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A Most Epic Struggle
I know, I know. I'm late. -.- Technical difficulties.
This week I did battle with perhaps one of the stupidest human beings walking this very Earth.
.....
You know, I've had callers ask me to pass along some fairly odd messages before. But never quite like:
“Tell him: I’ll take you up on that offer. But only if the leather chaps are provided.”
That begs for explanation. Probably not an explanation anyone would really want to hear. But an explanation none the less.
A Most Epic Struggle: The Prelude
Behold! The definition of “struggle”.
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Huh?”
Me: “Hello?”
SC: “Uhh….”
Me: “Hello?”
SC: “Huh….”
Me: “…hello?”
SC: “Hi.”
Me: “Can I help you?”
SC: “Uh…..C-O-M-P?”
Me: “….pardon?”
SC: “P-A-N-Y?”
( Yes, she's spelling the name of the company. I don't know why. )
Me: “…yes, this is <company>.”
SC: “<company>?”
Me: “Yes, can I help you?”
SC: “<company>?”
Me: “…yes, can I help you?”
SC: “Uhhhh….”
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Wha?”
Me: “Did you want to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “Alright, what is your name please?”
SC: “uhhh?”
Me: “…can I have your name please?”
SC: “Tim?”
( Yes, its a she and her name is "Tim" )
Me: “Tim?
SC: “Tim Coshem.”
Me: “Ok, how do you spell your last name?”
SC: “Tim.”
Me: “Yes, but how do you spell your last name?”
SC: “Uh….Coshem”
Me: “Ok, but how do you spell it?”
SC: “Coshem?”
Me: “Yes, but how do you spell it?”
SC: “Uh….Coshem”
Me: “But how do you spell your last name?”
SC: “…..uhhhh…..uh….Co...shem.”
Me: “I need to know how to spell your last name, please.”
SC: “Uhhhhhh.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Me: “…….”
SC: “….uhhh….C-O-S-H-E-M.”
Me: “Thank you, and your phone number please?”
SC: “xxx-xxx-xxxx”
Me: “Ok, and your postal code please?”
SC: “uhh….PO box.”
Me: “Ok, but what is your postal code please?”
SC: “uuuh…..x…….x…..x….”
( Literally, she kept saying "x" )
Me: “…….”
SC: “PO Box.....uh.....XXX XXX”
Me: “Alright, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “A hat.”
Me: “Ok, what’s the id number next to it?”
SC: “Um….F) xxxx”
Me: “Alright, and what size would you like?”
SC: “Uh…wha?”
Me: “What size would you like?”
SC: “Ummm…xxxx”
Me: “Yes, but what size cap would you like?”
SC: “…xxxx?”
Me: “I need to know what size you would like?”
SC: “53?”
Me: “….no, I need the size.”
SC: “uhhh…”
At this point the dim sunrise of understanding began to creep slowly over the dark, barren landscape of her mind and she realized that my inquiries were far, far beyond her. So, she fell back on the classic strategy: Tag out to someone else in the twit huddle and hope they have enough brain power to overcome my nefarious riddle.
Me: “Hello?”
SC2: “Hi.”
Me: “Yes, I need to know what size cap you would like?”
SC2: “Umm..he wants to order a cap on page 53”
Me: “Yes, but what size of cap would he like?”
SC2: “Ummm, xxxx?”
Me: “No, what size please?”
SC2: “Uhhhh…..”
Me: “……..”
SC2: “…….<click>”
Normally when a caller finally becomes overwhelmed by their own stupidity and hangs up I consider it a small victory. However, this was no victory. This, this was a slaughter. There is no pride or honour to be found in defeating this particular opponent. Rather, it felt like flogging an orphaned puppy in a cardboard box in the rain. Neither of them could muster even the most basic comprehension with which to defend themselves from the unrelenting barrage of simplistic, rudimentary questions that even a child could successfully answer.
That’s right, a question so simple that even the most primitive land mammals could probably answer. If I set an otter down in front of several items: Say a host of Pokemon paraphernalia, an old shoe, a Slim Jim ( Of which he could “snap into” if he so desired ) and a host of ever delicious clams. He would, of course, select the ever delicious clams as they are the most desirable item ( Though the Slim Jim is close. ) You, however, despite being presented with the items you wish cannot select the one you desire most. The otter can make this decision. Yet neither you nor your cohort can. The otter could probably select the hat it wanted too. Which it would wear while cracking open the ever delicious clams.
Otter > You.
You Really Don't Know, Do You?
Me: "Good evening, <company>
SC: "Yeah do you have the number for customer service?"
Me: "Sure-"
SC: “I had like the worst customer service experience evar. I mean they’ll be talking about this one in the board room.”
Hah. Oh wow. I think you’re vastly overestimating just how important you are to <company> or any corporate entity for that matter. They will not be talking about you in the board room. They will not even be talking about you in the lunch room. One CSR at their front desk will end up complaining about you to his girlfriend over a beer around 11pm tonight at Wiley’s Irish Pub halfway through his second bowl of nachos. That will be the full extent of your fame and the impact you and your sad little problems have on anyone within the corporate structure.
Even if the cashier shot you in the arm for mistaking the place for <competitor> the only impact that would have in the broad room would be a meeting regarding reinforcing their brand recognition. So they can avoid having to shoot any other customers in the immediate future.
Rawr.
Me: “Alright, I’ll leave a message for him for you.”
SC: “Great, I appreciate it, boss.”
You’d better, peon. Or I’ll have your arse fired.
Darwin Award Nominee
It never fails, you’re just sitting down to a nice lunch and bam, someone manages to blow their house up. Since I’m not fond of having my meal time interrupted by explosive combustion allow me to present a quick check list of things that you, the viewer, can do to ensure you don’t inadvertently reduce some or all of your house to smoldering rubble. Again.
1) Find someone qualified.
