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Fear Gravy
Don't worry, I was sure to take my pain killers right before I posted. =p
Though it was kind of a slow week, honestly.
Oh Come On, At Least Try
Me: “Good morning, <company>”
SC: “………”
Me: “………”
SC: “………”
Me: “….hello?”
SC: “Oh, sorry. I forgot I was on the phone.”
You….forgot? But….you just dialed? I picked up on the first ring. Which means that in the space of about 2 seconds you went from dialing to “Oh my god, WHATS THIS THING BY MY FACE!?” At which point I assume you hurdled it across the room believing it to be some sort of bat or evil spirit. After carefully approaching it and prodding it with your foot to see if it still lived you noticed that, for once, you actually had pants on. Than you remembered “Wait, pants!” and it all came rushing back to you.
Moral Dilemma
I am faced with a peculiar moral dilemma this evening. A hotel called <pest control company> to report a horrible infestation of life sucking hell mites, er, bed bugs. Unfortunately, this hotel is also one of the ones we book for on <reservation line>. Thus, my predicament……do I send people to their itchy demise at the blood thirsty mandibles of the black horde? Or do I attempt to warn them of the dark seething mass they would find themselves engaged in mortal struggle with after climbing into their soft, soft beds. But I could not overtly do so lest I get in trouble…..I would have to be clever and subtle….perhaps:
“OI can put you at the Hotel Godless Black Swarm for $60 a room”?
The Exhibitionist
I have returned and I bring with me tales of the sights I have seen on my travels. I must once again add an additional entry to my ever growing encyclopedia of transit denizens. This evening I present: The Exhibitionist.
I actually see this one fairly often. As would anyone riding downtown late at night. Especially on the weekends. This attention starved creature typically gets on the train with several companions in case he requires an audience at a moment’s notice. Which, often, the Exhibitionist does.
Whatever performance this peculiar individual begins after the doors close could be just about anything. It could be a series of elaborate gymnastics, it could be a strangely unsettling dance routine or it could be unspeakable things not fit for the eyes of children typically done directly in front of someone's children. The only common theme amongst them all is that 9 times out of 10 it requires the poles of the Skytrain.
For a recent example, I present to you Leather Boy & The Mascara 5. Leather Boy, easily identified by his attempt at converting over 90% of his skeletal like surface mass with skin tight black leather and what appear to be airport baggage stickers, immediately began to….er….affix himself to the pole. Whereby he proceeded to perform an elaborate, poorly coordinated dance routine which involved more intimate contact with a transit vehicle than really should be allowed by law. The Mascara 5 , his huddled group of misfit groupies who may or may not have just returned from a Viking like raid upon the cosmetics department of a Walmart. Maybe she’s born with it, maybe they dragged Maybelline into an alleyway and beat her. Either way, this glitter smeared legion prostrated themselves before his greatness and cheered on his terrifying gyration.
Now, there is a certain level of horror involved in witnessing this spectacle to begin with but I’m pretty numb to what crawls around this city after dusk falls. But than he did something that even I could not mentally reconcile. He kissed the pole. Oh sweet mercy in Heaven. Do you have any idea what is on those poles? I don’t even like having to touch them with my hands and when I do it always leaves an odd burning sensation. You have just affixed your blowhole to the hands of every single person that has ridden that train today and to every object, animal and unwashed body part those hands have touched previously. The things that are breeding on that pole could likely kill cancer and here you are locked in forbidden oral love with it.
Gah!
The Fangirl
Now, I don't really talk to the Fangirl. I just hang up on her or put her on hold till she starts to cry and goes away. My coworker on the other hand has grown weary of her insolence and has begun to fark with her head ( Remember, she thinks whomever answers the phone is her lover regardless of who it is. ) I swear he's going to trigger a homicide or a suicide at this rate. But for every farked up thing he tells her, she counters deftly with a statement just as surreal.
So far he's told her that he's left her for another man and that he's become an atheist and eloped to Cuba or some such.
So far she's told him that she's pregnant with his child so he can't leave her.
Yes, that's how fubar this woman is. Its actually becoming a tad unsettling despite the police reassurances that she's harmless. Since she's already stated she saw "me" and knows who I am ( and described a person that looks nothing like me ). God only knows wtf is going on in her little world over there.
