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PUT IT AWAY
Oh sweet Christ, my must I endure? ><
Old Mother Hubbard
SC: “My daughter said there was some guy sleeping like, you know, in the lobby.”
Hmm, a valid concern. Very well, peasant, you have convinced me of the weight of your crisis and I shall lend you a sympathetic ear. Albeit briefly.
Me: “Ok, so he’s in the lobby?”
SC: “Er, no, like, in the back. The back door? It’s uhh…..uh…it’s on my left so it must be the left door.”
An astute observation, bravo. Still, we are not that much closer to narrowing down the location of this narcoleptic villain. If we cannot discover where and when he will strike, I fear our chances of foiling his cunning schemes are minimal. There is no telling how many brazen naps he will take if unstopped.
SC: “My granddaughter saw him when she left for school.”
.....your granddaughter? What happened to your daughter? Wait, left for school….
Me: “.....When she left for school?”
SC: “Yeah, my great granddaughter saw him when she left for school this morning.”
...wait, how many generations do you have crammed in that apartment anyway? And how is one old enough to still be in school yet has a daughter old enough to be in school? That’s…unsettling. Like….Maury Povich level unsettling.
Me: “…ok, when was the last time you saw him?”
SC: “This morning.”
….annnnd what do you want me to do about it now at midnight? You saw him this morning, you don’t know if he’s there now and you don’t want to go check? Sadly, we lack the technology to hurdle the on duty security guard back through time to intervene and steer us away from this dark future we are currently experiencing.
If only you’d heeded the warning’s of your children’s children’s children.
Put It Away
I can’t believe I have to go over this yet again, but: Please, please, please do not call me when you are currently making an offering of gold to the porcelain God. It is just wrong. If you have any other body part grasped in your free hand when you call me, I do not wish to speak with you. Seriously, I know swinging the boy pipe is fun and all, believe me, I have one myself, but Christ if you can't let go of the joystick for more than 30 seconds to make a phone call there's bigger problems in your life you need be addressing right now instead of your software license.
The Gorger
Egads. I am forced to again mark an entry in my journal of transit denizens. It has been some time since I encountered a new species ( Something I was thankful for ) but alas, such tranquility cannot last forever.
This evening I must mark an encounter with the Gorger. A fell beast of inexplicable and possibly bottomless appetite. Now, you’re probably picturing some sort of horrific, stubby beast with no neck, visible sweat stains and an unusual penchant for tank tops and bicycle shorts. While I have no doubt the Gorger exists in this form ( and that I would flee immediately if confronted by it ), it is not the only form it takes. No, sometimes its presence is completely unnoticed until it leaps into action.
In this case, it was actually a petite female creature that posed no apparent threat at first glance. I was forced to sit behind it, as that was the only free seat. This proved most unfortunate. No sooner had I docked my buttocks than an aroma began to overwhelm me. Accompanied by the furious digging and scrapping of metal upon plastic broken up only by 1-2s intervals of what sounded like someone shoveling fish into the maw of a sea lion.
I’ll admit I was confused and alarmed at first. In helped no part by the aroma, which had cleared my sinuses out rather swiftly. I could identify the smell. Which is part of the problem. It was a very distinct mixture of two separate aromas: Canned wet cat food and kimchi. If you are familiar with one or both of these scents, you may be able to envision just what sort of horror had been unleashed within the small, poorly ventilated confines of the Skytrain car.
If you are unaware of what kimchi is, I envy your naivety and will attempt to explain: It is a Korean food item commonly created by putting cabbage, chili and liquid fire into a jar than burying it beneath an indian graveyard for 6 months, 6 days and 6 hours. Upon which point it is dug up and foolishly opened. Whomever present that actually survives the initial unsealing than bottles or jars it for consumption*
*Actual steps may not be 100% accurate.
So take that, and mix it with several cans of Fancy Feast, cram it all into a large Tupperware container than just whip it out on the most crowded Skytrain car you can find and dig in. Bonus points if you can make noises similar to various forms of starving domestic livestock fighting over a feeding trough.
The Path to Enlightenment
Me: “Ok, do your customer ID number handy?"