If there is any appliance or piece of large equipment in your house that’s attached to a gas line like, say, a hot water tank and you’d like to have it replaced: Please contact someone actually qualified to accomplish this task. Just because you’ve seen it done in a Home Depot commercial during Grey’s Anatomy last week does not in any way qualify you to service this equipment. In fact you should probably stay as far away from this equipment as possible and immediately alert the authorities if it begins making strange noises.
2) Turn. The. Gas. Off.
This one’s kind of a no brainer. Unfortunately, you my friend, fall into that category so I’ll elaborate anyway: If you simply must insist on ripping out a piece of equipment attached to a gas line please make sure you turn that gas line off first. See the whole concept behind something that uses gas to heat something in any way shape or form is that both gas and fire are being involved. These two dangerous elements are far beyond your meager powers and are not to be trifled with by you and your Reader’s Digest guide to saving on home renovations.
3) No seriously: Gas. Off.
Ok I really shouldn’t have to keep explaining this one but seeing as you seem to be desperately clamouring for a Darwin Award I’ll cover it anyway: If you’re going to replace a gas hot water tank….with an electric hot water tank. Thus indicating you will no longer be using the gas line in question at all don’t you really, really think you should turn it off? Instead of hooking up the electric hot water tank right in front of the open gas line that’s slowly pouring flammable vapour into your entire basement? Than leaving it there and going to bed?
Because you will be woken up. Rudely.
4) Hey! At least no one was hurt!
Yes, which is why I can laugh about it.
Mellow Yellow
SC: “I have a problem with my water here. It’s yellow! The cold water. Is it safe to drink?!”
Me: “Alright-“
SC: “Has anyone called in about this yet?”
Me: “No, you’re the first one.”
SC: “Does it have anything to do with that huge fire down the street?! They said on the news that it might be causing water problems.”
( ….didn’t you just answer your own question? )
Me: “I’m not sure, I can contact the caretaker for you and find out if you like.”
SC: “Do you know about that fire?”
Me: “No, I do not, sorry.”
SC: “Well why not!?”
Me: “No one has called in to report any problems related too it so far."
SC: “But it’s been all over the news since like 10!!"
Me: “I’ve been here at the dispatch center all evening, honestly.”
SC: “Well how could you not know?!”
Me: “Well, as I said, no one has called in to report anything related to it so far and, well, we're not the fire dept."
SC: “That’s ridiculous that you don’t know! What’s wrong with my water than?! Is it safe to drink?!”
Me: “I’m not sure, you’re the first to report a problem. I'll contact the caretaker and have him contact you."
SC: “Could you do that than?! I’d like to know if I’m going to be POISONED!~!!”
Mhmm. Right. Ok. Look, seriously. The water is yellow. That’s never a good sign to begin with. So I’m going to err on the side of “Don’t drink.”. I’m not even sure why this is such a difficult mental debate for you. The rules for yellow water are similar to yellow snow. Do you stand in your bathroom during the day, staring into the toilet bowl with a glass in your hand and your brow furrowed in confused concentration?
Tragedy
I saw the most tragically misguided youth on my way here this evening. On Granville street. He somehow managed to not only soak into the very depths of fashion tragedy that we have in the <company> and go beyond it. To new depths I had not even known was possible. I can think of no other moniker for him than “Supa G Kool”. At least, this would be how he envisions himself in his head if his clothing is any indication.
First up, of course, you need pants 19 sizes too large and so low that you’re incapable of moving any faster than a sort of semi paralyzed Morticia Adams like shuffle. Bonus points if they’re being held up by enough silver chain to moor a small tug boat. But these pants. These pants were fabulous. They had double butt cool. Each cheek was emblazoned with this huge gold glitter horseshoe as if She-Ra had ridden bareback through his living room window upon her fabulous unicorn steed, Swift Wind, and had it kick him square in the ass.
But it doesn’t end there. This was a theme he had going. He was wearing a hooded sweat ( Sorry, “hoodie” ) that was easily large enough to shelter a family of four from a blizzard inside of it. This to was emblazoned with gold glitter patterns which I assume in some way helped keep him “real”. This gold motif continued right down to his shoes and hat as well. Not to mention the sheer amount of “bling” he had equipped himself. Even if the majority of it was merely gold painted and purchased from street vendors it should still have been sufficient to weigh him down. Further complicating any attempts he made at locomotion.
He had been waiting with his friends for the bus and was attempting to bid them “farewell” as I was walking towards him. This included many gestures that seemed to be desperate attempts to communicate just how awesome he was. Intermingled with a variety of “gang signs” that no one as painfully white as him ( or me ) should really be using in any capacity unless intentionally attempting to bring shame and ridicule upon ourselves on MySpace.
After the bus pulled away he attempted to move on but his mobility was extremely limited due to his garments and I was able to effortlessly eclipse him.
Mellow Yellow Deux
SC: “Yes someone called me back and I was talking to him and he got cut off or hung up or something!”
Oh, hello again.
Me: “Oh, ok, that would have been the caretakker. I spoke with him as well, however, and he did explain that the water was due to the fire.”
SC: “Well how long is this going to last?!”
Until the fire stops burning and killing people. You sow.
Me: “I’m not sure as the fire is still on going. Would you like me to have him contact you again?”
SC: “NO ONE SEEMS TO KNOW ANYTHING@$~%~@!!!”
Me: “I can have him contact you again if you like.”
SC: “Don’t you have some sort of overall person for emergencies!?!”
Me: “Every category of emergency has its own on call people.”
SC: “There’s no overall person that oversees it all?!”
Me: “Well, no, not specifically. There are specific people for specific issues.”
SC: “Well who’s the boss than?!”
Me: “At this hour every type of emergency is handled by a specific person-“
SC: “Whose YOUR boss than?!!?”
Me: “I’m the afterhours desk. There isn’t really a boss here so to speak at this hour.”
SC: “WELL THAN I GUESS I HAVE TO WRITE A LETTER TO THE MAYOR@$?~%”
And say what exactly? Something like:
DEER MISTER MAYOR,
FROM MY TAPS FLOWS ONLY PEE. PLZ HALP.