The Official Rules
I, a long time resident and concerned citizen of Vancouver, have something that I must speak with you, the teeming mass of weekend pub crawlers about. It is a delicate issue, but one that has become increasingly problematic over the last couple of weeks and I cannot, in good faith, remain silent any longer in the face of such tragedies.
I am speaking of course of rhinestones. Yes, rhinestones. Now, I know, they are very shiny and it’s difficult to resist that when you’re operating on the same mental level as a crow or squirrel. But please, please try to limit the amount of surface area on your clothing you’re devoting purely to rhinestones. Unless you’re a stripper, impersonating Elvis or are a 6 year old girl you do not need more than a full cubic foot worth of rhinestone glued to your clothing. Yes, those are the official rules. I looked it up.
Case in point: This evening there was a lovely young lady ( At least I think it was a lady, it was difficult to make her out through the glare ) down in front of our office, who had apparently decided that rhinestones = sparkly and sparkly = pretty. Thus leading to tragic train of thought that resulted in her using a paint roller to coat her jacket with glue before thrashing around in the rhinestone bin at Hot Topic. The end result was making cars swerve whenever the street lights hit her just right.
Christ, I still have spots in my eyes from glancing directly at her.
Easy Installments
Me: “Alright, your total comes to $195-“
SC: “Oh…uh…..can I have them send separate than?”
Me: “You’d like them send in two separate orders?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “Well, I can do that however it would actually cost more money all together because of shipping charges.”
SC: “Oh, really!?”
No, not really. Tell ya what, shipping on the second order is on me. In fact, hey, tell you what. Let me send you each shoe in a separate order too so we can break it down to three separate orders with hoodie than I’ll give you the shipping on two of them for free. Good enough? No? Ok, well, let me get some scissors. I bet I can get this hoodie into at least 8 or 9 envelope sized pieces than I we can ration them out and send them out in tiny, separate little orders one day at a time for a fraction of the normal shipping cost. Than every day you can wake up in the morning with something to look forward too!
It’ll be like Hanukah.
Ok, I Laughed
Caller: “My boyfriend’s in jail! We got into a little, er, domestic dispute and I called the police on him. But I didn’t think they’d really throw him in jail!”
Yes, the cops do have a really bad habit of arresting you when you break the law. Crazy, I know. I mean, you’d think they’d just drive out to crime scenes, point, laugh, than go back to Tim Hortons.
Caller: “Well, I guess he really does deserve to be in there for a few hours…….tell you what, I’ll call back if I feel guilty, ok?”
Me: "Alrighty"
That’s the spirit! Fark the bastard.
( She never called back either. )
SNAAAAKKKKEEE~
( This is a "oh god the building is on fire!" type line. )
SC: “Someone’s parked in our spot!”
Oh, here we go….
Me: “Ok, unfortunately there isn’t anything I can do about parking issues--“
SC: “Well we tried the number to the tow truck and it’s out of service! WE WANT TO PARK IN OUR SPOT!”
Me: “I understand, but there isn’t nothing I can do about parking issues a-“
SC: “You guy’s are always telling us don’t park in anyone’s spot and sending letters and harassing us about it!”
Me: “Well-“
SC: “We just want to park in our spot but someone’s parked in our spot even though you keep sending us letters about parking in the guest parking spaces!”
Me: “Well, I understand the problem, but unfortunately as I said I cannot help with parking issues this line is for emergencies only.”
SC: “Yes you can! Call the tow truck! We want to park in our spot!”
Me: “Unfortunately, as I said this is our emergency line and I can’t help with parking issu-“
SC: “CALL THE TOW TRUCK! WE WANT TO PARK!!~#”
Me: “I understand, but there really is nothing I can do as this is an emer-“
SC: “We have a sick person in the house and it’s a lot easier if we can park in that spot!!!!!”
Ah yes. Notice how everyone suddenly becomes ill, crippled, disabled, has a 90 year old grandmother or is pregnant with triplets 6 once it becomes evident they aren’t getting their way? Why I’d say the leading cause of death in the country by now must be “unacceptable” customer service.
