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Irish Eyes
Lawd help meh.
Migration
( Totally different order line and one that *only* ships to BC )
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: "..uh…..ya”
That….sounds oddly familiar. The curiously vacant pause, the slightly confused affirmative while the empty husk of a dying mind manages to briefly rub together its two remaining brain cells to generate a spark to form a reply……where have I heard this before….
Me: “Ok, do you have a customer ID?”
SC: “…..uhhh…..”
The low, tortured, protracted noise being vocalized at length like a desk fan with a pencil stuck in it as it struggles to find some avenue to push forward……..wait just a second here…..help me out here caller ID?
867. Nunavut.
It appears they’re migrating to new, uncharted worlds. Vast, alien landscapes within which there are no familiar shapes or sounds beyond the haunting siren call of “Would you like to place an order?”. The one hounding call that none of them can resist the overwhelming lure of. It’s sweet, haunting melody keeps them awake at night, staying wide eyed at the ceiling resisting the temptation to stumble outside into the raging tempest to hike the 4kms, risking life and limb, to the village’s only working phone line in an attempt to consummate some sort of disjointed agreement to obtain track pants and a $100 purse with purple satin lining that not even a blind drag queen with six toes and the stage name “Venus Latex” would be caught dead with.
Chaos Theory
Me: “Ok, and what’s the product ID number of what you’d like to order?”
SC: “The first one?”
……yes, the first one. This is actually a particularly easy challenge. A challenge so low on the difficulty scale your knuckles wouldn’t even drag across it. Since any product ID number you give me initially would be the first one regardless. So there really is no possible way you could fail this. Well….ok I can’t rule out the possibility. I’ve made that mistake before. I won’t again.
Regardless of the slim probability involved, stupid will find a way.
If Only
Me: “Ok, did you receive a customer ID?”
SC: “I might have…….where do I find it?”
Me: “They're mailed out to existing customers.”
SC: “Hmmm, let me look here….my desks a mess. I’m not sure where it is. But if you don’t want me money, than fine.”
……wait, what? Was that…..I can’t tell if that was a snide comment or an attempt at a joke? Either way it was ill timed, stupid and should not have left your mouth under any circumstances. I would like to formally object to your idiocy and will be filing the proper documents to see an injunction put in place to stop you from spewing any additional stupidity in my presence.
A court appointed official will be by shortly to serve you the papers.
Bad Idea(tm)
Did you know if you hold the Skytrain doors open for more than 20-30 seconds or so, the Skytrain gives up and just magically summons two cops to come arrest you? Me neither! But one air headed wench trying to hold the train for her friend found out the hard way. Apparently her friend had stopped to buy a ticket, but was paying for it entirely in nickels and navel lint or some such. But this singular human being was important enough to merit grinding the city's entire transit line to a halt so her majesty might board.
In all fairness, they likely wouldn’t have dragged her off if she had complied with the first “LET GO OF THE DOORS IMMEDIATELY!”. But she kept holding them and attempting to protest she was just waiting for her friend to get on. Because I mean if primetime television has taught us anything, it’s that the best thing to do with confronted with a police officer is argue.
Yes, dammit
SC: “Am I in time for the deadline?”
Me: “Yes”
SC: “Ok, so if I order now it'll be under the deadline?”
Me: “Yes”
SC: “They’ll be in for the deadline, right?”
Me: “Yes”
SC: “So I’m in time?”
Me: “Yes”
Ok, seriously, you only need three Yes’s to advance to the next round so you can relax. You’ve made it. Congratulations.
The Cradle
Oi, there was a female in front of me in line at IGA who had this…bundle. I initially believed it to be a level 1 human due to its size and pastel blue cloth wrappings. However, a few moments later she turned and I beheld Rosemary’s Baby. It was a dog. In only the barest technical sense. A small, pitiful, gnarled little gargoyle creature with vacant, unfocused eyes. Its brain had long ago given up and simply withdrawn into its own mind at the pointlessness of its own existence. As it was being cradled like an infant by some lunatic who had dressed it top to bottom in pastel blue baby clothes. Its entire world was little more than being carted around as a breathing fashion accessory and spoken too entirely in Teletubby.