LUV,
- RAGING CUNT HARPY, XOXO
Me: “If you like you can contact the office during the day and speak with someone higher up.”
SC: “Oh, good, I’ll do that than!”
Yes, you do that than. But please do so after you’ve taken your medication. They might be a tad more receptive to your concerns if you’re not actually spraying the phone receiver with wrath filled spittle because the person you’re conversing with is not omni-sentient.
A Most Epic Struggle: Chapter 1
( 2 days later... )
Behold, as I am forced to redefine my own definition of “struggle”.
Me: “Good evening, <company>“
SC: “Wha!?”
Me:“This is the <company>.”
SC: “Uh…yep.”
Me: “……..Can I help you?”
SC: “Yep.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Me: “…is there something I can help you with?”
SC: “Yep.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Me: “What exactly?”
SC: “Yep.”
Me: “What exactly can I help you with?”
SC: “uhhh……cap.”
Me: “You’d like to place an order for a cap?”
SC: “Yep.”
Me: “Alright. What is your name please?”
SC: “Tim.”
Me: “Tim? And your last name please?”
SC: “Coshem.”
Oh no. No no no. Not you again. I remember you. Oh please no. Why have you forsaken me Lord?
Me: “….ok, can you spell your last name for me?”
SC: “Coshem.”
Me: “Yes, but can you spell it for me?”
SC: “Coshem.”
Me: “Yes, but can you sp-“
SC: “HELLO!?”
( ?! )
Me: “…Yes, hi. Can you spell the last name for me please?”
SC: “C.....C......A....O...O-S-E-M-C-U-N-C-U-S-I-E-L-M.”
Me: “……C-C-A-O-O-S-E-M-C-U-N-C-U-S-I-E-L-M…..?”
( ….you…seem to have added quite a bit more letters since the last time you called. )
SC: “Yeah”
Me: “….ok…..and your phone number please?”
SC: “xxx-xxx-xxxx”
Me: “Ok, and your postal code?”
SC: “Postal code?”
Me: “Yes”
SC: “Postal code…”
Me: “Yes, what is your postal code please?”
SC: “Postal code….”
Me: “Yes, I need your postal code please”
SC: “Uhh….C-O-M-P-A-N-Y“
Me: “No, that is the name of our company. I need your postal code.”
SC: “<Gives the product id number>”
Me: “No, I need your postal code, please.”
( Here comes the tag out again… )
SC2: “Hello?”
Me: “Hi.”
Me: “Can I have your postal code please?”
SC2: “Postal….? Uh……….straight cap”
Me: “I need your postal code please.”
SC2: “Postal….card?”
Me: “Code. C-o-d-e”
SC2: “….I don’t know.”
Me: “You can’t place an order without a postal code.”
SC2: “………uh……”
Me: “……..”
SC2: “…..<company>.”
Me: “I need a postal code, otherwise you cannot place an order.”
SC2: “…………….reebok?”
Me: “That’s not it either.”
SC2: “……….obidescen!? huhuhuhuhuhuh!”
( I don’t know either. )
Me: “…..alright, goodbye.”
Please, just, stop calling. You ( and your cohort ) are simply just too stupid to place an order. Period. End of story. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. There is absolutely no possibility of you ever being able to pull this off. It’s just not possible with the minuet amount of brain power you possess rattling around inside your thick, thick and deeply sloped skulls. You should not be allowed anywhere near a phone. You should not even be considering touching a phone. You should be in a corner desperately weeping at your own stunningly complete lack of intelligence as the vast, vacant interior of your skull slowly fills with a mixture of mucus, tears and broken dreams.
A Most Epic Struggle: Chapter 2
Me: “Good evening, <company>“
SC: “yep?”
Me: “……can I help you?”
SC: “…..uhhhh…..yep…”
Me: “…..what with?”
SC: “Yep”
Me: “…..”
Go away. Shoo. Leave me alone! Have I not suffered enough at your dark, paste eating, crayon sucking hands? Stop calling! You cannot succeed! You are not the littlest engine that could and you cannot overcome this if you just believe in yourself and think you can. The only thing believing in yourself is accomplishing is extending the amount of failure and disappointment in your life. Please, heed my warnings.
You. Cannot. Pass!
A Most Epic Struggle: Chapter 3
Me: “Good evening, <company>“
SC: “uuuuhhhhh…..”
Seriously. Stop it. Please. You are just too stupid. You cannot overcome this. I’m telling you now. You are attempting the impossible. No good can possibly come from this.
A Most Epic Struggle: Chapter 4
( An hour later… )
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: “Uhh…I want to get a hat?”
Me: “Alright, what is your name please?”
SC: “Tim.”
Me: “And your last name please?”
( here comes hurdle #1 again )
“….uh…..C.....C.....O-O-S-H-E-M.”
Me: “Cooshem? Ok. And your phone number please?”
SC: “…………….”
Me: “What’s your phone number please?”
SC: “xxx-xxx-xxxx.”
Me: “and your postal code please?”
SC: “…….box number?”
Me: “No, postal code.”
SC: “Postal code…….”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…………………………”
Me: “……..”
SC: “PO…Box?”
Me: “I need your postal code, please.”
SC: “Oh……….”
Me: “………..”
SC: “068991134121415?”
Me: “No, I need a postal code.”
SC: “Postal code…postal code….postal coach?”
Me: “Code.”
SC: “Postal code……I dun know.”
Me: “You can’t place an order without one.”
SC: “What’s dat? Postal code?”
Me: “If you don’t have a postal code I can’t place an order for you.”
SC: “…………….”
Me: “…………….”
SC: “Pooooh……”
Me: “…………”
SC: “…………”
Me: “…..do you not have a postal code?”
SC: “Ayup.”
Me: “Than you can’t place an order if you don’t have a postal code.”
SC: “………………S?”
Me: “……..”
SC: “N…..wha? what? 1234?”
Me: “That’s not a postal code.”
SC: “What’s a postal code?”
Me: “Please call back when you find your postal code, ok?”
