where he is and what he’s doing, but doesn’t see any problem with grappling an invisible rabbi in the middle of it.
But…than he started doing a weird little dance. It was sort of weird little line dance, only in a circle. At this point I’m totally lost now. I can’t even begin to fathom what’s going on now. Is he dancing around his hallucination? Is he dancing with his hallucination? Turns out I was wrong on both counts. Terrible, terrible wrong.
“SHE’S BLOWING ME NOW! SHE DOES IT INVISIBLY!”
Oh sweet Lord. That’s it. We’re moving to Defcon 3. It’s time to get the hell out of the store as fast as possible before he starts rutting my leg or something. I want no part of this and would like to make sure I’m well beyond arm’s reach of it.
“Look! I can swing her around by my cock and balls!"
Must…..get away. I take my purchases and flee weeping into the night. The last thing I hear behind me as he comes up to the cashier is: “You know you need to get some Jews in here. Jews’ll set you on fire.”
And that is why I don’t go to 7/11 anymore.
Oh? Why are you asking?
SC: “Hi, I was just watching a story on this Ruben girl. Did they take away her passport?”
Me: “I’m sorry?”
SC: “She’s a US citizen up here in Canada that’s wanted. If they issue a warrant for your arrest do they take away your passport?”
Here’s a question: Why do you need to know? What have you done while visiting our bountiful north lands? Is there something you aren’t telling me? Because for some reason you strike me as the sort of bloke that would come to sample our...local crops ( Weed for those of you outside of North America ;p ) and attempt to return to your place of origin with some souvenirs stuffed up your....how do I put this....auxiliary storage bay?
No, no I can't
Me: “Good evening, <company> property management”
SC: “Ya, I need help getting’ myself into alcohol treatment.”
Me: “This is <company> property management. I can’t really help you with that….”
SC: “Yeah, I live at <building we manage>! So I need help.”
Me: “That’s really not something I can help you with, sorry.”
SC: “Then why does it say for emergencies!?!?”
Me: “…this line is for property management emergencies.”
SC: “Well I guess you can’t help me than!!! <click>”
I guess I can’t, no. “Emergency” does not mean it’s an all encompassing line. It’s emergencies for <company> property management. Which implies property….and management. It doesn’t mean call this number if you have an emergency and just happen to live at a building managed by us. I can’t help with rehab, strokes, tsunami warnings, low altitude meteor air bursts, elk attacks or managing to somehow set your own groin on fire while making toast. Well I might be able to help you with the latter but only if you tried to extinguish yourself by rubbing your roasted almonds against the curtains and setting the suite aflame.
867
( God I hate this entire clothing line and the guy its named after )
Me: “Ok, and the item number?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
Me: “Alright, what size?”
SC: “X-Large”
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “Two of dem”
Me: “You want two?”
SC: “Yeah”
Me: “Same size?”
SC: “Yeah.”
SC: “Ok”
Me: “Huhuh huh…I just want shirts with a skull on em.”
….yes, I’m sure you’ll be widely feared amongst your ape like brethren with your imposing new garments. You realize that’s not even a hoodie or t-shirt or anything right? It’s actually a long sleeve dress shirt with a skull on it. A dress shirt. With a skull on it. It even has a front pocket for your heavy metal devil wing pocket protector. It’s pretty hard to be bad ass in a dress shirt. But I guess you need clothing options that keep you “Shady like Slim” even when you’re dressing for a job interview. Because the first impression you want to give to Mcdonald’s is that you’re down with your homiez, yo.
867
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “It’s a….uh…Rocco da sasha…uh…purse.”
Satchel. It says satchel. It also says “I just killed and skinned a rhinestone zebra.”.
867
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “IWA ACE N ORDA~!”
Me: “….ok. Can I have your name please?”
SC: “AWA?!”
…right, ok. Can you please look around the house and find someone that has lips? You sound like you’ve managed to lock your jaw around a grapefruit but you really needed to order pants before you went to the ER. Which, all things considered about this line, isn’t that unlikely a scenario.
Argh! ITS HAUNTING ME.
Ah, the Skytrain….and Broadway station. Every time it pulls up to Broadway I close my eyes and try to pretend I’m asleep in the hopes I can go unnoticed. Unfortunately, even when successful I still suffer….
Tonight some dweeb wipe loped on at Broadway and began talking about whether or not the morbidly obese should have to pay for two airline seats per the recent supreme court decision. Which actually makes him sound much more intelligent than he really was. It was actually more like “Hey, did you hear fat people don’t have to pay for two seats now?!”. I figured he was just communing with his sub-human companions. But he repeated himself. Then repeated himself again….and again….
