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Of Harpies and Herpes
Lunatics.. ><
From The Mount
SC: “Hi, how you doing?’
Me: “…good, can I help you?”
SC: “I have a solution from God”
Ah, yes, of course you do. Although, in all honesty, we could learn a thing or two from this confused young lad. If you’re ever in a conversation with someone you really don’t like or want to talk to, just drop that line on them: “I have a solution from God!”. That’ll end the conversation pretty quick and probably ensure they never talk to you again.
See? It’s just a matter of looking for a silver lining in everything. Even delusion crack smoking teleprophets.
SC: “For all the world’s problems!”
Really? All of them? A single solution will cover everything? That seems highly unlikely, to be honest….but well, I suppose he is God after all. So if anyone would know, it’d be him.
SC: “We have to build a proper Church in Israel.”
I’m pretty sure Israel has Churches, to be honest. What do you mean by proper? Indoor plumbing?
SC: “and he wants burnt offerings. Like, magazines, books, money….write a prayer on anything and burn it”
Wait, magazines and books? I thought it was just raw currency? He must be branching out. Anything you say? What happens if I write my prayer on the back of your shirt?
Me: “I thought he only took bills before?”
SC: “What? No, you can burn anything to Jesus as a burnt offering.”
Really? I thought I had to burn at least a $5 to get super powers from him though….
Me: “Well, what about credit cards?”
SC: “Huh? You can write a prayer on a $5 bill and-“
Me: “But can I use Mastercard or VISA?”
SC: "Um, well, it’s up to you. You could try it if you want.”
I love how despite being a frothing nutjob, he’s actually very open to new angles on his insane drug induced ideas. Besides, this is God we’re talking about. You can’t tell me God doesn’t at least accept Interact. He probably even has Paypal.
Thanks, Now I Feel Like A Dick
( I get an emergency call from a girl trapped in an elevator at 4am and call the caretaker... )
Me: “I have someone trapped in the elevator”
CT: “Oh, just tell her to jump up and down.”
Me: ".....tell her to jump up and down?"
CT: "Yeah."
Me: "......"
Yeah, I'm sure that sterling piece of advice will really be comforting to her. Hey! I know you’re trapped in a death box with no point of contact to the outside world but my voice, so just try jumping up and down and see what happens!
Here's an idea, why don't you tell her so you're the one that comes across as a complete dick rather than me. She's already in tears having a mental breakdown because she's been in there for half an hour while I was trying to get a hold of you. I'm sure your flippant dismissive assholeness will calm her down.
Oh, and yeah, his advice worked just about as well as you’d think too.
Asshole ><
They're Learning
Me: “And how do you spell your last name?”
SC: “It’s G as in…………um……G as in……..er. It’s G than E as in Edward, A as in Apple-oh wait, G as in George!“
G as in Good for you! Have a cookie. I like the way you moved on but just kept mentally plucking away at it before proudly announcing a solution 10 seconds later. It was ok, you know. I did figure out what a G was. It was difficult, believe me. But I was just as plucky and determined as you were. So you didn’t have to come back to it triumphantly. Though it would be mean of me to ruin your moment of achievement I suppose.
Skytrain Games
Had another fun trip to work this evening playing one of the many public transit games you don’t mean to start playing but end up playing anyhow whether your like it or not. For example, tonight’s gaming challenge was the ever popular “What’s That Smell?”. Normally this is fairly easy as 9 times out of 10 its either human failure, cat pee, body odour, pot or that weird cleaning agent they use on the Skytrains that almost smells like cow manure but not quite. Every now and than you might get hit by what I can only describe as tuna grease, but this is usually a localized effect and tends to disperse once its…carrier…has left the train. Usually at Broadway.
This evening though, there was something permeating the Skytrain that I just couldn’t quite put my finger on. It was familiar. Oddly familiar. Horrifically repugnant, but familiar. It took a minute for it to sink in before it hit me. My Skytrain this evening smelled like low tide. Not just regular low tide. But dead jellyfish low tide.
On a warm, warm summer day.
If You Don't Know The Answer
SC: “Ok, it’s A as in Apple, than E as in George”
No, no no, G, G as in George! We just covered this! If you don’t know the answer, don’t just try to guess it young man. Put your hand down and take a moment or two to figure it out in your head than raise your hand again.
Yeah, And?
SC: “I tried to call customer service, but I’ve been on hold for an hour!”
So rather than continue to wait and move up in queue you decided to hang up, than call back the info line and bitch to me like I can do anything about it or your warranty? It's 5am on a Saturday for God's sake, you should be thankful customer service is even in.