Seriously, stop it. Spare me. Spare you. Calling over and over will not magically give you a postal code nor will it stop me from asking for one. Unlike opening doors and windows, this is not a problem you can solve by repeatedly throwing yourself at it while shrieking until it finally gives way.
A Most Epic Struggle: Chapter 5
( 10 minutes later…. )
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: “I wanna order.”
Me: “Ok, what is your name please?”
SC: “SOLOOANDMASOHJDHE”
( I don’t know, it was this weird mishmash of crazed animal like noises )
“…..Ok, and how do you spell your first name please?”
SC: “T-I-M”
Me: "and the last name?”
SC: “C-O-O-S-H-E-M”
Me: “Ok, and your phone number please?”
SC: “xxxx.”
Me: “What’s the entire phone number please?”
SC: “xxx-xxx-xxxx”
Me: “Ok, and the postal code please?”
SC: “uuhh……uh, postal code?”
( At this point someone snatches the phone and the other familiar voice of cohort #2 comes on the line. )
SC: “Postal code? Postal code? Postal CODE!? F*cker you!”
Me: “…..excuse me?”
SC2: “Postal code?…postal code? F*ck you! F*CK YOU!!!!”
You can’t even swear at me right. What can you do right? Aside from dial that is. Never the less, while my patience is neigh limitless, my tolerance for disrespect is not. Congratulations, you have crossed the line into the No Hat Zone.
A Most Epic Struggle: Chapter 6
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: “I wanna straight cap.”
Me: “You’d like to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “Alright, can I have your name please?”
SC: “Tim Cooshem”
Me: “Ok, I believe I’ve already spoken with you guys several times this evening and the last time you called you swore at me. So I will not be placing any orders for you.”
SC: “I…uh…..um…er..….”
Me: "Bye bye."
I warned you. You’re now in the No Hat Zone. You will never get the head gear you so deeply desire to hide your thick, sloped skull now. I have given you multiple chances. More so than most people likely would of. In fact I think most people, if in the same room with you, would have lunged across the table and seized you by the throat by now screaming “I MUST CLEANSE MANKIND”. But I am far more benevolent than most. However, you could not mind your manners. So your failure is now absolute.
A Most Epic Struggle: Chapter 7
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: “I wanna place an order.”
Me: “Alright, and your name please?”
SC: “Tim Cooshem”
Me: “Ok, I believe I’ve already told you I will not be placing any orders for you.”
SC: “Ummm…..er…that is…I…”
Me: "Goodbye."
Unlike you, I have a short term memory that exceeds that of a budgie and have not yet forgotten nor forgiven your transgressions. You’re not even cunning enough to attempt subterfuge and give me a different name or phone number in an effort to obtain precious head gear. You just keep plowing on blindly in the same direction in the hopes that maybe this time you won’t barrel over the cliff again.
A Most Epic Struggle: Epilogue
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: “I wanna place an order.”
Me: “Alright, and your name please?”
SC: “Tim Cooshem”
Me: “Ok, as I’ve already told you I will not be placing any orders for you. Calling repeatedly will not change that.”
SC: “Ummm….”
Me: "Understood?"
SC: "uhh....yea....er..."
Me: "Goodbye."
Just. Stop. Please. Ok? It’s not going to work. I know who you guys are. I already know your number and box number off by heart so I know it’s you even if you attempt any sort of subterfuge. You will not succeed this night. I know there’s at least 2 of you there. Because you keep tagging out on the postal code question and I can hear the other one randomly yelling suggestions in the background of every call. Yet you all still give the same name when you call. As if it’s some sort of collective group name or band name. Like by day you’re mild mannered IHOP employees, but by night you combine to form Tim Ccaoosemuncusielm and fight…er….crime…or literacy or something.
You know what the silliest part about this whole fiasco is? The first time they called, 2 days ago, they were still trying to order the same cap but that time they knew their postal code. So they’ve actually degenerated further since then.
By Monday the pair of them will just be calling and chewing on the receiver.
Public Transit
Time for another fun edition of Overheard On The Skytrain:
“I’m like, so cute and gentle when I’m wasted!”
Yes, I know nothing overloads my cute sensors quite like a girl whose eyes are going in different directions, can’t stand upright by herself, has breath like paint thinner and may or may not eject the contents of her stomach on me at any given moment. It’s just so adorable.
Girl: “I’M FROM BOSTON AND OUR PUBLIC TRANSIT IS ()@$&ING AWESOME”
Guy: “Ok, you’re at a 10. I need you at about a 2.”
Girl: “Ok.”
Americans have a volume control.
“It’s true! It’s true in your inside voice!”
I…..don’t know. But my goal for the next week is to try and work that into a conversation somehow.
Oh wow. Bravo.
You’re trying to purchase cigarettes from the after hours window of a gas station but have forgotten your ID. Do you:
A) Apologize and say you will come back later with it.
B) Yell at the girl behind the glass like a raging man ape for not giving you smokes.
C) Punch through the glass of the window to try and get to her.
If you selected B and C, congratulations, you’re not only a fucking asshole but as an added bonus, you’re under arrest!
Manners
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “Can I get a pants, please?”
I’m not 100% what is you want by “a pants”. As you seem to be indicating a singular plural of all things. Perhaps you should just indicate the total number of pant legs you’re seeking and allow me to do the math from there. However! I will give you brownie points for good manners. Unlike some others that have called this evening.
Remember kids, It’s fine if you’re stupid as long as you’re polite.
Terror~
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
Girl #1: “Yes, hang on…..<sound of pages flipping>…..where is it?”
Girl #2: “Next page”
Girl #1: “Where?”
Girl #2: “I don’t know! I’m scared!”
….ok. Don’t worry, the catalog is perfectly harmless. You’ll be fine. I know there are some rather big words here and there and there seems to be an awful lot of them in some cases but don’t worry. Words can’t hurt you. They may confuse you. They may even frighten you if they have a significant amount of syllables, but they cannot actually hurt you.
Everything will be ok. Just focus on the pretty pictures and take deep breaths.