Curiously, I looked up. Turns out he was just going around the Skytrain announcing this to random strangers. Great. My Skytrain has a town crier. Eventually he shambled my way, and I once again feigned slumber. My cunning ruse fooled him and he passed over me…and began engaging the guy behind me in “conversation”. At first I thought “This guy must be his sub-human compatriot.”. But no, after discussing butt width vs airplane seat for 10 minutes they suddenly introduced themselves to each other. He had not come back to an old friend, he had actually discovered a soulmate.
Having exhausted the topic of buttocks, Fuck and Wit decided what the entire Skytrain would really enjoy was if they went around and opened every single window on the train at 10pm in November. Because that’s what people love in November. A breeze. After completing this ill advised task they came to the conclusion that they had not yet convinced everyone within earshot with an IQ above 62 that they were total idiots and moved on to a new topic…
Twilight. Specifically how like OMG awesome the movie Twilight is. Now, I had never heard of Twilight till about 4 days ago and ever since I have slowly come to loath it. Not because I have seen the movie or read the books it was based on, but purely on virtue of being exposed to rabid fans of the book and movie. For those of you unaware of this series, allow me to try and explain based upon what I have learned by proxy: 100 year old yet somehow angst ridden teenage emo vampire who is really a vegetarian that bites and inject poison and actually shimmers ( Yes, shimmers ) in sunlight rather than dying screaming while his skin melts off goes to high school and hooks up with teenage girl 1/6th his age. Their angst ridden romantic adventure somehow spans multiple novels and a feature film that people actually pay money for.
So this questionable dialogue pulls in the two like OMG teenage girls across from them and combined with the frigid winds becomes a verbal discourse akin to being stuck in the middle of a cage full of easily startled spider monkeys. In a wind tunnel. This conversation persists all the way Granville and must have contained the word “Like” at least 200 times. My nose begins to run. I want to blame this on the cold, yet I have a growing fear that I’ve actually begun leaking brain fluid.
Just to top it off, they were all convinced the movie was actually called “Twilight Zone”.
Ah, Broadway Station….have I not yet suffered enough at your hands?
Hot Tips for America
Tonight’s cunning plan to defeat the Taliban: Construct artificial cloud makers using steam. These clouds cannot be seen through by the Taliban, but they can be seen through by American troops. How this is possible, he did not explain. These clouds will be remote controlled. Again, no elaboration on exactly how one jury-rigs a cloud to a remote control. Than these clouds will be used to…er….attack the Taliban….somehow. I’m not sure. He wasn’t really specific on how creating clouds over the Taliban, who mainly operate out of caves to begin with, would be an effective frontline weapon. He was just really really sure that we could make artificial clouds using steam and that these clouds would be the single most feared weapon ever deployed.
Wha?
SC: “I’m hearing noises and I’m not even asleep!”
…ok, what? I’m trying to process that statement and figure out in what possible way it could make sense. But I am failing miserably. Are you normally deaf but can still hear in your dreams? Than isn’t a good thing? You’re cured! It’s a miracle! Did you just phone me up because you wanted to share the joy but figured no one else would be awake but me? Why thank you, I’m touched you thought of me. I don’t care mind you. But I am touched.
867
Me: “Ok, and your phone number please?”
SC: “Itsh uh…..its long distance, alright?”
Yes. Thank you. If you had not have pointed that out I never would have figured it out on my own. Sometimes even though the number field demands 10 digits and the caller ID clearly stats an area code aside from 604 I still get confused and miss the blatantly obvious. If not for your quick thinking, all might have been lost.
Me: “Ok, and your postal code?”
SC: “XXX XXX”
Me: “Alright, and do you have a box number?”
SC: “XXX XXX”
Me: “…yes, but do you have a box number?”
SC: “That’s the box number.”
Me: “That’s the postal code, do you have a box number?”
SC: “Oh…uh….box xxx”
Me: “Thank you”
I’m beginning to suspect the terms “Mom” and “Sis” are interchangeable in your household.
Me: "What would you like to order?"
SC: "Itsh a hoodie~"
Me: “and what’s the ID number please?”
SC: “Uhh…I don’ see an ID. It’s in da catalog”
Me: “Ok. Which catalog?”
( They send out 8 different ones per year. 2 for each season. )
SC: “…uh…the <company> catalog.”