I’m still hesitant to call it a dog. As it was smaller than the average housecat and barely larger then most common rodents. The term “dog” implies a creature who would not die from exposure after being left outside for 45 minutes.
The Fellowship
Me: “Ok, and which catalog will you be ordering from?”
SC: “Uh, pants.”
Me: “....Alright, but which catalog do you have there?”
SC: “Hall Beach.”
Me: “…no, which catalog?”
SC: “Oh, uh.”
Curse you, Hall Beach. You and your 800 year old whale carcass. Why must you and your ilk torment me night after night after night? What dark power drives your sub-human hordes to constantly invade my realms under the cover of night?!
Hall Beach has become my Mordor.
( A coworker has pointed out that if Hall Beach was indeed my Mordor, than that implieds I must journey there to unmake the evil which lurks within. So I will require a Fellowship and a questionably attentive man servant. )
Yes, These Things Cost Money
SC: “How much to come fix a window?”
Me: “At this hour it would be $xxx plus the price of material.”
SC: “Oh, really!?”
Nah, I’m just yanking your sock suspenders. Actually, it’s just like ordering pizza. It really only costs about $20 to drag the on call guy him out of bed in the middle of a restful sleep to get dressed, stumble blurry eyed to his vehicle, drive all the way out to where ever the fuck you are and engage in 1-2 hours of physical labour in the dead of night on your behalf.
Oh, and if you order two panes of glass replaced we’ll throw in a 2 litre of Coke.
That Doesn't Really Work You Know
Me: “Ok, is your system still up though?”
SC: “Yes.”
Me: “Alright, unfortunately I can only page out a service tech in the event of a complete system outage.”
SC: “Ok, go back to one second ago. Our system is down.”
Me: “…..you just said your system was up.”
SC: “No no, it’s down.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Clearly, these aren’t the droids I'm looking for.
ARGH
SC: “What hotel was it again?”
Me: “The HotelName”
SC: “The what?”
Me: “HotelName”
SC: “Can you spell it?”
Me: “H-O-T-E-L-N-A-M-E”
SC: “Ok, and what was it called?”
Me: “The HotelName.”
SC: “Can you spell it again?”
Me: “H-O-T-E-L-N-A-M-E”
SC: “I don’t know this hotel……what was it called again?”
Me: “The HotelName.”
SC: “and it was spelled how?”
Me: “H-O-T-E-L-N-A-M-E”
SC: “and it’s called the what?”
HotelName. HotelName. HotelName. HOTELNAME. How many times must I say it? I’ve spelled it out for you three times already. Why can you not grasp its name? It’s the HotelName. HotelName. Ho. Tel. Name. HoooooteeeeeelllllllNaaaaaammmmmme. HOTELNAME. Must I fly there and tattoo it on your forehead backwards with soy sauce and a thumbtack ( Because that’s really all we have in the office )? Because so help me I will if it will needle it into your surprising thick brain crust. Than I can just take your phone away and lock you in the bathroom with the sink mirror so you can stare slack jawed at your own reflection and your new brow billboard until it sinks in.
Hopefully it won't be too sloped to read.
Badges? Badges!?!
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “I’m from Igloolik.”
….Igloo….lick. Right, ok. But still, not what I asked.
Me: “Ok, but are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Ya”
Me: “Ok, which catalog will you be ordering from?”
SC: “Uhh….imma try to order pants”
Me: “Ok, but which catalog do you have?”
SC: “Uhhh……..the...….some…..the one you just order from.”
There’s lead paint on this Igloo, isn’t there?
Me: “….ok, but which one? Is it the Spring one?”
SC: “Yeah!”
Me: “Ok-“
SC: “Yeah, it says Summer.”