<sob>
This week I did battle with perhaps one of the stupidest human beings walking this very Earth.
.....
You know, I've had callers ask me to pass along some fairly odd messages before. But never quite like:
“Tell him: I’ll take you up on that offer. But only if the leather chaps are provided.”
That begs for explanation. Probably not an explanation anyone would really want to hear. But an explanation none the less.
A Most Epic Struggle: The Prelude
Behold! The definition of “struggle”.
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Huh?”
Me: “Hello?”
SC: “Uhh….”
Me: “Hello?”
SC: “Huh….”
Me: “…hello?”
SC: “Hi.”
Me: “Can I help you?”
SC: “Uh…..C-O-M-P?”
Me: “….pardon?”
SC: “P-A-N-Y?”
( Yes, she's spelling the name of the company. I don't know why. )
Me: “…yes, this is <company>.”
SC: “<company>?”
Me: “Yes, can I help you?”
SC: “<company>?”
Me: “…yes, can I help you?”
SC: “Uhhhh….”
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Wha?”
Me: “Did you want to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “Alright, what is your name please?”
SC: “uhhh?”
Me: “…can I have your name please?”
SC: “Tim?”
( Yes, its a she and her name is "Tim" )
Me: “Tim?
SC: “Tim Coshem.”
Me: “Ok, how do you spell your last name?”
SC: “Tim.”
Me: “Yes, but how do you spell your last name?”
SC: “Uh….Coshem”
Me: “Ok, but how do you spell it?”
SC: “Coshem?”
Me: “Yes, but how do you spell it?”
SC: “Uh….Coshem”
Me: “But how do you spell your last name?”
SC: “…..uhhhh…..uh….Co...shem.”
Me: “I need to know how to spell your last name, please.”
SC: “Uhhhhhh.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Me: “…….”
SC: “….uhhh….C-O-S-H-E-M.”
Me: “Thank you, and your phone number please?”
SC: “xxx-xxx-xxxx”
Me: “Ok, and your postal code please?”
SC: “uhh….PO box.”
Me: “Ok, but what is your postal code please?”
SC: “uuuh…..x…….x…..x….”
( Literally, she kept saying "x" )
Me: “…….”
SC: “PO Box.....uh.....XXX XXX”
Me: “Alright, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “A hat.”
Me: “Ok, what’s the id number next to it?”
SC: “Um….F) xxxx”
Me: “Alright, and what size would you like?”
SC: “Uh…wha?”
Me: “What size would you like?”
SC: “Ummm…xxxx”
Me: “Yes, but what size cap would you like?”
SC: “…xxxx?”
Me: “I need to know what size you would like?”
SC: “53?”
Me: “….no, I need the size.”
SC: “uhhh…”
At this point the dim sunrise of understanding began to creep slowly over the dark, barren landscape of her mind and she realized that my inquiries were far, far beyond her. So, she fell back on the classic strategy: Tag out to someone else in the twit huddle and hope they have enough brain power to overcome my nefarious riddle.
Me: “Hello?”
SC2: “Hi.”
Me: “Yes, I need to know what size cap you would like?”
SC2: “Umm..he wants to order a cap on page 53”
Me: “Yes, but what size of cap would he like?”
SC2: “Ummm, xxxx?”
Me: “No, what size please?”
SC2: “Uhhhh…..”
Me: “……..”
SC2: “…….<click>”
Normally when a caller finally becomes overwhelmed by their own stupidity and hangs up I consider it a small victory. However, this was no victory. This, this was a slaughter. There is no pride or honour to be found in defeating this particular opponent. Rather, it felt like flogging an orphaned puppy in a cardboard box in the rain. Neither of them could muster even the most basic comprehension with which to defend themselves from the unrelenting barrage of simplistic, rudimentary questions that even a child could successfully answer.
That’s right, a question so simple that even the most primitive land mammals could probably answer. If I set an otter down in front of several items: Say a host of Pokemon paraphernalia, an old shoe, a Slim Jim ( Of which he could “snap into” if he so desired ) and a host of ever delicious clams. He would, of course, select the ever delicious clams as they are the most desirable item ( Though the Slim Jim is close. ) You, however, despite being presented with the items you wish cannot select the one you desire most. The otter can make this decision. Yet neither you nor your cohort can. The otter could probably select the hat it wanted too. Which it would wear while cracking open the ever delicious clams.
Otter > You.
You Really Don't Know, Do You?
Me: "Good evening, <company>
SC: "Yeah do you have the number for customer service?"
Me: "Sure-"
SC: “I had like the worst customer service experience evar. I mean they’ll be talking about this one in the board room.”
Hah. Oh wow. I think you’re vastly overestimating just how important you are to <company> or any corporate entity for that matter. They will not be talking about you in the board room. They will not even be talking about you in the lunch room. One CSR at their front desk will end up complaining about you to his girlfriend over a beer around 11pm tonight at Wiley’s Irish Pub halfway through his second bowl of nachos. That will be the full extent of your fame and the impact you and your sad little problems have on anyone within the corporate structure.
Even if the cashier shot you in the arm for mistaking the place for <competitor> the only impact that would have in the broad room would be a meeting regarding reinforcing their brand recognition. So they can avoid having to shoot any other customers in the immediate future.
Rawr.
Me: “Alright, I’ll leave a message for him for you.”
SC: “Great, I appreciate it, boss.”
You’d better, peon. Or I’ll have your arse fired.
Darwin Award Nominee
It never fails, you’re just sitting down to a nice lunch and bam, someone manages to blow their house up. Since I’m not fond of having my meal time interrupted by explosive combustion allow me to present a quick check list of things that you, the viewer, can do to ensure you don’t inadvertently reduce some or all of your house to smoldering rubble. Again.
1) Find someone qualified.
If there is any appliance or piece of large equipment in your house that’s attached to a gas line like, say, a hot water tank and you’d like to have it replaced: Please contact someone actually qualified to accomplish this task. Just because you’ve seen it done in a Home Depot commercial during Grey’s Anatomy last week does not in any way qualify you to service this equipment. In fact you should probably stay as far away from this equipment as possible and immediately alert the authorities if it begins making strange noises.