Me: “…Yes, but which <company> catalog?”
SC: “The 2008 one.”
Me: “…alright, but which 2008 catalog?”
SC: “Uh…it’s uh…a winter catalog….”
Me: “Alright…which winter catalog?”
Oh dear lord. Are you this stupid because you’re drunk or this drunk because you’re stupid? Ok, lemme cut you and your missing chromosome a break and try and ask you on a level you might actually grasp…
Me: “Ok. Is it the one with the blue cover or the one with the green and red cover?”
SC: “Oh! It’s blue and red!”
&@$*(! So close. Ok, one more try.
Me: “…ok, does it have a guy on it?”
SC: “Yeah, there’s a guy on it!”
Success! We’ve managed to overcome at least one of the hurdles the complete failure of your genetics is throwing at us.
Me: “Ok-“
SC: “Oh, hersh the number!”
Me: “Alright, what is it?”
SC: “xxxx-xx...uh..xx..”
Me: “….xxxx-xxxx? That’s one number too many…”
SC: “xxx-xx?”
<sigh>. You’re going to make me work for it tonight, aren’t you?
Me: “Ok, what size?”
SC: “Uhh….extra large”
Me: “Alright-“
SC: “n' Two large!”
Me: “Two? Ok, you want two more of the same item?”
SC: “Yah”
Me: “Ok, so 1 extra large and two large?”
SC: “and one medium.”
Me: “Alright”
SC: “Itsh all fer ma nephews! All comin’ ta ma credit card”
Someone actually entrusted you with a credit card? I mean I know they aren’t that hard to get but at the very least you have to fill out a form and I’m pretty sure you couldn’t even make your way through “Hi, My Name is _______”.
SC: “An’ a hat!”
Ah yes, of course. Head gear. Yes, you do need head gear. Sadly, we don’t sell helmets with chin guards.
Me: “Ok, what size?”
SC: “Ish uh…..7…uh…1 n uh 4?.
Me: “Unfortunately, I only have 7-1/2 and 7-3/8 in stock.”
SC: “Uhh…hold on, lemme get my nephew. He can tell ya.”
Oh joy. I get to speak to one of them in their larval form.
SC2: “Hi.”
Me: “Hello. What size did you need?”
SC2: “Uhh……its…uh….7 1 an..uh 4?”
Me: “I only have 7-1/2 and 7-3/8th”
SC2: “Uhhh……uh….sec.”
This kid is your nephew and your son, isn't he?
SC: “Ok, don’ worry! I’ll gesh somethin’ fer you!”
Ah, daddy dumbass is back.
SC: “I’ll pay fer it!”
Me: “….ok. Was there anything else?”
SC: “Hey, are these pants unisex?”
Me: “……what pants?”
Just because you’re pointing at it doesn’t mean I can see it over the phone. Elaborate.
SC: “Ok, Fox!”
Me: “….what?”
DO A BARREL ROLL.
SC: “Alright….uh….how much?”
Me: “It comes to-“
SC: “Cus I swear on my sister’s grave I’ll pay fer it!”
You have my condolences on the passing of your wife.
Thanks. Wench.
SC: “Yeah, cancel my call. I found someone cheaper than you.”
Well, hurray for you. Maybe you should do your comparison shopping before you call, agree to the estimate and have the service guy already halfway to your place. You know, just a thought.
Wench.
Say it with me now: A lack of planning on your part...
SC: “I need to get my car insured.”
Me: “Alright, well that’s not something I can help you with at this hour....we don't even do car insurance...”
SC: “But I need it before I go to work in the morning!”
It’s 1:44am. On a Sunday. And you’re trying to get car insurance before you have to go to work?! Perhaps next time you should undertake the novel task of planning ahead. I hear it does wonders for avoiding situations like these. Seriously though, you’re calling around trying to get car insurance at 1:44am on a Sunday before you have to go to work in the morning. You obviously aren’t grasping how utterly absurd this is, so I can continue to repeat it several more times for you if you wish. Perhaps with multiple applications it will begin to settle into the dimly lit, algae infested bird bath of your consciousness.
and the finale of my week....
As I got off the bus a few blocks from my house and walked to the corner, my foot slipped. Ice. The first ice of the season. I caught myself and made this proclamation, word for god damn word:
"Oh ho!? Upping the difficulty level today, are we? Very well, foolish asphalt! I accept your challenge!"
If you're going to make vengeful proclamations at inanimate objects. It's best to make sure that no one else got off the bus behind you and is still in earshot.