…<sigh>. I know that Spring and Summer are probably largely meaningless to you up there, but they are different things and different words. Stay with me here.
Me: "Alright, and what’s the product ID number?"
SC: “ID?! I don’t have no ID!!”
Again….not what I asked. However, I do like how you immediately dropped into your “Oh noz! Da Man's after ma hooch!” voice.
Wii Would Like To Play
Me: “Good morning, <my actual company's corporate line>, how may I help you?”
SC: “Yes, I’m looking for someone to inform me how much it would cost for a USB key to implement the Internet on a Wii system.”
….you….want me to help you hook up the Internet to your Nintendo Wii? What exactly did I say when I picked up the line? I don’t recall saying anything that would even remotely give the impression I was here in any capacity to assist you with your Nintendo Wii.
Me: “….O….k. This is a telecommunications company, I don’t think I can help you.”
SC: “Yes, exactly. All I need is that answer, Rogers has the data I need. Probably by Edge. I don’t know if they’re on Edge anymore. I only need a USB key with the Internet upon it so I can plug it into my Wii system so I can have internet upon it.”
Wait, did you take “How may I help you” as a completely open ended statement? Because it’s not. Its only within the context of my company and job description. I didn’t mean “Was there anything I could help you with regardless of subject and/or required skillset? Go ahead, ask, for I can readily comply with any request by spanking fairy dust off my asshole over the receiver."
Me: “You’ve got the wrong number entirely.”
SC: “Than why am I at Rogers?”
Me: “This isn’t Rogers.”
SC: “Than why did they say it was Rogers?”
I never said this was Rogers. If there is another voice present telling you that this is Rogers and that we can help you hook up your Nintendo Wii to the Internet than tell that voice to shut up because that voice is in your head and listening to it is not healthy. You should seek professionally assistance and/or medication before the voice starts informing you of the neighbour's dog's plans to overthrow Greenpeace and how you are the only one who can stop him. With a fire axe.
Me: “This is <company>”
SC: “<company>, what do you do?”
Me: “We’re a telecommunications company”
SC: “Oh, is it expensive?”
Me: “…….”
SC: "What is it? Phone lines or VOIP?”
Me: “……..”
Go play with your Wii.
Irish Eyes
Oh, the things that crawl out from the woodwork on the weekends…
This evening was a trio of fine Irish lads. Or so they claimed anyway. But I shall indulge their little fantasy as not to hurt their feelings and refer to them as Mikey, Rourney and O’Mally. This group had immediately drawn my ire for their chosen place of occupancy: Directly in front of the Skytrain doors. Thus blocking any and all traffic in and out of that particular exit. Whenever the doors opened, all 3 treated this mundane event with complete surprise as if they had not noticed the door opening 2 minutes ago at the previous stop or the stop before that...or the stop before that.
But anyway, our merry band of oddly similar looking man things were engaging in conversation. Loud conversation. The kind of which I am unwillingly ease dropping on and cringing at every other sentence of for it makes me worry for the future of humanity as I realize there is a remote possibility that one of these demi-humans might actually make it between someone's legs at some point.
Their initial discussion was simply how magnificent all of them were. No, really. They discussed their amazing bodies and overall hugeness for several minutes. Each one taking turns comparing his awesomeness and assuring the other two that “chicks” go weak kneed and moist at his very presence. I half expected them to just unzip right there, whip out a tape measure and combine to form some sort of Irish tube steak Triforce to prove each others throbbing virility.
After verbally measuring each other's penises, they moved on to the next favoured activity of truly manly man guys: Fighting. Oh yes, fighting. Boy they all just loved to fight. You know, because their Irish. One of the three in particular, O’Malley, began beguiling the other two of tales when he was a bouncer. Oh, the fun he had! He would actually try to start fights with drunken patrons just so he could hit people because that’s what manly man guys do! Girls love fistfights!