SC: "Well than what am I suppose to do!?!?"
Lick your thumb, sit on it and rotate? I don’t know. I know nothing. All I can give you is name, rank, serial number and the number. I am but a lowly cog in this great machine. A Kebler elf in the great corporate tree. Not even one of the Kebler elves that gets to talk about how awesome the cookies are either. One of the ones in the background that’s being forced to slave away all day pouring chocolate chips onto things with a fake smile on my face. Silently wishing for death day in and day out after his wife leaves him because he has to work such long hours and takes the kids with her. Toiling away over the peanut butter vats until one day he just can't take it anymore and throws himself to his demise in the dough mixer. Only to be packaged and shipped out as both his death and his absence go completely unnoticed by his cruel cookie fae overlords.
"Look mom! They're even elf shaped!"
HARPIES!
Ah, I was so close to a peaceful trip in this evening. I scoured the Skytrain to make sure to pick the most empty, desolate car with in which to reside. ( Pro tip: Never pick the first or last car on the train, those are always twit magnets at night ). Everything was calm and peaceful. Everyone on the train was bitter, withdrawn and avoiding eye contact with each other. Just the way I like it! But than….it all came crashing down. At Joyce station, a group of Skytrain Harpies stepped on and decided to make this car their roost.
You’re probably familiar with Skytrain Harpies even if you don’t know it. Since they also double as Bus Harpies, Bar Harpies and Mall Harpies among other things. Anyway, the point is Harpies. This will be a group of 20 something young ladies dressed in the skin revealing manner of a Sultan’s 12 to 19th wives with enough make up on to give the Circus De Soleil pause. They will have utterly no concept of “Indoor voice”. Obstruct every other person in their vicinity or attempting to pass through their vicinity in every way possible. Be having the most inane conversation humanly possible and find every single sentence both they and their friends speak to be incredibly hilarious.
For example, the moment they got on one of them began going “Omigawd, HELLLOOOOOOOO~” in the exact same fashion as that one Internet banner ad for the Free Smileys. You know the one that makes you want to punch a kitten every time it pops up on a page? Yeah, that one. So having hearkened their arrival in the single most annoying way possible short of dragging a cat across a blackboard, they settled in to nest.
This mainly consisted of beginning every sentence with “Like” and occasionally “Like, oh my gawd” and ending every sentence with hyena like laughter. Once they had exhausted all available topics of conversation with such complex discussions as “Like, blue is my faaavourite colour, right? HAHAHAHAHA!” they moved into what I can only call the Poorly Done Racially Offensive Impersonations part of their act. Beginning with the ever popular Australian accent and ending in some sort of strained amalgamation of every stereotypical accent from greater Asia.
And no, they didn’t get off at Broadway either as I was hoping. They rode allll the way downtown. At which point they stepped off the train and formed a group approximately a foot from the Skytrain door thus denying an easy exit to everyone else behind them.
Skytrain Harpies.
Uncle Vick
SC: “Hi, my name is Vick.”
Me: “Hello, Vick.”
<sigh> Hi, Uncle Vick. What is it this time?
SC: “I’d like to speak to one of your agents. Or the CIA, or one of your bureau chiefs.”
The only "Agents" I have with me at the moment are dancing to the Rolling Stones to save the world from alien invasion.
Do you really think that high ranking CIA officials stay up all night just in case some random lunatic calls? Why of course. I’m sure the Director of the CIA himself is sitting at home as we speak, wide awake, in his Spongebob boxers watching Home & Garden with a bowl of Cool ranch nachos in his lap just killing time till the next call comes in and he must leap into action.
Me: “This isn't the CIA”
SC: “Well, I’m sure you could put me through to the CIA”
Me: “No, I can’t actually.”
SC: “Anyway, I’ve been watching the news the last little while. You could probably pass this on to the CIA or the NSA or whomever has jurisdiction.”
Yes, of course. I’m sure the CIA will be very interested to know that you both own a TV and have standard cable. It could very well be the last piece of the puzzle they need to solve some age old case file that has perplexed even the greatest minds at their disposal for decades on end.
Me: “Why don't you call the CIA directly."
Read: Please leave me alone.
SC: “Ok….uh, anyways, there are probably some individuals that probably have, you know.”
….small pox? Herpes? No, I don’t know.
SC: “I’ve been watching Cheney trying to defend what happened and my knowledge of the events that happened prior to 9/11 and after 9/11 in watching everything that happened, you know? I think Cheney has a pretty good argument.”