SC: “Oh, no. I had one but I put it through the shredder.”
Gah, why? Why?! I cannot grasp what bizarre motivation drove you to such action. Did you really look at it and think “Hmm….this looks important and/or useful…..IT MUST BE DESTROYED.”. Why have you willingly brought this hardship down upon not just yourself, but me as well? Is hardship a tenant of whatever strange, alien belief system you follow? Are you compelled to destroy anything which would make your life easier?
Do you live in a wooden shipping crate near a sewage treatment plant with no electricity, no plumbing and a raccoon nest in the corner in an attempt to achieve enlightenment? Wait, why do you have a phone than? Shouldn’t ye hath cast it down upon the rocks and shattered it hence forth in a hundred pieces or at the very least pitched it into a sewage vat?
That poor raccoon. It knows not the danger it’s in. One night it’s going to take pity on your miserable existence and drag home a half eaten Big Mac for you. Than you’ll have to kill the unbeliever.
Clever
SC: "So that 4 pack means 4 individual tickets, right?”
Me: “Yes”
SC: “and one of them is the winner, right?”
I applaud your attempt, but I cannot be fooled with such a base level of cleverness. I have a mind like a well oiled George Foreman grill hinge and cannot be so easily duped. You will have to try much harder than that if you wish to secure my complacency in your scheme. Simple trickery will not suffice. Bribery, however, preferably in cheque, money order or Costco sized Tostitos format may win you a verbal assurances.
Of course I have absolutely no control over the tickets nor the draw. So this will likely not turn out the way you had hoped regardless of what tender promises you coax from my corn chip crumbed lips.
Ah...yes
Me: “Ok, and what’s your postal code please?”
SC: “....Huh?”
Not quite the response I was hoping for. But one I am all too familiar with.
The Fangirl
( Yes this was all one continuous sentence from her )
It costs the office stalker $1000 a month to keep her feet wet because she can only keep her feet wet with hot water but she can’t tell if her feet are wet or not unless she looks at her feet in the mirror but Chinese sausage will give you cancer.
Got it?
I Can't Do That, Dave
Tonight, we shall speak of Dave. I have never met Dave before in my life. But by the time he got off I knew more about Dave than I know about some of my friends. This is because Dave is incapable of using his Indoor Voice™ on the Skytrain when speaking on his cell phone. Instead opting for a level of volume normally reserved for attempting to summon assistance when you’re trapped at the bottom of a well.
Now Dave is…..well, let’s say Dave is exactly what you’d normally envision the Gorger to look like. No neck, sweat stains, uncomfortably tight shorts and all the grace, charm and subtlety of a bull moose in heat. I first met Dave when I stepped onto the Skytrain. No sooner had the doors closed than I hear someone shout “Hey!”. I ignore it, as there is a rather large slickly gelled haired primates occupying the entire center of the car and I only assume it is one of them attempting to communicate with its fellows. But than I hear it again “Hey!” and this time I see a large, sweaty paw waving frantically towards my face. I turn in the direction of this spectacle….
….and I see Dave. Now, as previously mentioned, Dave is essentially a bull moose both in physical girth, appearance and hygiene. What could I have done to necessitate such a frantic hailing of my attention? Did I drop my wallet? Is my backpack on fire? Are squirrels merrily frolicking within the confines of my pantaloons? No, not quite:
“Hey, can you spare a buck 50?”
….no, no I cannot. Well, I could, but unfortunately I do not know nor like you. That is a fairly significant sum to ask a complete stranger for. It goes beyond the realm of “spare some change”. You did not even say please nor make any attempt to explain what dire situation required you to seek such funds from a stranger in an attempt to woo sympathy.
You didn’t ask anyone else either, only moi. So I must assume you’ve either already attempted to bum cash off the entire Skytrain, or for some reason I gave off the impression I am grossly wealthy. I must assume it is the former, as I highly doubt wearing jeans from Old Navy and riding public transit marks me as any sort of Fat Cat™ from which money flows like wine.
You than brandished your cellphone and I heard only your side of the conversation, which was quite literally thus:
“Hey, it’s me Dave. What ya up too?”