Oh, and he also mentioned he’d steal jewelry off drunk people he fought because they wouldn’t notice it missing until they sobered up the next day. Yeah, real fucking classy there.
Having covered girls, their penises and fist fighting, they moved onto the next topic of manly man guys: Getting drunk. Again, you know, because they’re Irish. So obviously they get drunk all the time. Every night they just get blasted because that’s what manly man guys do. Real Men drink like it’s a cure for cancer. Because nothing turns women on more than liver failure.
Really though, the strange reoccurring theme in all this was that after every horrible tale the group would blame their shortcomings and personal problems on being “Irish”. Oh, I’m not a raging jerk with anger management issues, I’m just Irish! Oh, I’m not a chronic alcoholic, I’m just Irish! Oh, I don't need to slip a girl roofies to get some, I'm just Irish! Somehow, being Irish was an acceptable answer to any and all of life’s failures.
Having covered girls, penises, fighting and booze they ran out of topics and simply began discussing being Irish. Or rather, just took turns convincing each other just how Irish they were and how real Irish people acted and how real Irish people pronounce it “Arrrrr-Land” as if Ireland was a pirate themed amusement park. They began bragging they could get Irish citizenship because they were just so incredibly Irish that shamrocks grew out of their asshole or some such. I may be paraphrasing.
……than O’Malley began attempting an Irish accent and….much to my surprise…..Ireland is apparently in the Kansas.
I'm not your bro, bro
SC: “Hey bro, our system is down.”
I do not respond to the moniker “bro”. As you are in no way genetically or legally related to me. Thus this term is being invalidly applied and I would ask that you desist. If you truly must address me by some sort of casual nickname than I will grudgingly accept “pal”, “dude” or “Lord Oberon”.
Yes, Yes We Do
SC: “Do hews do da metal ruffs?”
Apparently, Dr Suess would like a new roof. In which case, yes, Hews do da metal ruffs. Though you will find that they are applicable to a house, but are incompatible with a mouse. We could probably attempt to install them on a box, but our products are completely untested with a fox.
Luckily, due to having regional offices in both Canada and the US, we can in fact provide them here and there. We can provide them anywhere.
Stop.
SC: “Yeah bro, our system is down again.”
Seriously, stop that. It is stupid, ill-mattered and conveys the impression you inhale a lot of drugs on a daily if not hourly basis. That term of interpersonal address is only acceptable between strangers if they are in fact remarkably high. Of which I am not. I am quite firmly rooted in cold, uncompromising reality. Whilst you appear to be bobbling along in a hazy, colourful world composed entirely of an unending swirl of crayons and pork rinds.
STOP.
“Hey bro, it’s me again.”
Stop. That. You are not Bill. I am not Ted. We do not possess a phone booth capable of transcending time and the adventure we are currently embarking on is in no way shape or form excellent.
Theories
( This was at 3am to boot )
Me: “I’m afraid this is an emergency line only so I can't assist you. If you like you may call the office after 8am for assistance."
SC: “Oh, ok”
Annnnd 2 minutes later…
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Oh hi, it’s me again. Did you just call? I received a call a minute ago but I couldn’t trace the number.”
Me: “…..no, it wasn’t us.”
SC: “Oh, I thought it might have been.”
And why, exactly, would you have thought that? Did I at any point inform you that I would be doing so? No? Did you give me your name or phone number the first time? No? So the working theory you seem to have shoehorned yourself into is that after I hung up, I was suddenly overcome with guilt and remorse at having been unable to help you ( hahaha ). Than, my small heart having grown three sizes that day, I was filled with compassion and just had to assist you. At which point, powered entirely by the raw fumes of love for my fellow man, I obtained a capacity for clairvoyance and was able to pull your name and phone number out of the ether through the sheer power of heart while a small platoon of diminutive tattooed dwarf bears chanted “I Care, I Care!” behind me.
Does that sound about right?
STOP IT.
SC: “Hey, it’s me again bro.”