….argument for what? Herpes? Cripes, dude. I’ve never talked to anyone before that could say so much yet so little at the same time. It’s awe inspiring. You have a talent, you know. You really shouldn’t be wasting it away calling us at 1am trying to convince us you spotted a terrorist sleeper sell at Wendy’s. If you really insist on working these hours, I’m sure you’d have a bright future on late night commercial programming.
I hear Sham-Wow is looking for a new spoke’s person……you’ve never punched a hooker though, have you? They seem to frown on that.
Me: “I still don’t see what that has to do with us.”
SC: “Well, concerning that the same individuals that probably caused a sequence of events that may have led up to 9/11, they tried to assassinate Bush 41 and Obama and Mccain. I would see that as quite relevant.
Me: “…ok….still-“
SC: “1986, at expo, at the Iraqi pavilion, these same individuals caused, under president Reagan, caused an event that caused me to come to you guys to save Bush 41 before he went to Kuwait. That was under President Clinton, maybe the CIA could probably put this all together.”
In 1986 you saved the president’s life from a rogue Falafel stand at the world cuisine food fair. Duly noted. Considering his son was almost taken out by a pretzel, that was very prudent of you. On behalf of a Canadian office completely unaffiliated with the government of the United States of America I’ll be sure to arrange a gift basket with a nice Thank You card with some chocolates and some little bath soaps with the Presidential Seal imprinted on them.
Me: “Why don’t you call the CIA instead, than?”
SC: “I don’t have a direct line, they gave me a card long ago when I was a little kid.”
…the CIA gave you their business card when you were a little kid?
Me: “I’m sure they have a public number listed.”
SC: “I have the number for the Pentagon”
Me: “There you go, go bother them.”
SC: “I told them everything I knew before Obama, under Bush 43. My understanding was they would look into all of that and try and piece this all together. I’m watching Cheney trying to defend it and I know, I met him a long time ago when I was a little boy. That he probably has a lot of it right.”
You met Cheney as a little boy? …….and you lived to tell the tale? Are you sure it was Cheney? Because I’m 29 and Cheney frightens me now. Never mind as a little boy. If I had met him as a little boy I’d have just wet myself and cried for my mom. Who hopefully would arrive to save me before he drank my nubile young life essence.
Me: “Still, what bearing does this have on us?”
SC: “Well, considering he tried to kill Bush 41 when Bush 41 went to Kuwait”
Who did? Cheney? Herpes? Seriously, what are you talking about? Even the cracked out Prince Charles Pedophile Camp guy is coherent enough to tell me his information comes from God and then explain his suggestions. Seriously, dude, you’re less coherent than the guy that claims God talks to him.
SC: “and….you have to under 1986, if you understand 1986 when Bush was still president and Reagan handed over to him. That’s why I’m so adamant that, you know, that these guys tried to kill Bush 41 and Mccain and Obama.”
WHAT GUYS?! Cheney? The falafel stand? Was Cheney working at the falafel stand in 86 when he gave you the business card for the CIA? I’ve seen more coherent discussions on a Ouija board than this.
Me: “Go talk to the Pentagon. There’s really nothing I can do you to help you.”
SC: “Um, ok, bye.”
At least they might wiretap you and ship you off to an unnamable European country for “debriefing”.
The Phantom Train
The black Skytrain is back…..and alllll the lights were off at Stadium Station for some reason. I assume due to paranormal interference from the dark chariot sitting on the 3rd track. The doors opened and it was all darkness except for the flashing red lights of the Phantom Train across from us. I didn’t see anyone at Stadium either, I assume they already fell victim to its power. I wanted to yell out a warning to the people getting off at Stadium, but fear had griped my voice and I could not stop them before they stepped out into the inky blackness.
I know not their fate.
Mental Capacity
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “xxx”
Me: “All right, what size?”
SC: “Uh, Medium.”
Me: “….medium?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “…..Those are shoes.”
SC: “......….oh, right. Umm, size 7.”
Oh, right? Did you literally forget what a shoe was in the time it took to dial? Or did you just forget you wanted shoes in the time it took to dial? Either way there was just a serious mental lapse on your part there and you might want to put the bong down long enough to go have it looked at. I can’t imagine you have much in the way of mental prowess left as is. If I were you I’d be fighting tooth and nail to preserve every last precious piece of it so I could at least maintain the ability to zip up my own pants in the morning.
….you can zip up your own pants, right?