><
( God this isn't all the stuff from work this week. I still have more notes I just haven't had time to write up yet so I may post yet more later. )
This will be....epic length. Brace yourselves.
867
Me: “and your phone number please?”
SC: “Don’t have a phone.”
Me: “Unfortunately I need a phone number to place an order.”
SC: “Oh…ok. I’ll wait.”
…..wait for what? Your arctic hovel to finally teeter into the 20th century like a drunken yak with rickets? I don’t mind holding on for a minute for you to find an item in the catalog. But I have to draw the line at patiently waiting for an industrial revolution to strike in an area that’s just barely adapting to indoor plumbing.
Going with the Flow
SC: “Hi, my name is Vick.”
Me: “Hello, Vick!”
Vick either has way too much time on his hands or is very very lonely. Or both.
SC: “I’ve been watching CNN, CBS, CBC and ABC. I have all the facts.”
Oh good. Here I was worried your normal ramblings would be factually inaccurate. So good of you to double check on them all for me this time. I hope you can at least cite references should I have any questions. Have you written a Wiki article yet?
SC: “I keep seeing all these politicians just saying whatever they want on TV!”
Technically, they say what you want. Not what they want. Most of them wouldn’t have jobs anymore if they said what they want.
Me: “Alright, but once again I must ask you: What does this have to do with US?”
SC: “Uh. Well they talk and talk and say whatever they want and they get away with it.”
That does not answer my question. My question is a familiar one. I have asked you it many times. By now should have been able to take some notes, do some research, Google a few things and form a semi-coherent answer to my inquiry. Heck, check your Wiki article.
Me: “Ok, but what does that have to do with us?”
SC: “Well I was accused of being a terrorist once and you guys helped clear my name. So I’m really thankful.”
Me: “You know that has nothing to do with us right? That’s more a CIA or CSIS thing. Not us.”
SC: “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I called the wrong department.”
Me: “No problem, bye bye.”
See, as long as you sort of immerse yourself ( But not too far, the smell will never come out ) in his world and just go along with his little hallucinations, reason actually works on him. Oddly enough.
867
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “Pants....Uh…..xxxx-xx”
Me: “Ok….looks like I don't have those in stock, sorry.”
SC: “NOOOOOO~!"
Search your feelings. You know it to be true!
Flashback
Soo….Broadway Station. As usual, the font of everything that’s wrong with humanity. Guy got on, sat in front of me….bleach blond bed head hair, blue bandanna and bright yellow shirt with a collar high enough to be suitable for hang gliding. This guy thought he was stylin’ too. He kept standing up to check out his reflection in the window so he could probably flare his amazing flannel neck wings. He thought he was amazingly cool. I almost felt kind of sorry for him.
I haven’t seen anyone dressed like that since I was 10 and then he was on TV, banging two GI Joes together and telling me how “radical” it was.
Breaking News
SC: “Hi, my name is Vick.”
Me: “Hello, Vick!”
You’re almost a nightly sitcom onto yourself now, you know that right?
SC: “I just wanted to thank you for allowing me to tell the media what I know.”
Me: “…..alright?”
SC: “Thanks.”
Me: “Ok…..sure...”
SC: “Bye.”
Me: “Bye bye.”
I shall watch the morning news with baited breath for the revelations of what secrets you supposedly possess. I’m anticipating a headline similar to “Naked man barges into CTV lobby astride homemade butter sculpture of Garth Brookes. Demands Pledge dust wipes for thighs.”.
867
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “12 items.”
Oh joy. The whole village needs to be re-equipped. Somehow the daily struggle to open beer cans and resist obtaining a high school education has worn out all of your pants. Now you need more. Many, many more. Chapped buttocks are peering through the worn holes of your most prized possessions. Once again, you need my help.
Me: “Will this be by COD?”
SC: “Yes.”
12 items. $900 limit. CAN SHE DO IT?
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
Me: “Unfortunately, that puts it over the COD limit.”
Ooooooh, and she drops out at #9. But it was a valiant effort. You almost embraced and shielded the quivering buttocks of all of your fellows. But not quite. You were short by 3. So 3 poor souls will continue to have the bitter arctic winds nip at their glazed buns through the tattered remnants of last year’s pants.
Unreasonable Requests
Me: “Good morning, your paging <company>.”
SC: “Hi, do you speak English?”
Me: “….yes.”
Right, off to a great start. I do in fact speak English. I was not engaging in parrot like mimicry of English. I actually formed that sentence by myself using my own knowledge of the English language. If you had paid attention for even the barest fraction of a moment you would have already grasped the answer to your question.