“No, Dave. You know, Dave?”
“It’s Dave. DAVE.”
“You know, Big Fat Dave?”
“Dave!”
“Big Fat Dave!”
“Yeah, Big Fat Dave. You know? Dave?”
“Chubby Dave? Dave Dave?”
“Who is this? I’m trying to reach Sarah!”
At which point whomever it was hung up on him. So, after spending 5 minutes trying to convince a complete stranger at a wrong number that they could identify him based on rotundness alone he again attempted to dial. This time reaching whomever this illustrious Sarah was. At which point he arranged a liaison within which pizza was promised in exchange for her presence and other unspecified services. Apparently, this worked, and the agreement was sealed.
Next, he phoned someone else and began to inform them about a couple new “buddies” he met in Surrey. One whose name was Chad, who was a pot head and another whose name he can’t even remember. But they are now his new friends. Now, I have known one or two pot heads in my life time, and I’d just like to point out they’re everyone’s friend. Especially if you have Pizza Pops in your house. Which I assume is how our friend Dave obtained their friendship.
Dave than took a moment to yell at his cell phone repeatedly as whomever he was speaking too could not hear him. Till finally he put the cell right in front of his mouth and screamed:
“WHAT ARE YOU?!? *(&@$ING DEAF!?!?”
Which went over well on the train, I might add. He returned the device to the side of his meaty head:
“I know, that’s because I’m on the Skytrain!”
I assume this was the answer to the statement “I CAN’T HEAR YOU, YOU STUPID FUCK”.
He than went on about all the awesome new bling he purchased. Specifically mentioning the sweet new Rolex and $400 gold ring he had just obtained. Pardon moi? $400? And you have the nerve to ask me for change? But than he said he had spent his entire final paycheque on it and was now unemployed because he sucks, has failed at the game of life, still lives with his mom and will probably die cold and alone on a dirty mattress with his penis in his hand and the Sears catalog open next to him. Well, ok he didn’t say that all exactly. But I was able to figure it out based on the evidence before me.
But I suppose at least I know why he asked me for change now.
Oh noez
A caller, identifying himself only as a “patron” of ours, and demanding my first and last name has threatened me with a memo for declining to get someone out of bed for a complete non-emergency. I have been informed I shall be receiving this chastising memo on Monday after he has had a chance to complain to the office about me for following the exact protocol the office provided. I eagerly look forward to this.
What was this dire crisis you ask? Well, see, the beach is suppose to open at 6am. It's now 6:10am and no one has come to unlock the gate yet. So obviously you'd call up the line normally reserved only for if the beach is on fire and get them to wake up the emergency duty officer to come open it.
What?
Me: “Ok, and how do you spell your first name please?”
SC: “It’s S, as in Sapphire, C, than the expansion of S in the book.”
Me: “…..”
SC: “…..”
That’s….what? The expansion of S in the book? What does that even mean? Do you mean your name is Scsssssssss? Or is it S like “Ess” sort of like Scess? Confound it, man. I asked you how to spell your name. Not how to explain your name as if it were a puzzle in Resident Evil. Must I find the crank for the water wheel and jam two gemstones into your eye sockets before you’ll tell me how to spell your name properly?
...what
SC: “Yeah, I’m looking for Bob.”
Me: “Unfortunately, he’s not in the office yet as it is only 6:30am locally, b-“
SC: “Oh, what is he a big shot now?!”
……because he sleeps in past 6am? Yes, you’re right. Obviously, this is all going straight to his head and he’s acting like a complete prat. Ooo, look at Mr Fancy Pants setting his alarm clock for 7am!
Try Harder
“They’re making too much noise. I’m a working woman! I can’t afford not to sleep!”
Hmmm…well, I’ll give you a B for effort, however your approach is somewhat lacking. Remember, your opponent here is one who already dwells nocturnally, desperately staying awake whilst you are sleeping so that he may work. Therefore you may require a better argument if you wish to pry any sympathy from my black, black heart.
Bravo
Me: “Ok, and the item number please?”