You know, I beginning to think you’re breaking your own system repeatedly just to give you an excuse to call again in an effort to desperately stave off the overwhelming loneliness that is your life. Please, stop it. I can in no way help you fill the gaping void in your heart. You’re going to have to resort to filling it with liquor, fistfights and HBO like everyone else.
You know, be Irish.
I Hate This Guy
( This guy is required to check in every 2 hours because he patrols near docks, so if he fails, we have to treat it as a possible drowning )
Annnd the security guard at <location> failed to check in again and its Shithead again! You may remember him from such past shows as “GK has to mobilize a police search & rescue team to find Shithead because he hide himself in a building to take a nap” and "GK has to send the cops out to wake up Shithead for the 9th time in 4 months."
So what fun, whacky adventure did our lazy ass inept employee get up too this week?
Make that the 10th time. Yet again, Shithead snuck off to nap somewhere and required municipal emergency services to go scour the area, find him, and wake his lazy ass up. I really am beginning to dislike this boy. Not to mention I'm usually the one that gets chewed out by the police for his fucking lazy ass.
I trust he cease to be gainfully employed after this evening, as he was suspended for some time after the last incident. Which may be for the best, as the police are becoming remarkably displeased with him. To the point where I would not fault them if they simply rolled his sleeping form off of the dock and radio’d it in as a drowning.
annnd rest.....for now.
Migration
( Totally different order line and one that *only* ships to BC )
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: "..uh…..ya”
That….sounds oddly familiar. The curiously vacant pause, the slightly confused affirmative while the empty husk of a dying mind manages to briefly rub together its two remaining brain cells to generate a spark to form a reply……where have I heard this before….
Me: “Ok, do you have a customer ID?”
SC: “…..uhhh…..”
The low, tortured, protracted noise being vocalized at length like a desk fan with a pencil stuck in it as it struggles to find some avenue to push forward……..wait just a second here…..help me out here caller ID?
867. Nunavut.
It appears they’re migrating to new, uncharted worlds. Vast, alien landscapes within which there are no familiar shapes or sounds beyond the haunting siren call of “Would you like to place an order?”. The one hounding call that none of them can resist the overwhelming lure of. It’s sweet, haunting melody keeps them awake at night, staying wide eyed at the ceiling resisting the temptation to stumble outside into the raging tempest to hike the 4kms, risking life and limb, to the village’s only working phone line in an attempt to consummate some sort of disjointed agreement to obtain track pants and a $100 purse with purple satin lining that not even a blind drag queen with six toes and the stage name “Venus Latex” would be caught dead with.
Chaos Theory
Me: “Ok, and what’s the product ID number of what you’d like to order?”
SC: “The first one?”
……yes, the first one. This is actually a particularly easy challenge. A challenge so low on the difficulty scale your knuckles wouldn’t even drag across it. Since any product ID number you give me initially would be the first one regardless. So there really is no possible way you could fail this. Well….ok I can’t rule out the possibility. I’ve made that mistake before. I won’t again.
Regardless of the slim probability involved, stupid will find a way.
If Only
Me: “Ok, did you receive a customer ID?”
SC: “I might have…….where do I find it?”
Me: “They're mailed out to existing customers.”
SC: “Hmmm, let me look here….my desks a mess. I’m not sure where it is. But if you don’t want me money, than fine.”
……wait, what? Was that…..I can’t tell if that was a snide comment or an attempt at a joke? Either way it was ill timed, stupid and should not have left your mouth under any circumstances. I would like to formally object to your idiocy and will be filing the proper documents to see an injunction put in place to stop you from spewing any additional stupidity in my presence.
A court appointed official will be by shortly to serve you the papers.
Bad Idea(tm)
Did you know if you hold the Skytrain doors open for more than 20-30 seconds or so, the Skytrain gives up and just magically summons two cops to come arrest you? Me neither! But one air headed wench trying to hold the train for her friend found out the hard way. Apparently her friend had stopped to buy a ticket, but was paying for it entirely in nickels and navel lint or some such. But this singular human being was important enough to merit grinding the city's entire transit line to a halt so her majesty might board.