SC: “I’m looking for Bob, do you have his email address?”
Me: “No I don’t sorry, we’re only their paging service. I don’t have contact information for their employees.”
SC: “Well he asked for this proposal to be emailed to him.”
Me: “I don’t have his email, sorry.”
SC: “Well what’s your email? I’ll just email it you and you can email it to him.”
Right. Ok, first off: You sir, are an idiot. Now that that’s out of the way; I told you I don’t have his email address. Even if for some half cranked reason I let you email it to me, I still could not email it to him. Because I do not have his email address. I am also not clairvoyant. I cannot touch the email on my screen, delicately caress the pixels and divine his identity and email from it. Secondly: No. Jerkflap. I’m his paging service. That’s it. That’s the whole level of service we’re paid to provide. We’re not his secretary, assistant, coffee slave, pool boy or leather clad man servant. I am not compelled nor required to do anymore than pass along a text based version of your dribbling annoyance to whomever is currently holding the device in question.
Why not
Me: “Good morning, <company>, how can I help you?"
SC: “Is this the Bob & Sherry show?”
…..sure, what the hell. My shift’s almost over. What can Bob do for you?
Never, NEVER AGAIN.
I did something tonight I swore I’d never do again. I went to 7/11. I missed my bus so I was a few minutes behind by the time I got downtown. I figured I didn’t have time to hit IGA so I’d just swing by 7/11. I mean…it can’t always be filled with freaks right? Oh how wrong I was.
All was fine at first till I moved towards the deli section and this hulking ogre of a man stepped into my path, his backpack raised in front of him like a shield. He had no neck to speak of and a vein pulsing on his forehead. I halted my advance in bewilderment. To which he bellowed, and this is a direct quote: “WHERE’S THE ELEPHANT BOY?!”. I had no answer for this inquiry and mentally began formulating a battle plan. He had no obvious weaknesses. Did I have to use my hookshot to pull the backpack away and expose his weak point?
But the fates are…somewhat merciful…and I realized he was not actually enraged with me specifically. Just someone or something that was invisible and standing in front of me. When I moved to the side to try and slip around him, his eyes and his rage did not follow. They were fixed ahead. I was safe! As I reached his back he turned, seemingly catching notice of movement. Dammit! I should have stayed still. Perhaps he’s like a T-Rex. They can’t see you if you don’t move. Eyeing me he bellowed, again, and I quote: “Where’d they get this b*tch?!”. I don’t know! Dear Lord! I can’t see whatever drug induced apparition is haunting you. I am not a member of this spectral meth world that seems to be overlapping your own. Not wishing to engage, I fled to the nuts and took refuge amongst them. For some reason the sight of pistachio’s and cashews caused him to lose interest and he moved on.
But his presence was still in the store. People were slinking off to the sides in hope of avoiding his aggro radius as he moved back to the beverages. Believing myself safe and desiring immediate escape, I moved to the counter ( As did half the store ) in the hopes of obtaining my purchases and fleeing into the night. But alas, it was not to be. He came up behind me to stand in line. Oddly enough it seems all he wanted was a Pepsi. Or rather he stood behind the person behind me in line, but that person fled and threw me to the wolves.
His insane muttering continued till I heard him drop something on the ground at which he screamed, and I quote yet again: “STOP IT YOU INVISIBLE JEW!”. Well. That rendered the store dead silent. But at least we now knew the form of his torment. Oddly, he seemed aware that his Jewish tormentor was invisible to us. So he’s lucid enough to realize only he can see it, but not lucid enough to realize screaming obscenities at it in public makes him look ragingly insane. He continued to struggle with his Jewish aggressor for some time.
….and than a scruffy guy by the magazine rack, perhaps sensing another of his sewer dwelling kin had emerged on the surface world, began chuckling and asked Shrek how many “brown people” it took to use a surf board. Which….makes utterly no sense but no one said racists were a smart lot. However, the ogre ignored him and kept doing battle with his spectral rabbi. This made scruffy guy sad as he was one again the only sewer dwelling racist fuckface in the store and he had just blown his cover.
I was hoping to hurry my transaction and elude capture while Shrek complained to his invisible friend about how this was the “slowest f**king 7/11 in the city”. Again proving he’s lucid enough to know where he is and what he’s doing, but doesn’t see any problem with grappling an invisible rabbi in the middle of it.