Skytrain Games
Back to the topic of Skytrain….games. I unfortunately found myself playing another one from the set this evening. One I didn’t expect to be playing, as its normally reserved for those of the female persuasion. Those of you in the office that lean in that particular direction have likely play this game before. The “Oh god why is that guy looking at me like that?” game. Normally, I don’t have to play this game ( Thank Buddha. ). But unfortunately this evening I was dragged into a round of this.
I’m not even sure how long I’d been playing, as I was attempting to sneak a small nap on the way in. It wasn’t until Main St station that I opened my eyes and found a middle aged gentleman staring directly at me in an ……unsettling way. He had that face too….you know, that face. The same face and expression you see on every sex offender that appears on the news. Yeah, that look.
Me noticing him didn’t make him stop, either >< I had to be undressed with his roving eyes all the way downtown. <shudder>
It Almost Makes Sense In A Way
Me: “Ok, and what size?”
SC: “Second large.”
Right. Second large. Duly noted. I’m going to assume he means 2XL……though if there’s some twisted logic behind this, it could be Medium. Since medium is second large to small……wait, no, stop it GK. Don’t try to think like them. If you try to think like them you might begin to erode until you become like them. You could be standing on a slippery mental slope with nothing but hats, Cheetos and darkness at the bottom.
Me: “…second large?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “…do you mean 2XL?”
SC: “Oh, yeah.”
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “My boy, you know. He likes wearing big jackets.”
Um…ok? I guess second large is his favourite or something?
Me: “….alright. Anything else?”
SC: “He’s about 5’4, 140, 150 lbs”
….right, ok, why do you think I want or need to know this? I don’t recall asking you to provide me with your offspring’s physical dimensions. Do you want me to try and determine his volume or something to make sure second large fits? Because I’m pretty sure I could get a second large jacket around an elk pretty comfortably. So I wouldn’t worry.
Daft Hire
So this morning I had one operator coming in for an early shift at 5am. A new hire whose name I'd never seen before. Fair enough. 5am rolls around.....no sign of her. 5:15. No sign of her. 5:30. No sign of her. She never shows up. Great. She's a new hire too so I don't have contact info for her.
Over an hour later the next operator on shift after her arrives.......with her in tow. Turns out she spent the last hour and a half wandering aimless around the building because she couldn't figure out she needed to buzz the intercom on the door to get in. It's not like it's hidden or anything either. Its right there by the door.
Heck, the only reason the next op found her was because she happened to be wandering around the sidewalk out front and he recognized her. Otherwise she'd have just sat out there all morning. ><
Uncle Vick: The Return
SC: “Hi, my name is Vick. I called a little while ago?”
….Hello again, Uncle Vick.
SC: “Well, I called the Pentagon like you said and they were….uh….pretty hesitant to answer my questions.”
Me: “Well….they are the Pentagon.”
I’m not sure what’s more amusing, the fact he actually called the Pentagon or the fact he’s surprised the Pentagon would not willingly dispense information.
SC: “They were just like maybe you should let this go and don’t dig too far and you don’t know where you’re going. But my memories of the past are like…..hey, I got hit with a baseball bat and even before that I remember a whole bunch of stuff, even after I got hit with a baseball bat.”
Finally! An explanation! Suddenly everything you’ve ever told us makes perfect sense once I factor in massive head trauma.
SC: “After I had a stroke in 2002 when these guys told organized crime about legislation I was pushing.”
What guys? The Pentagon? Or the guys with the bat?
Me: “……ok….so….”
SC: “I really don’t know what to make of all this. They call me a whole bunch of names and tell me I’m mentally disturbed. I have all these memories. Everyone I’ve talked to has the same memories. All the law enforcement I’ve talked to has the same memories. So I can’t be that much mentally disturbed.”
Ho ho, I don’t know about that lad. Let me let you in on a little secret: You are mentally disturbed or at least suffering from blunt trauma to the cranium. One or the other. Maybe both. I don’t know, I’m neither a medical nor mental health professional but I strongly believe you need to services of at least one of these two.
Me: “Ok, still, what bearing does this have on our office at 1am?"
SC: “I’d just like some truth. A little bit of truth to the whole situation. A little truth.”
Me: “I'm not here to answer your questions at this hour. This is an emergency line.”
SC: “Oh, I didn’t know this was an emergency line. Sorry…….I called the prime minister and asked for a public inquiry. Let the truth go where it is. Let’s take the truth where it is. I think a lot of people deserve the truth. I think a little bit of truth needs to be heard.”
….wha? A little bit of truth about what? Wait, you’re not going to break into song are you? Oh God.
Me: “Well, I can’t help you at this hour, ok?”
SC: “Um, ok, bye.”
Whew.
From The Mount
SC: “Hi, how you doing?’