SC: “Uh, 3476 minus 2”
I see Elmo has taught you well, however this is a catalog, not a grade 2 math assignment. That is a hyphen, not a minus sign. Actually, come to think of it, Elmo has failed you. If this was an assignment the correct answer to obtain that hat would have been 3474.
I am suddenly compelled to reject your order until you can return to me with the correct answers, young man.
This was only the 6th time she called...
SC: “The maintenance person isn’t here yet!”
Me: “Yes, he’s still driving there and should be there shortly.”
SC: “Are you sure?! He’s not here yet! Are you sure he hasn’t been accosted or something?!”
I’m pretty sure he hasn’t been waylaid by orcs or highwayman on his way there, no. I did make a random encounter check for him when he left and there was nothing. He’s not due for another check for another 2D4 rounds and he should arrive there before than unless he’s encumbered. In which case I may have to make another check before he gets there.
Don’t worry, if he’s slain and devoured by owlbears on Kingsway I’ll call you back and let you know.
The Fangirl
Her descent into madness is juuust about complete. I couldn’t understand a shred of her insane gibbering this evening and I’m usually pretty good at deciphering Lunatic. She’s also not even sure who she’s looking for anymore. Originally she would call seeking moi. But that soon degraded into calling and looking for “Mickey”. Now she’s calling and looking for "My monkey"
So perhaps if we can instruct the staff to begin chittering like spider monkeys when she calls we can fulfill whatever gaping hole she has in her heart ( and skull ) and finally put her to rest.
PUT IT AWAY
I have over heard many things on the Skytrain over the years. Some strange, some funny, some weird, some moderately disturbing, but tonight. Tonight I heard a singular line that terrified me beyond anything I had yet experienced. A simple line. Innocent at first until you think about it a moment and the true horror it entails reveals itself:
“Dude, stop that!......UGH! I saw the TIP!”
And yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like. The only glimmer of mercy I was granted was that there was enough intervening poles and seats to block a direct visual.
I must have missed all the adverts for the "Whip Out Your Cock Day" sales. Else I'd have remembered the holidays were coming up.
Old Mother Hubbard
SC: “My daughter said there was some guy sleeping like, you know, in the lobby.”
Hmm, a valid concern. Very well, peasant, you have convinced me of the weight of your crisis and I shall lend you a sympathetic ear. Albeit briefly.
Me: “Ok, so he’s in the lobby?”
SC: “Er, no, like, in the back. The back door? It’s uhh…..uh…it’s on my left so it must be the left door.”
An astute observation, bravo. Still, we are not that much closer to narrowing down the location of this narcoleptic villain. If we cannot discover where and when he will strike, I fear our chances of foiling his cunning schemes are minimal. There is no telling how many brazen naps he will take if unstopped.
SC: “My granddaughter saw him when she left for school.”
.....your granddaughter? What happened to your daughter? Wait, left for school….
Me: “.....When she left for school?”
SC: “Yeah, my great granddaughter saw him when she left for school this morning.”
...wait, how many generations do you have crammed in that apartment anyway? And how is one old enough to still be in school yet has a daughter old enough to be in school? That’s…unsettling. Like….Maury Povich level unsettling.
Me: “…ok, when was the last time you saw him?”
SC: “This morning.”
….annnnd what do you want me to do about it now at midnight? You saw him this morning, you don’t know if he’s there now and you don’t want to go check? Sadly, we lack the technology to hurdle the on duty security guard back through time to intervene and steer us away from this dark future we are currently experiencing.
If only you’d heeded the warning’s of your children’s children’s children.
Put It Away
I can’t believe I have to go over this yet again, but: Please, please, please do not call me when you are currently making an offering of gold to the porcelain God. It is just wrong. If you have any other body part grasped in your free hand when you call me, I do not wish to speak with you. Seriously, I know swinging the boy pipe is fun and all, believe me, I have one myself, but Christ if you can't let go of the joystick for more than 30 seconds to make a phone call there's bigger problems in your life you need be addressing right now instead of your software license.
The Gorger
Egads. I am forced to again mark an entry in my journal of transit denizens. It has been some time since I encountered a new species ( Something I was thankful for ) but alas, such tranquility cannot last forever.