Me: “Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do-“
SC: “YES YOU CAN! CALL THE TOW TRUCK! CALL THE TOOOW TRUCK!?##”
Me: “No.”
SC: “.....what!?”
Never heard that word before?
Me: “I cannot do that. As I’ve explained, I can’t help with parking issues at this hour. This line is for emergencies-“
SC: “BULLSH*T!”
Me: “I-“
SC: “BULLLLSH*T!”
Me: “-und-“
SC: “BULLLLLLLLLLLLSHHHHHHHH*******T!!!!!!!”
And with that last primal vow, fists quivering towards the night sky in rage he hung up on me. After which I assume he wandered off to go all Street Fighter 2 bonus stage on the offending vehicle.
He Has Risen
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Am I speaking to someone alive?”
….er….last I checked yes. Unless I’ve perished and risen to be some sort of terrible office Lich in the last 20 minutes. Which I’m pretty sure I haven’t. Not 100% positive, mind you. But pretty sure. I think I’d have noticed the sudden acquisition of overwhelming dark powers by now and likely used them to strike my last several callers with leprosy in the genital region.
Fear Gravy
This evening I stepped on the bus and of course, being Saturday night, there was not a seat to be had anywhere. But I recognized this bus driver. He was one of the ones that does about twice the legal speed limit and does not stop for anything short of large buildings or semi trucks. So I knew I was in peril if I did not quickly find some place to rest my tender derriere. Lest I be tossed about the bus cabin like a rag doll.
I moved deeper to the back and low and behold! A seat! A double seat at that. Amazingly, no one had procured this particularly prize. In retrospect, I should have seen that as a omen rather than a blessing. I quickly scampered into the seat, foolishly thinking myself lucky when this…..aroma wafted into my nostrils. I can really only describe it as a delicate fusion of fried onion and cat pee. My first thought was that some nocturnal denizen near me was emitting this dark perfume. But the only people near me where a gaggle of college girls who were inexplicably making horse noises at each other.
Than I looked beside me. Stuffed up against the edge of the seat next to me under the window was a little box. Pandora’s Tupperware if you will. Inside this container I could just make out an unknown, vicious beige liquid clinging to the sides. Ah ha, the source. I do not know what it was nor what insidious transit warlock summoned it to this plane of existence. I could not even begin to hazard a guess. Not that I even want to know what that terrible, terrible fear gravy might have been. If it was giving off that much of a stench with the lid firmly sealed I imagine it could strike a full grown man down should anyone ever foolishly release it from its confines.
I fled quickly from the area seeking to escape the miasma. Tender derriere be damned.
Can I Have a Hint?
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: "I wan’na ordar”
Me: “Ok, you’d like to place an order?”
SC: “Huh? Uh, this open?”
Me: “Pardon? Can I have your first name please?”
SC: “uuuuhhhh…..dis open?”
Me: “…..pardon?”
SC: “Errr…uh....open”
Me: “Can I have your first name please?”
SC: “uh, JONNATAN~”
Don’t ask, I don’t even know. I’ve given up trying to understand. Someday perhaps I’ll be able to grasp exactly what goes on in their strange little minds. But I am still far from deciphering the mysteries of the north. Nor do I think I’ll ever quite overcome the hurdle without the assistance of some sort of Rosetta Stone to guide me. Someday, if we’re truly lucky, we may unearth such a clue. Perhaps an ancient text scrawled onto the back of a McDonald’s place mat in crayon in the mid 80s that someone attempted to mail back to us as a form of payment for their hat.
...wait, what?
Little background on this. This line is for a company that does living assistance. IE they come by once or twice a day to help you do your housework, etc if you're elderly or disabled. It is not an emergency line of any sort. It does not provide medical assistance of any sort. The line really just for scheduling service.
Me: “Good morning, <company>”
SC: “Are you coming to take me to the hospital or what?!”
Me: “Pardon? Who is this?”
SC: “This is Festering Old Bat.”
Me: “Alright, well I can contact the duty supervisor and see what we can do. However, if you’re really in distress perhaps you should call 911?"
SC: “Maybe I will call 911 than! At least I’d get better customer service!”
I….don’t even know what to say to that. Has 911 branched out into the customer service industry? It's been a long time since I've been to a hospital. Do the paramedics slip a comment card into your pocket before they wheel you into the hospital now?