Me: “…good, can I help you?”
SC: “I have a solution from God”
Ah, yes, of course you do. Although, in all honesty, we could learn a thing or two from this confused young lad. If you’re ever in a conversation with someone you really don’t like or want to talk to, just drop that line on them: “I have a solution from God!”. That’ll end the conversation pretty quick and probably ensure they never talk to you again.
See? It’s just a matter of looking for a silver lining in everything. Even delusion crack smoking teleprophets.
SC: “For all the world’s problems!”
Really? All of them? A single solution will cover everything? That seems highly unlikely, to be honest….but well, I suppose he is God after all. So if anyone would know, it’d be him.
SC: “We have to build a proper Church in Israel.”
I’m pretty sure Israel has Churches, to be honest. What do you mean by proper? Indoor plumbing?
SC: “and he wants burnt offerings. Like, magazines, books, money….write a prayer on anything and burn it”
Wait, magazines and books? I thought it was just raw currency? He must be branching out. Anything you say? What happens if I write my prayer on the back of your shirt?
Me: “I thought he only took bills before?”
SC: “What? No, you can burn anything to Jesus as a burnt offering.”
Really? I thought I had to burn at least a $5 to get super powers from him though….
Me: “Well, what about credit cards?”
SC: “Huh? You can write a prayer on a $5 bill and-“
Me: “But can I use Mastercard or VISA?”
SC: "Um, well, it’s up to you. You could try it if you want.”
I love how despite being a frothing nutjob, he’s actually very open to new angles on his insane drug induced ideas. Besides, this is God we’re talking about. You can’t tell me God doesn’t at least accept Interact. He probably even has Paypal.
Thanks, Now I Feel Like A Dick
( I get an emergency call from a girl trapped in an elevator at 4am and call the caretaker... )
Me: “I have someone trapped in the elevator”
CT: “Oh, just tell her to jump up and down.”
Me: ".....tell her to jump up and down?"
CT: "Yeah."
Me: "......"
Yeah, I'm sure that sterling piece of advice will really be comforting to her. Hey! I know you’re trapped in a death box with no point of contact to the outside world but my voice, so just try jumping up and down and see what happens!
Here's an idea, why don't you tell her so you're the one that comes across as a complete dick rather than me. She's already in tears having a mental breakdown because she's been in there for half an hour while I was trying to get a hold of you. I'm sure your flippant dismissive assholeness will calm her down.
Oh, and yeah, his advice worked just about as well as you’d think too.
Asshole ><
They're Learning
Me: “And how do you spell your last name?”
SC: “It’s G as in…………um……G as in……..er. It’s G than E as in Edward, A as in Apple-oh wait, G as in George!“
G as in Good for you! Have a cookie. I like the way you moved on but just kept mentally plucking away at it before proudly announcing a solution 10 seconds later. It was ok, you know. I did figure out what a G was. It was difficult, believe me. But I was just as plucky and determined as you were. So you didn’t have to come back to it triumphantly. Though it would be mean of me to ruin your moment of achievement I suppose.
Skytrain Games
Had another fun trip to work this evening playing one of the many public transit games you don’t mean to start playing but end up playing anyhow whether your like it or not. For example, tonight’s gaming challenge was the ever popular “What’s That Smell?”. Normally this is fairly easy as 9 times out of 10 its either human failure, cat pee, body odour, pot or that weird cleaning agent they use on the Skytrains that almost smells like cow manure but not quite. Every now and than you might get hit by what I can only describe as tuna grease, but this is usually a localized effect and tends to disperse once its…carrier…has left the train. Usually at Broadway.
This evening though, there was something permeating the Skytrain that I just couldn’t quite put my finger on. It was familiar. Oddly familiar. Horrifically repugnant, but familiar. It took a minute for it to sink in before it hit me. My Skytrain this evening smelled like low tide. Not just regular low tide. But dead jellyfish low tide.
On a warm, warm summer day.
If You Don't Know The Answer
SC: “Ok, it’s A as in Apple, than E as in George”
No, no no, G, G as in George! We just covered this! If you don’t know the answer, don’t just try to guess it young man. Put your hand down and take a moment or two to figure it out in your head than raise your hand again.
Yeah, And?
SC: “I tried to call customer service, but I’ve been on hold for an hour!”
So rather than continue to wait and move up in queue you decided to hang up, than call back the info line and bitch to me like I can do anything about it or your warranty? It's 5am on a Saturday for God's sake, you should be thankful customer service is even in.
SC: "Well than what am I suppose to do!?!?"