This evening I must mark an encounter with the Gorger. A fell beast of inexplicable and possibly bottomless appetite. Now, you’re probably picturing some sort of horrific, stubby beast with no neck, visible sweat stains and an unusual penchant for tank tops and bicycle shorts. While I have no doubt the Gorger exists in this form ( and that I would flee immediately if confronted by it ), it is not the only form it takes. No, sometimes its presence is completely unnoticed until it leaps into action.
In this case, it was actually a petite female creature that posed no apparent threat at first glance. I was forced to sit behind it, as that was the only free seat. This proved most unfortunate. No sooner had I docked my buttocks than an aroma began to overwhelm me. Accompanied by the furious digging and scrapping of metal upon plastic broken up only by 1-2s intervals of what sounded like someone shoveling fish into the maw of a sea lion.
I’ll admit I was confused and alarmed at first. In helped no part by the aroma, which had cleared my sinuses out rather swiftly. I could identify the smell. Which is part of the problem. It was a very distinct mixture of two separate aromas: Canned wet cat food and kimchi. If you are familiar with one or both of these scents, you may be able to envision just what sort of horror had been unleashed within the small, poorly ventilated confines of the Skytrain car.
If you are unaware of what kimchi is, I envy your naivety and will attempt to explain: It is a Korean food item commonly created by putting cabbage, chili and liquid fire into a jar than burying it beneath an indian graveyard for 6 months, 6 days and 6 hours. Upon which point it is dug up and foolishly opened. Whomever present that actually survives the initial unsealing than bottles or jars it for consumption*
*Actual steps may not be 100% accurate.
So take that, and mix it with several cans of Fancy Feast, cram it all into a large Tupperware container than just whip it out on the most crowded Skytrain car you can find and dig in. Bonus points if you can make noises similar to various forms of starving domestic livestock fighting over a feeding trough.
The Path to Enlightenment
Me: “Ok, do your customer ID number handy?"
SC: “Oh, no. I had one but I put it through the shredder.”
Gah, why? Why?! I cannot grasp what bizarre motivation drove you to such action. Did you really look at it and think “Hmm….this looks important and/or useful…..IT MUST BE DESTROYED.”. Why have you willingly brought this hardship down upon not just yourself, but me as well? Is hardship a tenant of whatever strange, alien belief system you follow? Are you compelled to destroy anything which would make your life easier?
Do you live in a wooden shipping crate near a sewage treatment plant with no electricity, no plumbing and a raccoon nest in the corner in an attempt to achieve enlightenment? Wait, why do you have a phone than? Shouldn’t ye hath cast it down upon the rocks and shattered it hence forth in a hundred pieces or at the very least pitched it into a sewage vat?
That poor raccoon. It knows not the danger it’s in. One night it’s going to take pity on your miserable existence and drag home a half eaten Big Mac for you. Than you’ll have to kill the unbeliever.
Clever
SC: "So that 4 pack means 4 individual tickets, right?”
Me: “Yes”
SC: “and one of them is the winner, right?”
I applaud your attempt, but I cannot be fooled with such a base level of cleverness. I have a mind like a well oiled George Foreman grill hinge and cannot be so easily duped. You will have to try much harder than that if you wish to secure my complacency in your scheme. Simple trickery will not suffice. Bribery, however, preferably in cheque, money order or Costco sized Tostitos format may win you a verbal assurances.
Of course I have absolutely no control over the tickets nor the draw. So this will likely not turn out the way you had hoped regardless of what tender promises you coax from my corn chip crumbed lips.
Ah...yes
Me: “Ok, and what’s your postal code please?”
SC: “....Huh?”
Not quite the response I was hoping for. But one I am all too familiar with.
The Fangirl
( Yes this was all one continuous sentence from her )
It costs the office stalker $1000 a month to keep her feet wet because she can only keep her feet wet with hot water but she can’t tell if her feet are wet or not unless she looks at her feet in the mirror but Chinese sausage will give you cancer.
Got it?