"Please rate your resuscitation on a scale of 1 to 5"?
Argh
Me: “Good morning-“
SC: “Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee”
Me: “Hel-“
SC: “eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee”
Ok, you can stop dialing now. You’ve succeeded in the complex task of placing a phone call. You do not need to dial any longer. There are no more numbers left. That was it. That was all of them. No, seriously. Its really just that easy. Modern technology is incredible isn't it? please, take your finger off the keypad and than lift the phone receiver up to your head so that we may begin to communicate. If it takes me a while to figure out what you’re saying, don’t worry, it’s simply because ape like grunts and wild hand gestures do not convey well across a phone line.
Welcome to My World
We have a newblet at work today and their on morning shift with me for a bit before I leave. Today, she got her first call of the North Lands. I listened quietly as she repeated every question at least 3 to 4 times. Than she spent 5 minutes in a confused mess because her caller was trying to pay with a Canadian Tire gift card or something and telling her it was a credit card. Finally, she managed to get off the line:
CW: "ARGH! OH. MY. GOD."
Me: "Hahahha"
CW: "Even the SIMPLEST of questions took forever to answer. What the hell?!"
Me: "And I get those alllllllll night."
CW: "......ARGH"
Mine is a cruel, merciless world.
Wha...ja...bu?
SC: "It was like a really long word, but it had lots of vowels and consonants."
I have utterly no idea what you're talking about but I can confidently state that I am less intelligent now than I was 30 seconds ago for having listened.
Hot Tips for America
I must tell Obama to recall Hillary from China immediately. She is in China, right? I don't know. Anyway, I must call Obama right now and get her back RIGHT THIS MOMENT and fire her. NOW. Or she will bring the "Red Dawn" down upon us and all will be lost to the commies.
BETTER DEAD THAN RED!
Still, it would be kinda cool if I did have a direct line to the President. But I don't =/ I just have the "HOLY SHIT! TERRORISTS!" line for emergencies.
annndddd rest......maybe post more later. Still have a bit of a backlog of material.
Though it was kind of a slow week, honestly.
Oh Come On, At Least Try
Me: “Good morning, <company>”
SC: “………”
Me: “………”
SC: “………”
Me: “….hello?”
SC: “Oh, sorry. I forgot I was on the phone.”
You….forgot? But….you just dialed? I picked up on the first ring. Which means that in the space of about 2 seconds you went from dialing to “Oh my god, WHATS THIS THING BY MY FACE!?” At which point I assume you hurdled it across the room believing it to be some sort of bat or evil spirit. After carefully approaching it and prodding it with your foot to see if it still lived you noticed that, for once, you actually had pants on. Than you remembered “Wait, pants!” and it all came rushing back to you.
Moral Dilemma
I am faced with a peculiar moral dilemma this evening. A hotel called <pest control company> to report a horrible infestation of life sucking hell mites, er, bed bugs. Unfortunately, this hotel is also one of the ones we book for on <reservation line>. Thus, my predicament……do I send people to their itchy demise at the blood thirsty mandibles of the black horde? Or do I attempt to warn them of the dark seething mass they would find themselves engaged in mortal struggle with after climbing into their soft, soft beds. But I could not overtly do so lest I get in trouble…..I would have to be clever and subtle….perhaps:
“OI can put you at the Hotel Godless Black Swarm for $60 a room”?
The Exhibitionist
I have returned and I bring with me tales of the sights I have seen on my travels. I must once again add an additional entry to my ever growing encyclopedia of transit denizens. This evening I present: The Exhibitionist.
I actually see this one fairly often. As would anyone riding downtown late at night. Especially on the weekends. This attention starved creature typically gets on the train with several companions in case he requires an audience at a moment’s notice. Which, often, the Exhibitionist does.
Whatever performance this peculiar individual begins after the doors close could be just about anything. It could be a series of elaborate gymnastics, it could be a strangely unsettling dance routine or it could be unspeakable things not fit for the eyes of children typically done directly in front of someone's children. The only common theme amongst them all is that 9 times out of 10 it requires the poles of the Skytrain.