Lick your thumb, sit on it and rotate? I don’t know. I know nothing. All I can give you is name, rank, serial number and the number. I am but a lowly cog in this great machine. A Kebler elf in the great corporate tree. Not even one of the Kebler elves that gets to talk about how awesome the cookies are either. One of the ones in the background that’s being forced to slave away all day pouring chocolate chips onto things with a fake smile on my face. Silently wishing for death day in and day out after his wife leaves him because he has to work such long hours and takes the kids with her. Toiling away over the peanut butter vats until one day he just can't take it anymore and throws himself to his demise in the dough mixer. Only to be packaged and shipped out as both his death and his absence go completely unnoticed by his cruel cookie fae overlords.
"Look mom! They're even elf shaped!"
HARPIES!
Ah, I was so close to a peaceful trip in this evening. I scoured the Skytrain to make sure to pick the most empty, desolate car with in which to reside. ( Pro tip: Never pick the first or last car on the train, those are always twit magnets at night ). Everything was calm and peaceful. Everyone on the train was bitter, withdrawn and avoiding eye contact with each other. Just the way I like it! But than….it all came crashing down. At Joyce station, a group of Skytrain Harpies stepped on and decided to make this car their roost.
You’re probably familiar with Skytrain Harpies even if you don’t know it. Since they also double as Bus Harpies, Bar Harpies and Mall Harpies among other things. Anyway, the point is Harpies. This will be a group of 20 something young ladies dressed in the skin revealing manner of a Sultan’s 12 to 19th wives with enough make up on to give the Circus De Soleil pause. They will have utterly no concept of “Indoor voice”. Obstruct every other person in their vicinity or attempting to pass through their vicinity in every way possible. Be having the most inane conversation humanly possible and find every single sentence both they and their friends speak to be incredibly hilarious.
For example, the moment they got on one of them began going “Omigawd, HELLLOOOOOOOO~” in the exact same fashion as that one Internet banner ad for the Free Smileys. You know the one that makes you want to punch a kitten every time it pops up on a page? Yeah, that one. So having hearkened their arrival in the single most annoying way possible short of dragging a cat across a blackboard, they settled in to nest.
This mainly consisted of beginning every sentence with “Like” and occasionally “Like, oh my gawd” and ending every sentence with hyena like laughter. Once they had exhausted all available topics of conversation with such complex discussions as “Like, blue is my faaavourite colour, right? HAHAHAHAHA!” they moved into what I can only call the Poorly Done Racially Offensive Impersonations part of their act. Beginning with the ever popular Australian accent and ending in some sort of strained amalgamation of every stereotypical accent from greater Asia.
And no, they didn’t get off at Broadway either as I was hoping. They rode allll the way downtown. At which point they stepped off the train and formed a group approximately a foot from the Skytrain door thus denying an easy exit to everyone else behind them.
Skytrain Harpies.
Uncle Vick
SC: “Hi, my name is Vick.”
Me: “Hello, Vick.”
<sigh> Hi, Uncle Vick. What is it this time?
SC: “I’d like to speak to one of your agents. Or the CIA, or one of your bureau chiefs.”
The only "Agents" I have with me at the moment are dancing to the Rolling Stones to save the world from alien invasion.
Do you really think that high ranking CIA officials stay up all night just in case some random lunatic calls? Why of course. I’m sure the Director of the CIA himself is sitting at home as we speak, wide awake, in his Spongebob boxers watching Home & Garden with a bowl of Cool ranch nachos in his lap just killing time till the next call comes in and he must leap into action.
Me: “This isn't the CIA”
SC: “Well, I’m sure you could put me through to the CIA”
Me: “No, I can’t actually.”
SC: “Anyway, I’ve been watching the news the last little while. You could probably pass this on to the CIA or the NSA or whomever has jurisdiction.”
Yes, of course. I’m sure the CIA will be very interested to know that you both own a TV and have standard cable. It could very well be the last piece of the puzzle they need to solve some age old case file that has perplexed even the greatest minds at their disposal for decades on end.
Me: “Why don't you call the CIA directly."
Read: Please leave me alone.
SC: “Ok….uh, anyways, there are probably some individuals that probably have, you know.”
….small pox? Herpes? No, I don’t know.
SC: “I’ve been watching Cheney trying to defend what happened and my knowledge of the events that happened prior to 9/11 and after 9/11 in watching everything that happened, you know? I think Cheney has a pretty good argument.”