I Can't Do That, Dave
Tonight, we shall speak of Dave. I have never met Dave before in my life. But by the time he got off I knew more about Dave than I know about some of my friends. This is because Dave is incapable of using his Indoor Voice™ on the Skytrain when speaking on his cell phone. Instead opting for a level of volume normally reserved for attempting to summon assistance when you’re trapped at the bottom of a well.
Now Dave is…..well, let’s say Dave is exactly what you’d normally envision the Gorger to look like. No neck, sweat stains, uncomfortably tight shorts and all the grace, charm and subtlety of a bull moose in heat. I first met Dave when I stepped onto the Skytrain. No sooner had the doors closed than I hear someone shout “Hey!”. I ignore it, as there is a rather large slickly gelled haired primates occupying the entire center of the car and I only assume it is one of them attempting to communicate with its fellows. But than I hear it again “Hey!” and this time I see a large, sweaty paw waving frantically towards my face. I turn in the direction of this spectacle….
….and I see Dave. Now, as previously mentioned, Dave is essentially a bull moose both in physical girth, appearance and hygiene. What could I have done to necessitate such a frantic hailing of my attention? Did I drop my wallet? Is my backpack on fire? Are squirrels merrily frolicking within the confines of my pantaloons? No, not quite:
“Hey, can you spare a buck 50?”
….no, no I cannot. Well, I could, but unfortunately I do not know nor like you. That is a fairly significant sum to ask a complete stranger for. It goes beyond the realm of “spare some change”. You did not even say please nor make any attempt to explain what dire situation required you to seek such funds from a stranger in an attempt to woo sympathy.
You didn’t ask anyone else either, only moi. So I must assume you’ve either already attempted to bum cash off the entire Skytrain, or for some reason I gave off the impression I am grossly wealthy. I must assume it is the former, as I highly doubt wearing jeans from Old Navy and riding public transit marks me as any sort of Fat Cat™ from which money flows like wine.
You than brandished your cellphone and I heard only your side of the conversation, which was quite literally thus:
“Hey, it’s me Dave. What ya up too?”
“No, Dave. You know, Dave?”
“It’s Dave. DAVE.”
“You know, Big Fat Dave?”
“Dave!”
“Big Fat Dave!”
“Yeah, Big Fat Dave. You know? Dave?”
“Chubby Dave? Dave Dave?”
“Who is this? I’m trying to reach Sarah!”
At which point whomever it was hung up on him. So, after spending 5 minutes trying to convince a complete stranger at a wrong number that they could identify him based on rotundness alone he again attempted to dial. This time reaching whomever this illustrious Sarah was. At which point he arranged a liaison within which pizza was promised in exchange for her presence and other unspecified services. Apparently, this worked, and the agreement was sealed.
Next, he phoned someone else and began to inform them about a couple new “buddies” he met in Surrey. One whose name was Chad, who was a pot head and another whose name he can’t even remember. But they are now his new friends. Now, I have known one or two pot heads in my life time, and I’d just like to point out they’re everyone’s friend. Especially if you have Pizza Pops in your house. Which I assume is how our friend Dave obtained their friendship.
Dave than took a moment to yell at his cell phone repeatedly as whomever he was speaking too could not hear him. Till finally he put the cell right in front of his mouth and screamed:
“WHAT ARE YOU?!? *(&@$ING DEAF!?!?”
Which went over well on the train, I might add. He returned the device to the side of his meaty head:
“I know, that’s because I’m on the Skytrain!”
I assume this was the answer to the statement “I CAN’T HEAR YOU, YOU STUPID FUCK”.
He than went on about all the awesome new bling he purchased. Specifically mentioning the sweet new Rolex and $400 gold ring he had just obtained. Pardon moi? $400? And you have the nerve to ask me for change? But than he said he had spent his entire final paycheque on it and was now unemployed because he sucks, has failed at the game of life, still lives with his mom and will probably die cold and alone on a dirty mattress with his penis in his hand and the Sears catalog open next to him. Well, ok he didn’t say that all exactly. But I was able to figure it out based on the evidence before me.
But I suppose at least I know why he asked me for change now.