2) Turn. The. Gas. Off.
This one’s kind of a no brainer. Unfortunately, you my friend, fall into that category so I’ll elaborate anyway: If you simply must insist on ripping out a piece of equipment attached to a gas line please make sure you turn that gas line off first. See the whole concept behind something that uses gas to heat something in any way shape or form is that both gas and fire are being involved. These two dangerous elements are far beyond your meager powers and are not to be trifled with by you and your Reader’s Digest guide to saving on home renovations.
3) No seriously: Gas. Off.
Ok I really shouldn’t have to keep explaining this one but seeing as you seem to be desperately clamouring for a Darwin Award I’ll cover it anyway: If you’re going to replace a gas hot water tank….with an electric hot water tank. Thus indicating you will no longer be using the gas line in question at all don’t you really, really think you should turn it off? Instead of hooking up the electric hot water tank right in front of the open gas line that’s slowly pouring flammable vapour into your entire basement? Than leaving it there and going to bed?
Because you will be woken up. Rudely.
4) Hey! At least no one was hurt!
Yes, which is why I can laugh about it.
Mellow Yellow
SC: “I have a problem with my water here. It’s yellow! The cold water. Is it safe to drink?!”
Me: “Alright-“
SC: “Has anyone called in about this yet?”
Me: “No, you’re the first one.”
SC: “Does it have anything to do with that huge fire down the street?! They said on the news that it might be causing water problems.”
( ….didn’t you just answer your own question? )
Me: “I’m not sure, I can contact the caretaker for you and find out if you like.”
SC: “Do you know about that fire?”
Me: “No, I do not, sorry.”
SC: “Well why not!?”
Me: “No one has called in to report any problems related too it so far."
SC: “But it’s been all over the news since like 10!!"
Me: “I’ve been here at the dispatch center all evening, honestly.”
SC: “Well how could you not know?!”
Me: “Well, as I said, no one has called in to report anything related to it so far and, well, we're not the fire dept."
SC: “That’s ridiculous that you don’t know! What’s wrong with my water than?! Is it safe to drink?!”
Me: “I’m not sure, you’re the first to report a problem. I'll contact the caretaker and have him contact you."
SC: “Could you do that than?! I’d like to know if I’m going to be POISONED!~!!”
Mhmm. Right. Ok. Look, seriously. The water is yellow. That’s never a good sign to begin with. So I’m going to err on the side of “Don’t drink.”. I’m not even sure why this is such a difficult mental debate for you. The rules for yellow water are similar to yellow snow. Do you stand in your bathroom during the day, staring into the toilet bowl with a glass in your hand and your brow furrowed in confused concentration?
Tragedy
I saw the most tragically misguided youth on my way here this evening. On Granville street. He somehow managed to not only soak into the very depths of fashion tragedy that we have in the <company> and go beyond it. To new depths I had not even known was possible. I can think of no other moniker for him than “Supa G Kool”. At least, this would be how he envisions himself in his head if his clothing is any indication.
First up, of course, you need pants 19 sizes too large and so low that you’re incapable of moving any faster than a sort of semi paralyzed Morticia Adams like shuffle. Bonus points if they’re being held up by enough silver chain to moor a small tug boat. But these pants. These pants were fabulous. They had double butt cool. Each cheek was emblazoned with this huge gold glitter horseshoe as if She-Ra had ridden bareback through his living room window upon her fabulous unicorn steed, Swift Wind, and had it kick him square in the ass.
But it doesn’t end there. This was a theme he had going. He was wearing a hooded sweat ( Sorry, “hoodie” ) that was easily large enough to shelter a family of four from a blizzard inside of it. This to was emblazoned with gold glitter patterns which I assume in some way helped keep him “real”. This gold motif continued right down to his shoes and hat as well. Not to mention the sheer amount of “bling” he had equipped himself. Even if the majority of it was merely gold painted and purchased from street vendors it should still have been sufficient to weigh him down. Further complicating any attempts he made at locomotion.
He had been waiting with his friends for the bus and was attempting to bid them “farewell” as I was walking towards him. This included many gestures that seemed to be desperate attempts to communicate just how awesome he was. Intermingled with a variety of “gang signs” that no one as painfully white as him ( or me ) should really be using in any capacity unless intentionally attempting to bring shame and ridicule upon ourselves on MySpace.
After the bus pulled away he attempted to move on but his mobility was extremely limited due to his garments and I was able to effortlessly eclipse him.
Mellow Yellow Deux
SC: “Yes someone called me back and I was talking to him and he got cut off or hung up or something!”
Oh, hello again.
Me: “Oh, ok, that would have been the caretakker. I spoke with him as well, however, and he did explain that the water was due to the fire.”
SC: “Well how long is this going to last?!”
Until the fire stops burning and killing people. You sow.
Me: “I’m not sure as the fire is still on going. Would you like me to have him contact you again?”
SC: “NO ONE SEEMS TO KNOW ANYTHING@$~%~@!!!”
Me: “I can have him contact you again if you like.”
SC: “Don’t you have some sort of overall person for emergencies!?!”
Me: “Every category of emergency has its own on call people.”
SC: “There’s no overall person that oversees it all?!”
Me: “Well, no, not specifically. There are specific people for specific issues.”
SC: “Well who’s the boss than?!”
Me: “At this hour every type of emergency is handled by a specific person-“
SC: “Whose YOUR boss than?!!?”
Me: “I’m the afterhours desk. There isn’t really a boss here so to speak at this hour.”
SC: “WELL THAN I GUESS I HAVE TO WRITE A LETTER TO THE MAYOR@$?~%”
And say what exactly? Something like:
DEER MISTER MAYOR,
FROM MY TAPS FLOWS ONLY PEE. PLZ HALP.
LUV,
- RAGING CUNT HARPY, XOXO
Me: “If you like you can contact the office during the day and speak with someone higher up.”