….argument for what? Herpes? Cripes, dude. I’ve never talked to anyone before that could say so much yet so little at the same time. It’s awe inspiring. You have a talent, you know. You really shouldn’t be wasting it away calling us at 1am trying to convince us you spotted a terrorist sleeper sell at Wendy’s. If you really insist on working these hours, I’m sure you’d have a bright future on late night commercial programming.
I hear Sham-Wow is looking for a new spoke’s person……you’ve never punched a hooker though, have you? They seem to frown on that.
Me: “I still don’t see what that has to do with us.”
SC: “Well, concerning that the same individuals that probably caused a sequence of events that may have led up to 9/11, they tried to assassinate Bush 41 and Obama and Mccain. I would see that as quite relevant.
Me: “…ok….still-“
SC: “1986, at expo, at the Iraqi pavilion, these same individuals caused, under president Reagan, caused an event that caused me to come to you guys to save Bush 41 before he went to Kuwait. That was under President Clinton, maybe the CIA could probably put this all together.”
In 1986 you saved the president’s life from a rogue Falafel stand at the world cuisine food fair. Duly noted. Considering his son was almost taken out by a pretzel, that was very prudent of you. On behalf of a Canadian office completely unaffiliated with the government of the United States of America I’ll be sure to arrange a gift basket with a nice Thank You card with some chocolates and some little bath soaps with the Presidential Seal imprinted on them.
Me: “Why don’t you call the CIA instead, than?”
SC: “I don’t have a direct line, they gave me a card long ago when I was a little kid.”
…the CIA gave you their business card when you were a little kid?
Me: “I’m sure they have a public number listed.”
SC: “I have the number for the Pentagon”
Me: “There you go, go bother them.”
SC: “I told them everything I knew before Obama, under Bush 43. My understanding was they would look into all of that and try and piece this all together. I’m watching Cheney trying to defend it and I know, I met him a long time ago when I was a little boy. That he probably has a lot of it right.”
You met Cheney as a little boy? …….and you lived to tell the tale? Are you sure it was Cheney? Because I’m 29 and Cheney frightens me now. Never mind as a little boy. If I had met him as a little boy I’d have just wet myself and cried for my mom. Who hopefully would arrive to save me before he drank my nubile young life essence.
Me: “Still, what bearing does this have on us?”
SC: “Well, considering he tried to kill Bush 41 when Bush 41 went to Kuwait”
Who did? Cheney? Herpes? Seriously, what are you talking about? Even the cracked out Prince Charles Pedophile Camp guy is coherent enough to tell me his information comes from God and then explain his suggestions. Seriously, dude, you’re less coherent than the guy that claims God talks to him.
SC: “and….you have to under 1986, if you understand 1986 when Bush was still president and Reagan handed over to him. That’s why I’m so adamant that, you know, that these guys tried to kill Bush 41 and Mccain and Obama.”
WHAT GUYS?! Cheney? The falafel stand? Was Cheney working at the falafel stand in 86 when he gave you the business card for the CIA? I’ve seen more coherent discussions on a Ouija board than this.
Me: “Go talk to the Pentagon. There’s really nothing I can do you to help you.”
SC: “Um, ok, bye.”
At least they might wiretap you and ship you off to an unnamable European country for “debriefing”.
The Phantom Train
The black Skytrain is back…..and alllll the lights were off at Stadium Station for some reason. I assume due to paranormal interference from the dark chariot sitting on the 3rd track. The doors opened and it was all darkness except for the flashing red lights of the Phantom Train across from us. I didn’t see anyone at Stadium either, I assume they already fell victim to its power. I wanted to yell out a warning to the people getting off at Stadium, but fear had griped my voice and I could not stop them before they stepped out into the inky blackness.
I know not their fate.
Mental Capacity
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “xxx”
Me: “All right, what size?”
SC: “Uh, Medium.”
Me: “….medium?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “…..Those are shoes.”
SC: “......….oh, right. Umm, size 7.”
Oh, right? Did you literally forget what a shoe was in the time it took to dial? Or did you just forget you wanted shoes in the time it took to dial? Either way there was just a serious mental lapse on your part there and you might want to put the bong down long enough to go have it looked at. I can’t imagine you have much in the way of mental prowess left as is. If I were you I’d be fighting tooth and nail to preserve every last precious piece of it so I could at least maintain the ability to zip up my own pants in the morning.
….you can zip up your own pants, right?
Skytrain Games
Back to the topic of Skytrain….games. I unfortunately found myself playing another one from the set this evening. One I didn’t expect to be playing, as its normally reserved for those of the female persuasion. Those of you in the office that lean in that particular direction have likely play this game before. The “Oh god why is that guy looking at me like that?” game. Normally, I don’t have to play this game ( Thank Buddha. ). But unfortunately this evening I was dragged into a round of this.