For a recent example, I present to you Leather Boy & The Mascara 5. Leather Boy, easily identified by his attempt at converting over 90% of his skeletal like surface mass with skin tight black leather and what appear to be airport baggage stickers, immediately began to….er….affix himself to the pole. Whereby he proceeded to perform an elaborate, poorly coordinated dance routine which involved more intimate contact with a transit vehicle than really should be allowed by law. The Mascara 5 , his huddled group of misfit groupies who may or may not have just returned from a Viking like raid upon the cosmetics department of a Walmart. Maybe she’s born with it, maybe they dragged Maybelline into an alleyway and beat her. Either way, this glitter smeared legion prostrated themselves before his greatness and cheered on his terrifying gyration.
Now, there is a certain level of horror involved in witnessing this spectacle to begin with but I’m pretty numb to what crawls around this city after dusk falls. But than he did something that even I could not mentally reconcile. He kissed the pole. Oh sweet mercy in Heaven. Do you have any idea what is on those poles? I don’t even like having to touch them with my hands and when I do it always leaves an odd burning sensation. You have just affixed your blowhole to the hands of every single person that has ridden that train today and to every object, animal and unwashed body part those hands have touched previously. The things that are breeding on that pole could likely kill cancer and here you are locked in forbidden oral love with it.
Gah!
The Fangirl
Now, I don't really talk to the Fangirl. I just hang up on her or put her on hold till she starts to cry and goes away. My coworker on the other hand has grown weary of her insolence and has begun to fark with her head ( Remember, she thinks whomever answers the phone is her lover regardless of who it is. ) I swear he's going to trigger a homicide or a suicide at this rate. But for every farked up thing he tells her, she counters deftly with a statement just as surreal.
So far he's told her that he's left her for another man and that he's become an atheist and eloped to Cuba or some such.
So far she's told him that she's pregnant with his child so he can't leave her.
Yes, that's how fubar this woman is. Its actually becoming a tad unsettling despite the police reassurances that she's harmless. Since she's already stated she saw "me" and knows who I am ( and described a person that looks nothing like me ). God only knows wtf is going on in her little world over there.
The Official Rules
I, a long time resident and concerned citizen of Vancouver, have something that I must speak with you, the teeming mass of weekend pub crawlers about. It is a delicate issue, but one that has become increasingly problematic over the last couple of weeks and I cannot, in good faith, remain silent any longer in the face of such tragedies.
I am speaking of course of rhinestones. Yes, rhinestones. Now, I know, they are very shiny and it’s difficult to resist that when you’re operating on the same mental level as a crow or squirrel. But please, please try to limit the amount of surface area on your clothing you’re devoting purely to rhinestones. Unless you’re a stripper, impersonating Elvis or are a 6 year old girl you do not need more than a full cubic foot worth of rhinestone glued to your clothing. Yes, those are the official rules. I looked it up.
Case in point: This evening there was a lovely young lady ( At least I think it was a lady, it was difficult to make her out through the glare ) down in front of our office, who had apparently decided that rhinestones = sparkly and sparkly = pretty. Thus leading to tragic train of thought that resulted in her using a paint roller to coat her jacket with glue before thrashing around in the rhinestone bin at Hot Topic. The end result was making cars swerve whenever the street lights hit her just right.
Christ, I still have spots in my eyes from glancing directly at her.
Easy Installments
Me: “Alright, your total comes to $195-“
SC: “Oh…uh…..can I have them send separate than?”
Me: “You’d like them send in two separate orders?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “Well, I can do that however it would actually cost more money all together because of shipping charges.”
SC: “Oh, really!?”
No, not really. Tell ya what, shipping on the second order is on me. In fact, hey, tell you what. Let me send you each shoe in a separate order too so we can break it down to three separate orders with hoodie than I’ll give you the shipping on two of them for free. Good enough? No? Ok, well, let me get some scissors. I bet I can get this hoodie into at least 8 or 9 envelope sized pieces than I we can ration them out and send them out in tiny, separate little orders one day at a time for a fraction of the normal shipping cost. Than every day you can wake up in the morning with something to look forward too!
It’ll be like Hanukah.
Ok, I Laughed
Caller: “My boyfriend’s in jail! We got into a little, er, domestic dispute and I called the police on him. But I didn’t think they’d really throw him in jail!”