SC: “Oh, good, I’ll do that than!”
Yes, you do that than. But please do so after you’ve taken your medication. They might be a tad more receptive to your concerns if you’re not actually spraying the phone receiver with wrath filled spittle because the person you’re conversing with is not omni-sentient.
A Most Epic Struggle: Chapter 1
( 2 days later... )
Behold, as I am forced to redefine my own definition of “struggle”.
Me: “Good evening, <company>“
SC: “Wha!?”
Me:“This is the <company>.”
SC: “Uh…yep.”
Me: “……..Can I help you?”
SC: “Yep.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Me: “…is there something I can help you with?”
SC: “Yep.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Me: “What exactly?”
SC: “Yep.”
Me: “What exactly can I help you with?”
SC: “uhhh……cap.”
Me: “You’d like to place an order for a cap?”
SC: “Yep.”
Me: “Alright. What is your name please?”
SC: “Tim.”
Me: “Tim? And your last name please?”
SC: “Coshem.”
Oh no. No no no. Not you again. I remember you. Oh please no. Why have you forsaken me Lord?
Me: “….ok, can you spell your last name for me?”
SC: “Coshem.”
Me: “Yes, but can you spell it for me?”
SC: “Coshem.”
Me: “Yes, but can you sp-“
SC: “HELLO!?”
( ?! )
Me: “…Yes, hi. Can you spell the last name for me please?”
SC: “C.....C......A....O...O-S-E-M-C-U-N-C-U-S-I-E-L-M.”
Me: “……C-C-A-O-O-S-E-M-C-U-N-C-U-S-I-E-L-M…..?”
( ….you…seem to have added quite a bit more letters since the last time you called. )
SC: “Yeah”
Me: “….ok…..and your phone number please?”
SC: “xxx-xxx-xxxx”
Me: “Ok, and your postal code?”
SC: “Postal code?”
Me: “Yes”
SC: “Postal code…”
Me: “Yes, what is your postal code please?”
SC: “Postal code….”
Me: “Yes, I need your postal code please”
SC: “Uhh….C-O-M-P-A-N-Y“
Me: “No, that is the name of our company. I need your postal code.”
SC: “<Gives the product id number>”
Me: “No, I need your postal code, please.”
( Here comes the tag out again… )
SC2: “Hello?”
Me: “Hi.”
Me: “Can I have your postal code please?”
SC2: “Postal….? Uh……….straight cap”
Me: “I need your postal code please.”
SC2: “Postal….card?”
Me: “Code. C-o-d-e”
SC2: “….I don’t know.”
Me: “You can’t place an order without a postal code.”
SC2: “………uh……”
Me: “……..”
SC2: “…..<company>.”
Me: “I need a postal code, otherwise you cannot place an order.”
SC2: “…………….reebok?”
Me: “That’s not it either.”
SC2: “……….obidescen!? huhuhuhuhuhuh!”
( I don’t know either. )
Me: “…..alright, goodbye.”
Please, just, stop calling. You ( and your cohort ) are simply just too stupid to place an order. Period. End of story. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. There is absolutely no possibility of you ever being able to pull this off. It’s just not possible with the minuet amount of brain power you possess rattling around inside your thick, thick and deeply sloped skulls. You should not be allowed anywhere near a phone. You should not even be considering touching a phone. You should be in a corner desperately weeping at your own stunningly complete lack of intelligence as the vast, vacant interior of your skull slowly fills with a mixture of mucus, tears and broken dreams.
A Most Epic Struggle: Chapter 2
Me: “Good evening, <company>“
SC: “yep?”
Me: “……can I help you?”
SC: “…..uhhhh…..yep…”
Me: “…..what with?”
SC: “Yep”
Me: “…..”
Go away. Shoo. Leave me alone! Have I not suffered enough at your dark, paste eating, crayon sucking hands? Stop calling! You cannot succeed! You are not the littlest engine that could and you cannot overcome this if you just believe in yourself and think you can. The only thing believing in yourself is accomplishing is extending the amount of failure and disappointment in your life. Please, heed my warnings.
You. Cannot. Pass!
A Most Epic Struggle: Chapter 3
Me: “Good evening, <company>“
SC: “uuuuhhhhh…..”
Seriously. Stop it. Please. You are just too stupid. You cannot overcome this. I’m telling you now. You are attempting the impossible. No good can possibly come from this.
A Most Epic Struggle: Chapter 4
( An hour later… )
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: “Uhh…I want to get a hat?”
Me: “Alright, what is your name please?”
SC: “Tim.”
Me: “And your last name please?”
( here comes hurdle #1 again )
“….uh…..C.....C.....O-O-S-H-E-M.”
Me: “Cooshem? Ok. And your phone number please?”
SC: “…………….”
Me: “What’s your phone number please?”
SC: “xxx-xxx-xxxx.”
Me: “and your postal code please?”
SC: “…….box number?”
Me: “No, postal code.”
SC: “Postal code…….”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…………………………”
Me: “……..”
SC: “PO…Box?”
Me: “I need your postal code, please.”
SC: “Oh……….”
Me: “………..”
SC: “068991134121415?”
Me: “No, I need a postal code.”
SC: “Postal code…postal code….postal coach?”
Me: “Code.”
SC: “Postal code……I dun know.”
Me: “You can’t place an order without one.”
SC: “What’s dat? Postal code?”
Me: “If you don’t have a postal code I can’t place an order for you.”
SC: “…………….”
Me: “…………….”
SC: “Pooooh……”
Me: “…………”
SC: “…………”
Me: “…..do you not have a postal code?”
SC: “Ayup.”
Me: “Than you can’t place an order if you don’t have a postal code.”
SC: “………………S?”
Me: “……..”
SC: “N…..wha? what? 1234?”
Me: “That’s not a postal code.”
SC: “What’s a postal code?”
Me: “Please call back when you find your postal code, ok?”