But…than he started doing a weird little dance. It was sort of weird little line dance, only in a circle. At this point I’m totally lost now. I can’t even begin to fathom what’s going on now. Is he dancing around his hallucination? Is he dancing with his hallucination? Turns out I was wrong on both counts. Terrible, terrible wrong.
“SHE’S BLOWING ME NOW! SHE DOES IT INVISIBLY!”
Oh sweet Lord. That’s it. We’re moving to Defcon 3. It’s time to get the hell out of the store as fast as possible before he starts rutting my leg or something. I want no part of this and would like to make sure I’m well beyond arm’s reach of it.
“Look! I can swing her around by my cock and balls!"
Must…..get away. I take my purchases and flee weeping into the night. The last thing I hear behind me as he comes up to the cashier is: “You know you need to get some Jews in here. Jews’ll set you on fire.”
And that is why I don’t go to 7/11 anymore.
Oh? Why are you asking?
SC: “Hi, I was just watching a story on this Ruben girl. Did they take away her passport?”
Me: “I’m sorry?”
SC: “She’s a US citizen up here in Canada that’s wanted. If they issue a warrant for your arrest do they take away your passport?”
Here’s a question: Why do you need to know? What have you done while visiting our bountiful north lands? Is there something you aren’t telling me? Because for some reason you strike me as the sort of bloke that would come to sample our...local crops ( Weed for those of you outside of North America ;p ) and attempt to return to your place of origin with some souvenirs stuffed up your....how do I put this....auxiliary storage bay?
No, no I can't
Me: “Good evening, <company> property management”
SC: “Ya, I need help getting’ myself into alcohol treatment.”
Me: “This is <company> property management. I can’t really help you with that….”
SC: “Yeah, I live at <building we manage>! So I need help.”
Me: “That’s really not something I can help you with, sorry.”
SC: “Then why does it say for emergencies!?!?”
Me: “…this line is for property management emergencies.”
SC: “Well I guess you can’t help me than!!! <click>”
I guess I can’t, no. “Emergency” does not mean it’s an all encompassing line. It’s emergencies for <company> property management. Which implies property….and management. It doesn’t mean call this number if you have an emergency and just happen to live at a building managed by us. I can’t help with rehab, strokes, tsunami warnings, low altitude meteor air bursts, elk attacks or managing to somehow set your own groin on fire while making toast. Well I might be able to help you with the latter but only if you tried to extinguish yourself by rubbing your roasted almonds against the curtains and setting the suite aflame.
867
( God I hate this entire clothing line and the guy its named after )
Me: “Ok, and the item number?”
SC: “xxxx-xx”
Me: “Alright, what size?”
SC: “X-Large”
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “Two of dem”
Me: “You want two?”
SC: “Yeah”
Me: “Same size?”
SC: “Yeah.”
SC: “Ok”
Me: “Huhuh huh…I just want shirts with a skull on em.”
….yes, I’m sure you’ll be widely feared amongst your ape like brethren with your imposing new garments. You realize that’s not even a hoodie or t-shirt or anything right? It’s actually a long sleeve dress shirt with a skull on it. A dress shirt. With a skull on it. It even has a front pocket for your heavy metal devil wing pocket protector. It’s pretty hard to be bad ass in a dress shirt. But I guess you need clothing options that keep you “Shady like Slim” even when you’re dressing for a job interview. Because the first impression you want to give to Mcdonald’s is that you’re down with your homiez, yo.
867
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “It’s a….uh…Rocco da sasha…uh…purse.”
Satchel. It says satchel. It also says “I just killed and skinned a rhinestone zebra.”.
867
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “IWA ACE N ORDA~!”
Me: “….ok. Can I have your name please?”
SC: “AWA?!”
…right, ok. Can you please look around the house and find someone that has lips? You sound like you’ve managed to lock your jaw around a grapefruit but you really needed to order pants before you went to the ER. Which, all things considered about this line, isn’t that unlikely a scenario.
Argh! ITS HAUNTING ME.
Ah, the Skytrain….and Broadway station. Every time it pulls up to Broadway I close my eyes and try to pretend I’m asleep in the hopes I can go unnoticed. Unfortunately, even when successful I still suffer….
Tonight some dweeb wipe loped on at Broadway and began talking about whether or not the morbidly obese should have to pay for two airline seats per the recent supreme court decision. Which actually makes him sound much more intelligent than he really was. It was actually more like “Hey, did you hear fat people don’t have to pay for two seats now?!”. I figured he was just communing with his sub-human companions. But he repeated himself. Then repeated himself again….and again….