Yes, the cops do have a really bad habit of arresting you when you break the law. Crazy, I know. I mean, you’d think they’d just drive out to crime scenes, point, laugh, than go back to Tim Hortons.
Caller: “Well, I guess he really does deserve to be in there for a few hours…….tell you what, I’ll call back if I feel guilty, ok?”
Me: "Alrighty"
That’s the spirit! Fark the bastard.
( She never called back either. )
SNAAAAKKKKEEE~
( This is a "oh god the building is on fire!" type line. )
SC: “Someone’s parked in our spot!”
Oh, here we go….
Me: “Ok, unfortunately there isn’t anything I can do about parking issues--“
SC: “Well we tried the number to the tow truck and it’s out of service! WE WANT TO PARK IN OUR SPOT!”
Me: “I understand, but there isn’t nothing I can do about parking issues a-“
SC: “You guy’s are always telling us don’t park in anyone’s spot and sending letters and harassing us about it!”
Me: “Well-“
SC: “We just want to park in our spot but someone’s parked in our spot even though you keep sending us letters about parking in the guest parking spaces!”
Me: “Well, I understand the problem, but unfortunately as I said I cannot help with parking issues this line is for emergencies only.”
SC: “Yes you can! Call the tow truck! We want to park in our spot!”
Me: “Unfortunately, as I said this is our emergency line and I can’t help with parking issu-“
SC: “CALL THE TOW TRUCK! WE WANT TO PARK!!~#”
Me: “I understand, but there really is nothing I can do as this is an emer-“
SC: “We have a sick person in the house and it’s a lot easier if we can park in that spot!!!!!”
Ah yes. Notice how everyone suddenly becomes ill, crippled, disabled, has a 90 year old grandmother or is pregnant with triplets 6 once it becomes evident they aren’t getting their way? Why I’d say the leading cause of death in the country by now must be “unacceptable” customer service.
Me: “Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do-“
SC: “YES YOU CAN! CALL THE TOW TRUCK! CALL THE TOOOW TRUCK!?##”
Me: “No.”
SC: “.....what!?”
Never heard that word before?
Me: “I cannot do that. As I’ve explained, I can’t help with parking issues at this hour. This line is for emergencies-“
SC: “BULLSH*T!”
Me: “I-“
SC: “BULLLLSH*T!”
Me: “-und-“
SC: “BULLLLLLLLLLLLSHHHHHHHH*******T!!!!!!!”
And with that last primal vow, fists quivering towards the night sky in rage he hung up on me. After which I assume he wandered off to go all Street Fighter 2 bonus stage on the offending vehicle.
He Has Risen
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Am I speaking to someone alive?”
….er….last I checked yes. Unless I’ve perished and risen to be some sort of terrible office Lich in the last 20 minutes. Which I’m pretty sure I haven’t. Not 100% positive, mind you. But pretty sure. I think I’d have noticed the sudden acquisition of overwhelming dark powers by now and likely used them to strike my last several callers with leprosy in the genital region.
Fear Gravy
This evening I stepped on the bus and of course, being Saturday night, there was not a seat to be had anywhere. But I recognized this bus driver. He was one of the ones that does about twice the legal speed limit and does not stop for anything short of large buildings or semi trucks. So I knew I was in peril if I did not quickly find some place to rest my tender derriere. Lest I be tossed about the bus cabin like a rag doll.
I moved deeper to the back and low and behold! A seat! A double seat at that. Amazingly, no one had procured this particularly prize. In retrospect, I should have seen that as a omen rather than a blessing. I quickly scampered into the seat, foolishly thinking myself lucky when this…..aroma wafted into my nostrils. I can really only describe it as a delicate fusion of fried onion and cat pee. My first thought was that some nocturnal denizen near me was emitting this dark perfume. But the only people near me where a gaggle of college girls who were inexplicably making horse noises at each other.
Than I looked beside me. Stuffed up against the edge of the seat next to me under the window was a little box. Pandora’s Tupperware if you will. Inside this container I could just make out an unknown, vicious beige liquid clinging to the sides. Ah ha, the source. I do not know what it was nor what insidious transit warlock summoned it to this plane of existence. I could not even begin to hazard a guess. Not that I even want to know what that terrible, terrible fear gravy might have been. If it was giving off that much of a stench with the lid firmly sealed I imagine it could strike a full grown man down should anyone ever foolishly release it from its confines.