I’m not even sure how long I’d been playing, as I was attempting to sneak a small nap on the way in. It wasn’t until Main St station that I opened my eyes and found a middle aged gentleman staring directly at me in an ……unsettling way. He had that face too….you know, that face. The same face and expression you see on every sex offender that appears on the news. Yeah, that look.
Me noticing him didn’t make him stop, either >< I had to be undressed with his roving eyes all the way downtown. <shudder>
It Almost Makes Sense In A Way
Me: “Ok, and what size?”
SC: “Second large.”
Right. Second large. Duly noted. I’m going to assume he means 2XL……though if there’s some twisted logic behind this, it could be Medium. Since medium is second large to small……wait, no, stop it GK. Don’t try to think like them. If you try to think like them you might begin to erode until you become like them. You could be standing on a slippery mental slope with nothing but hats, Cheetos and darkness at the bottom.
Me: “…second large?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “…do you mean 2XL?”
SC: “Oh, yeah.”
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “My boy, you know. He likes wearing big jackets.”
Um…ok? I guess second large is his favourite or something?
Me: “….alright. Anything else?”
SC: “He’s about 5’4, 140, 150 lbs”
….right, ok, why do you think I want or need to know this? I don’t recall asking you to provide me with your offspring’s physical dimensions. Do you want me to try and determine his volume or something to make sure second large fits? Because I’m pretty sure I could get a second large jacket around an elk pretty comfortably. So I wouldn’t worry.
Daft Hire
So this morning I had one operator coming in for an early shift at 5am. A new hire whose name I'd never seen before. Fair enough. 5am rolls around.....no sign of her. 5:15. No sign of her. 5:30. No sign of her. She never shows up. Great. She's a new hire too so I don't have contact info for her.
Over an hour later the next operator on shift after her arrives.......with her in tow. Turns out she spent the last hour and a half wandering aimless around the building because she couldn't figure out she needed to buzz the intercom on the door to get in. It's not like it's hidden or anything either. Its right there by the door.
Heck, the only reason the next op found her was because she happened to be wandering around the sidewalk out front and he recognized her. Otherwise she'd have just sat out there all morning. ><
Uncle Vick: The Return
SC: “Hi, my name is Vick. I called a little while ago?”
….Hello again, Uncle Vick.
SC: “Well, I called the Pentagon like you said and they were….uh….pretty hesitant to answer my questions.”
Me: “Well….they are the Pentagon.”
I’m not sure what’s more amusing, the fact he actually called the Pentagon or the fact he’s surprised the Pentagon would not willingly dispense information.
SC: “They were just like maybe you should let this go and don’t dig too far and you don’t know where you’re going. But my memories of the past are like…..hey, I got hit with a baseball bat and even before that I remember a whole bunch of stuff, even after I got hit with a baseball bat.”
Finally! An explanation! Suddenly everything you’ve ever told us makes perfect sense once I factor in massive head trauma.
SC: “After I had a stroke in 2002 when these guys told organized crime about legislation I was pushing.”
What guys? The Pentagon? Or the guys with the bat?
Me: “……ok….so….”
SC: “I really don’t know what to make of all this. They call me a whole bunch of names and tell me I’m mentally disturbed. I have all these memories. Everyone I’ve talked to has the same memories. All the law enforcement I’ve talked to has the same memories. So I can’t be that much mentally disturbed.”
Ho ho, I don’t know about that lad. Let me let you in on a little secret: You are mentally disturbed or at least suffering from blunt trauma to the cranium. One or the other. Maybe both. I don’t know, I’m neither a medical nor mental health professional but I strongly believe you need to services of at least one of these two.
Me: “Ok, still, what bearing does this have on our office at 1am?"
SC: “I’d just like some truth. A little bit of truth to the whole situation. A little truth.”
Me: “I'm not here to answer your questions at this hour. This is an emergency line.”
SC: “Oh, I didn’t know this was an emergency line. Sorry…….I called the prime minister and asked for a public inquiry. Let the truth go where it is. Let’s take the truth where it is. I think a lot of people deserve the truth. I think a little bit of truth needs to be heard.”
….wha? A little bit of truth about what? Wait, you’re not going to break into song are you? Oh God.
Me: “Well, I can’t help you at this hour, ok?”
SC: “Um, ok, bye.”
Whew.
I HATE that ad with the fire of a thousand suns. Gah. I do not have a kitten nearby though, so I must settle for turning off my sound.
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