Oh noez
A caller, identifying himself only as a “patron” of ours, and demanding my first and last name has threatened me with a memo for declining to get someone out of bed for a complete non-emergency. I have been informed I shall be receiving this chastising memo on Monday after he has had a chance to complain to the office about me for following the exact protocol the office provided. I eagerly look forward to this.
What was this dire crisis you ask? Well, see, the beach is suppose to open at 6am. It's now 6:10am and no one has come to unlock the gate yet. So obviously you'd call up the line normally reserved only for if the beach is on fire and get them to wake up the emergency duty officer to come open it.
What?
Me: “Ok, and how do you spell your first name please?”
SC: “It’s S, as in Sapphire, C, than the expansion of S in the book.”
Me: “…..”
SC: “…..”
That’s….what? The expansion of S in the book? What does that even mean? Do you mean your name is Scsssssssss? Or is it S like “Ess” sort of like Scess? Confound it, man. I asked you how to spell your name. Not how to explain your name as if it were a puzzle in Resident Evil. Must I find the crank for the water wheel and jam two gemstones into your eye sockets before you’ll tell me how to spell your name properly?
...what
SC: “Yeah, I’m looking for Bob.”
Me: “Unfortunately, he’s not in the office yet as it is only 6:30am locally, b-“
SC: “Oh, what is he a big shot now?!”
……because he sleeps in past 6am? Yes, you’re right. Obviously, this is all going straight to his head and he’s acting like a complete prat. Ooo, look at Mr Fancy Pants setting his alarm clock for 7am!
Try Harder
“They’re making too much noise. I’m a working woman! I can’t afford not to sleep!”
Hmmm…well, I’ll give you a B for effort, however your approach is somewhat lacking. Remember, your opponent here is one who already dwells nocturnally, desperately staying awake whilst you are sleeping so that he may work. Therefore you may require a better argument if you wish to pry any sympathy from my black, black heart.
Bravo
Me: “Ok, and the item number please?”
SC: “Uh, 3476 minus 2”
I see Elmo has taught you well, however this is a catalog, not a grade 2 math assignment. That is a hyphen, not a minus sign. Actually, come to think of it, Elmo has failed you. If this was an assignment the correct answer to obtain that hat would have been 3474.
I am suddenly compelled to reject your order until you can return to me with the correct answers, young man.
This was only the 6th time she called...
SC: “The maintenance person isn’t here yet!”
Me: “Yes, he’s still driving there and should be there shortly.”
SC: “Are you sure?! He’s not here yet! Are you sure he hasn’t been accosted or something?!”
I’m pretty sure he hasn’t been waylaid by orcs or highwayman on his way there, no. I did make a random encounter check for him when he left and there was nothing. He’s not due for another check for another 2D4 rounds and he should arrive there before than unless he’s encumbered. In which case I may have to make another check before he gets there.
Don’t worry, if he’s slain and devoured by owlbears on Kingsway I’ll call you back and let you know.
The Fangirl
Her descent into madness is juuust about complete. I couldn’t understand a shred of her insane gibbering this evening and I’m usually pretty good at deciphering Lunatic. She’s also not even sure who she’s looking for anymore. Originally she would call seeking moi. But that soon degraded into calling and looking for “Mickey”. Now she’s calling and looking for "My monkey"
So perhaps if we can instruct the staff to begin chittering like spider monkeys when she calls we can fulfill whatever gaping hole she has in her heart ( and skull ) and finally put her to rest.
PUT IT AWAY
I have over heard many things on the Skytrain over the years. Some strange, some funny, some weird, some moderately disturbing, but tonight. Tonight I heard a singular line that terrified me beyond anything I had yet experienced. A simple line. Innocent at first until you think about it a moment and the true horror it entails reveals itself:
“Dude, stop that!......UGH! I saw the TIP!”
And yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like. The only glimmer of mercy I was granted was that there was enough intervening poles and seats to block a direct visual.
I must have missed all the adverts for the "Whip Out Your Cock Day" sales. Else I'd have remembered the holidays were coming up.
We must shun the non-believer! Shun!!!
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