I fled quickly from the area seeking to escape the miasma. Tender derriere be damned.
Can I Have a Hint?
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: "I wan’na ordar”
Me: “Ok, you’d like to place an order?”
SC: “Huh? Uh, this open?”
Me: “Pardon? Can I have your first name please?”
SC: “uuuuhhhh…..dis open?”
Me: “…..pardon?”
SC: “Errr…uh....open”
Me: “Can I have your first name please?”
SC: “uh, JONNATAN~”
Don’t ask, I don’t even know. I’ve given up trying to understand. Someday perhaps I’ll be able to grasp exactly what goes on in their strange little minds. But I am still far from deciphering the mysteries of the north. Nor do I think I’ll ever quite overcome the hurdle without the assistance of some sort of Rosetta Stone to guide me. Someday, if we’re truly lucky, we may unearth such a clue. Perhaps an ancient text scrawled onto the back of a McDonald’s place mat in crayon in the mid 80s that someone attempted to mail back to us as a form of payment for their hat.
...wait, what?
Little background on this. This line is for a company that does living assistance. IE they come by once or twice a day to help you do your housework, etc if you're elderly or disabled. It is not an emergency line of any sort. It does not provide medical assistance of any sort. The line really just for scheduling service.
Me: “Good morning, <company>”
SC: “Are you coming to take me to the hospital or what?!”
Me: “Pardon? Who is this?”
SC: “This is Festering Old Bat.”
Me: “Alright, well I can contact the duty supervisor and see what we can do. However, if you’re really in distress perhaps you should call 911?"
SC: “Maybe I will call 911 than! At least I’d get better customer service!”
I….don’t even know what to say to that. Has 911 branched out into the customer service industry? It's been a long time since I've been to a hospital. Do the paramedics slip a comment card into your pocket before they wheel you into the hospital now?
"Please rate your resuscitation on a scale of 1 to 5"?
Argh
Me: “Good morning-“
SC: “Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee”
Me: “Hel-“
SC: “eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee”
Ok, you can stop dialing now. You’ve succeeded in the complex task of placing a phone call. You do not need to dial any longer. There are no more numbers left. That was it. That was all of them. No, seriously. Its really just that easy. Modern technology is incredible isn't it? please, take your finger off the keypad and than lift the phone receiver up to your head so that we may begin to communicate. If it takes me a while to figure out what you’re saying, don’t worry, it’s simply because ape like grunts and wild hand gestures do not convey well across a phone line.
Welcome to My World
We have a newblet at work today and their on morning shift with me for a bit before I leave. Today, she got her first call of the North Lands. I listened quietly as she repeated every question at least 3 to 4 times. Than she spent 5 minutes in a confused mess because her caller was trying to pay with a Canadian Tire gift card or something and telling her it was a credit card. Finally, she managed to get off the line:
CW: "ARGH! OH. MY. GOD."
Me: "Hahahha"
CW: "Even the SIMPLEST of questions took forever to answer. What the hell?!"
Me: "And I get those alllllllll night."
CW: "......ARGH"
Mine is a cruel, merciless world.
Wha...ja...bu?
SC: "It was like a really long word, but it had lots of vowels and consonants."
I have utterly no idea what you're talking about but I can confidently state that I am less intelligent now than I was 30 seconds ago for having listened.
Hot Tips for America
I must tell Obama to recall Hillary from China immediately. She is in China, right? I don't know. Anyway, I must call Obama right now and get her back RIGHT THIS MOMENT and fire her. NOW. Or she will bring the "Red Dawn" down upon us and all will be lost to the commies.
BETTER DEAD THAN RED!
Still, it would be kinda cool if I did have a direct line to the President. But I don't =/ I just have the "HOLY SHIT! TERRORISTS!" line for emergencies.
annndddd rest......maybe post more later. Still have a bit of a backlog of material.
It's like a little window of bulletproof glass into a world I don't regret leaving behind for the wilds of Nova Scotia. In spite of my neighbor's badly played fiddle.
)
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