Curiously, I looked up. Turns out he was just going around the Skytrain announcing this to random strangers. Great. My Skytrain has a town crier. Eventually he shambled my way, and I once again feigned slumber. My cunning ruse fooled him and he passed over me…and began engaging the guy behind me in “conversation”. At first I thought “This guy must be his sub-human compatriot.”. But no, after discussing butt width vs airplane seat for 10 minutes they suddenly introduced themselves to each other. He had not come back to an old friend, he had actually discovered a soulmate.
Having exhausted the topic of buttocks, Fuck and Wit decided what the entire Skytrain would really enjoy was if they went around and opened every single window on the train at 10pm in November. Because that’s what people love in November. A breeze. After completing this ill advised task they came to the conclusion that they had not yet convinced everyone within earshot with an IQ above 62 that they were total idiots and moved on to a new topic…
Twilight. Specifically how like OMG awesome the movie Twilight is. Now, I had never heard of Twilight till about 4 days ago and ever since I have slowly come to loath it. Not because I have seen the movie or read the books it was based on, but purely on virtue of being exposed to rabid fans of the book and movie. For those of you unaware of this series, allow me to try and explain based upon what I have learned by proxy: 100 year old yet somehow angst ridden teenage emo vampire who is really a vegetarian that bites and inject poison and actually shimmers ( Yes, shimmers ) in sunlight rather than dying screaming while his skin melts off goes to high school and hooks up with teenage girl 1/6th his age. Their angst ridden romantic adventure somehow spans multiple novels and a feature film that people actually pay money for.
So this questionable dialogue pulls in the two like OMG teenage girls across from them and combined with the frigid winds becomes a verbal discourse akin to being stuck in the middle of a cage full of easily startled spider monkeys. In a wind tunnel. This conversation persists all the way Granville and must have contained the word “Like” at least 200 times. My nose begins to run. I want to blame this on the cold, yet I have a growing fear that I’ve actually begun leaking brain fluid.
Just to top it off, they were all convinced the movie was actually called “Twilight Zone”.
Ah, Broadway Station….have I not yet suffered enough at your hands?
Hot Tips for America
Tonight’s cunning plan to defeat the Taliban: Construct artificial cloud makers using steam. These clouds cannot be seen through by the Taliban, but they can be seen through by American troops. How this is possible, he did not explain. These clouds will be remote controlled. Again, no elaboration on exactly how one jury-rigs a cloud to a remote control. Than these clouds will be used to…er….attack the Taliban….somehow. I’m not sure. He wasn’t really specific on how creating clouds over the Taliban, who mainly operate out of caves to begin with, would be an effective frontline weapon. He was just really really sure that we could make artificial clouds using steam and that these clouds would be the single most feared weapon ever deployed.
Wha?
SC: “I’m hearing noises and I’m not even asleep!”
…ok, what? I’m trying to process that statement and figure out in what possible way it could make sense. But I am failing miserably. Are you normally deaf but can still hear in your dreams? Than isn’t a good thing? You’re cured! It’s a miracle! Did you just phone me up because you wanted to share the joy but figured no one else would be awake but me? Why thank you, I’m touched you thought of me. I don’t care mind you. But I am touched.
867
Me: “Ok, and your phone number please?”
SC: “Itsh uh…..its long distance, alright?”
Yes. Thank you. If you had not have pointed that out I never would have figured it out on my own. Sometimes even though the number field demands 10 digits and the caller ID clearly stats an area code aside from 604 I still get confused and miss the blatantly obvious. If not for your quick thinking, all might have been lost.
Me: “Ok, and your postal code?”
SC: “XXX XXX”
Me: “Alright, and do you have a box number?”
SC: “XXX XXX”
Me: “…yes, but do you have a box number?”
SC: “That’s the box number.”
Me: “That’s the postal code, do you have a box number?”
SC: “Oh…uh….box xxx”
Me: “Thank you”
I’m beginning to suspect the terms “Mom” and “Sis” are interchangeable in your household.
Me: "What would you like to order?"
SC: "Itsh a hoodie~"
Me: “and what’s the ID number please?”
SC: “Uhh…I don’ see an ID. It’s in da catalog”
Me: “Ok. Which catalog?”
( They send out 8 different ones per year. 2 for each season. )
SC: “…uh…the <company> catalog.”
Me: “…Yes, but which <company> catalog?”
SC: “The 2008 one.”
Me: “…alright, but which 2008 catalog?”