Seriously, stop it. Spare me. Spare you. Calling over and over will not magically give you a postal code nor will it stop me from asking for one. Unlike opening doors and windows, this is not a problem you can solve by repeatedly throwing yourself at it while shrieking until it finally gives way.
A Most Epic Struggle: Chapter 5
( 10 minutes later…. )
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: “I wanna order.”
Me: “Ok, what is your name please?”
SC: “SOLOOANDMASOHJDHE”
( I don’t know, it was this weird mishmash of crazed animal like noises )
“…..Ok, and how do you spell your first name please?”
SC: “T-I-M”
Me: "and the last name?”
SC: “C-O-O-S-H-E-M”
Me: “Ok, and your phone number please?”
SC: “xxxx.”
Me: “What’s the entire phone number please?”
SC: “xxx-xxx-xxxx”
Me: “Ok, and the postal code please?”
SC: “uuhh……uh, postal code?”
( At this point someone snatches the phone and the other familiar voice of cohort #2 comes on the line. )
SC: “Postal code? Postal code? Postal CODE!? F*cker you!”
Me: “…..excuse me?”
SC2: “Postal code?…postal code? F*ck you! F*CK YOU!!!!”
You can’t even swear at me right. What can you do right? Aside from dial that is. Never the less, while my patience is neigh limitless, my tolerance for disrespect is not. Congratulations, you have crossed the line into the No Hat Zone.
A Most Epic Struggle: Chapter 6
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: “I wanna straight cap.”
Me: “You’d like to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “Alright, can I have your name please?”
SC: “Tim Cooshem”
Me: “Ok, I believe I’ve already spoken with you guys several times this evening and the last time you called you swore at me. So I will not be placing any orders for you.”
SC: “I…uh…..um…er..….”
Me: "Bye bye."
I warned you. You’re now in the No Hat Zone. You will never get the head gear you so deeply desire to hide your thick, sloped skull now. I have given you multiple chances. More so than most people likely would of. In fact I think most people, if in the same room with you, would have lunged across the table and seized you by the throat by now screaming “I MUST CLEANSE MANKIND”. But I am far more benevolent than most. However, you could not mind your manners. So your failure is now absolute.
A Most Epic Struggle: Chapter 7
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: “I wanna place an order.”
Me: “Alright, and your name please?”
SC: “Tim Cooshem”
Me: “Ok, I believe I’ve already told you I will not be placing any orders for you.”
SC: “Ummm…..er…that is…I…”
Me: "Goodbye."
Unlike you, I have a short term memory that exceeds that of a budgie and have not yet forgotten nor forgiven your transgressions. You’re not even cunning enough to attempt subterfuge and give me a different name or phone number in an effort to obtain precious head gear. You just keep plowing on blindly in the same direction in the hopes that maybe this time you won’t barrel over the cliff again.
A Most Epic Struggle: Epilogue
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: “I wanna place an order.”
Me: “Alright, and your name please?”
SC: “Tim Cooshem”
Me: “Ok, as I’ve already told you I will not be placing any orders for you. Calling repeatedly will not change that.”
SC: “Ummm….”
Me: "Understood?"
SC: "uhh....yea....er..."
Me: "Goodbye."
Just. Stop. Please. Ok? It’s not going to work. I know who you guys are. I already know your number and box number off by heart so I know it’s you even if you attempt any sort of subterfuge. You will not succeed this night. I know there’s at least 2 of you there. Because you keep tagging out on the postal code question and I can hear the other one randomly yelling suggestions in the background of every call. Yet you all still give the same name when you call. As if it’s some sort of collective group name or band name. Like by day you’re mild mannered IHOP employees, but by night you combine to form Tim Ccaoosemuncusielm and fight…er….crime…or literacy or something.
You know what the silliest part about this whole fiasco is? The first time they called, 2 days ago, they were still trying to order the same cap but that time they knew their postal code. So they’ve actually degenerated further since then.
By Monday the pair of them will just be calling and chewing on the receiver.
Public Transit
Time for another fun edition of Overheard On The Skytrain:
“I’m like, so cute and gentle when I’m wasted!”
Yes, I know nothing overloads my cute sensors quite like a girl whose eyes are going in different directions, can’t stand upright by herself, has breath like paint thinner and may or may not eject the contents of her stomach on me at any given moment. It’s just so adorable.
Girl: “I’M FROM BOSTON AND OUR PUBLIC TRANSIT IS ()@$&ING AWESOME”
Guy: “Ok, you’re at a 10. I need you at about a 2.”
Girl: “Ok.”
Americans have a volume control.
“It’s true! It’s true in your inside voice!”
I…..don’t know. But my goal for the next week is to try and work that into a conversation somehow.
Oh wow. Bravo.
You’re trying to purchase cigarettes from the after hours window of a gas station but have forgotten your ID. Do you:
A) Apologize and say you will come back later with it.
B) Yell at the girl behind the glass like a raging man ape for not giving you smokes.
C) Punch through the glass of the window to try and get to her.
If you selected B and C, congratulations, you’re not only a fucking asshole but as an added bonus, you’re under arrest!
Manners
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “Can I get a pants, please?”
I’m not 100% what is you want by “a pants”. As you seem to be indicating a singular plural of all things. Perhaps you should just indicate the total number of pant legs you’re seeking and allow me to do the math from there. However! I will give you brownie points for good manners. Unlike some others that have called this evening.
Remember kids, It’s fine if you’re stupid as long as you’re polite.
Terror~
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
Girl #1: “Yes, hang on…..<sound of pages flipping>…..where is it?”
Girl #2: “Next page”
Girl #1: “Where?”
Girl #2: “I don’t know! I’m scared!”
….ok. Don’t worry, the catalog is perfectly harmless. You’ll be fine. I know there are some rather big words here and there and there seems to be an awful lot of them in some cases but don’t worry. Words can’t hurt you. They may confuse you. They may even frighten you if they have a significant amount of syllables, but they cannot actually hurt you.
Everything will be ok. Just focus on the pretty pictures and take deep breaths.
<sob>
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