SC: “Uh…it’s uh…a winter catalog….”
Me: “Alright…which winter catalog?”
Oh dear lord. Are you this stupid because you’re drunk or this drunk because you’re stupid? Ok, lemme cut you and your missing chromosome a break and try and ask you on a level you might actually grasp…
Me: “Ok. Is it the one with the blue cover or the one with the green and red cover?”
SC: “Oh! It’s blue and red!”
&@$*(! So close. Ok, one more try.
Me: “…ok, does it have a guy on it?”
SC: “Yeah, there’s a guy on it!”
Success! We’ve managed to overcome at least one of the hurdles the complete failure of your genetics is throwing at us.
Me: “Ok-“
SC: “Oh, hersh the number!”
Me: “Alright, what is it?”
SC: “xxxx-xx...uh..xx..”
Me: “….xxxx-xxxx? That’s one number too many…”
SC: “xxx-xx?”
<sigh>. You’re going to make me work for it tonight, aren’t you?
Me: “Ok, what size?”
SC: “Uhh….extra large”
Me: “Alright-“
SC: “n' Two large!”
Me: “Two? Ok, you want two more of the same item?”
SC: “Yah”
Me: “Ok, so 1 extra large and two large?”
SC: “and one medium.”
Me: “Alright”
SC: “Itsh all fer ma nephews! All comin’ ta ma credit card”
Someone actually entrusted you with a credit card? I mean I know they aren’t that hard to get but at the very least you have to fill out a form and I’m pretty sure you couldn’t even make your way through “Hi, My Name is _______”.
SC: “An’ a hat!”
Ah yes, of course. Head gear. Yes, you do need head gear. Sadly, we don’t sell helmets with chin guards.
Me: “Ok, what size?”
SC: “Ish uh…..7…uh…1 n uh 4?.
Me: “Unfortunately, I only have 7-1/2 and 7-3/8 in stock.”
SC: “Uhh…hold on, lemme get my nephew. He can tell ya.”
Oh joy. I get to speak to one of them in their larval form.
SC2: “Hi.”
Me: “Hello. What size did you need?”
SC2: “Uhh……its…uh….7 1 an..uh 4?”
Me: “I only have 7-1/2 and 7-3/8th”
SC2: “Uhhh……uh….sec.”
This kid is your nephew and your son, isn't he?
SC: “Ok, don’ worry! I’ll gesh somethin’ fer you!”
Ah, daddy dumbass is back.
SC: “I’ll pay fer it!”
Me: “….ok. Was there anything else?”
SC: “Hey, are these pants unisex?”
Me: “……what pants?”
Just because you’re pointing at it doesn’t mean I can see it over the phone. Elaborate.
SC: “Ok, Fox!”
Me: “….what?”
DO A BARREL ROLL.
SC: “Alright….uh….how much?”
Me: “It comes to-“
SC: “Cus I swear on my sister’s grave I’ll pay fer it!”
You have my condolences on the passing of your wife.
Thanks. Wench.
SC: “Yeah, cancel my call. I found someone cheaper than you.”
Well, hurray for you. Maybe you should do your comparison shopping before you call, agree to the estimate and have the service guy already halfway to your place. You know, just a thought.
Wench.
Say it with me now: A lack of planning on your part...
SC: “I need to get my car insured.”
Me: “Alright, well that’s not something I can help you with at this hour....we don't even do car insurance...”
SC: “But I need it before I go to work in the morning!”
It’s 1:44am. On a Sunday. And you’re trying to get car insurance before you have to go to work?! Perhaps next time you should undertake the novel task of planning ahead. I hear it does wonders for avoiding situations like these. Seriously though, you’re calling around trying to get car insurance at 1:44am on a Sunday before you have to go to work in the morning. You obviously aren’t grasping how utterly absurd this is, so I can continue to repeat it several more times for you if you wish. Perhaps with multiple applications it will begin to settle into the dimly lit, algae infested bird bath of your consciousness.
and the finale of my week....
As I got off the bus a few blocks from my house and walked to the corner, my foot slipped. Ice. The first ice of the season. I caught myself and made this proclamation, word for god damn word:
"Oh ho!? Upping the difficulty level today, are we? Very well, foolish asphalt! I accept your challenge!"
If you're going to make vengeful proclamations at inanimate objects. It's best to make sure that no one else got off the bus behind you and is still in earshot.
><
( God this isn't all the stuff from work this week. I still have more notes I just haven't had time to write up yet so I may post yet more later. )
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