In all fairness, they likely wouldn’t have dragged her off if she had complied with the first “LET GO OF THE DOORS IMMEDIATELY!”. But she kept holding them and attempting to protest she was just waiting for her friend to get on. Because I mean if primetime television has taught us anything, it’s that the best thing to do with confronted with a police officer is argue.
Yes, dammit
SC: “Am I in time for the deadline?”
Me: “Yes”
SC: “Ok, so if I order now it'll be under the deadline?”
Me: “Yes”
SC: “They’ll be in for the deadline, right?”
Me: “Yes”
SC: “So I’m in time?”
Me: “Yes”
Ok, seriously, you only need three Yes’s to advance to the next round so you can relax. You’ve made it. Congratulations.
The Cradle
Oi, there was a female in front of me in line at IGA who had this…bundle. I initially believed it to be a level 1 human due to its size and pastel blue cloth wrappings. However, a few moments later she turned and I beheld Rosemary’s Baby. It was a dog. In only the barest technical sense. A small, pitiful, gnarled little gargoyle creature with vacant, unfocused eyes. Its brain had long ago given up and simply withdrawn into its own mind at the pointlessness of its own existence. As it was being cradled like an infant by some lunatic who had dressed it top to bottom in pastel blue baby clothes. Its entire world was little more than being carted around as a breathing fashion accessory and spoken too entirely in Teletubby.
I’m still hesitant to call it a dog. As it was smaller than the average housecat and barely larger then most common rodents. The term “dog” implies a creature who would not die from exposure after being left outside for 45 minutes.
The Fellowship
Me: “Ok, and which catalog will you be ordering from?”
SC: “Uh, pants.”
Me: “....Alright, but which catalog do you have there?”
SC: “Hall Beach.”
Me: “…no, which catalog?”
SC: “Oh, uh.”
Curse you, Hall Beach. You and your 800 year old whale carcass. Why must you and your ilk torment me night after night after night? What dark power drives your sub-human hordes to constantly invade my realms under the cover of night?!
Hall Beach has become my Mordor.
( A coworker has pointed out that if Hall Beach was indeed my Mordor, than that implieds I must journey there to unmake the evil which lurks within. So I will require a Fellowship and a questionably attentive man servant. )
Yes, These Things Cost Money
SC: “How much to come fix a window?”
Me: “At this hour it would be $xxx plus the price of material.”
SC: “Oh, really!?”
Nah, I’m just yanking your sock suspenders. Actually, it’s just like ordering pizza. It really only costs about $20 to drag the on call guy him out of bed in the middle of a restful sleep to get dressed, stumble blurry eyed to his vehicle, drive all the way out to where ever the fuck you are and engage in 1-2 hours of physical labour in the dead of night on your behalf.
Oh, and if you order two panes of glass replaced we’ll throw in a 2 litre of Coke.
That Doesn't Really Work You Know
Me: “Ok, is your system still up though?”
SC: “Yes.”
Me: “Alright, unfortunately I can only page out a service tech in the event of a complete system outage.”
SC: “Ok, go back to one second ago. Our system is down.”
Me: “…..you just said your system was up.”
SC: “No no, it’s down.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Clearly, these aren’t the droids I'm looking for.
ARGH
SC: “What hotel was it again?”
Me: “The HotelName”
SC: “The what?”
Me: “HotelName”
SC: “Can you spell it?”
Me: “H-O-T-E-L-N-A-M-E”
SC: “Ok, and what was it called?”
Me: “The HotelName.”
SC: “Can you spell it again?”
Me: “H-O-T-E-L-N-A-M-E”
SC: “I don’t know this hotel……what was it called again?”
Me: “The HotelName.”
SC: “and it was spelled how?”
Me: “H-O-T-E-L-N-A-M-E”
SC: “and it’s called the what?”
HotelName. HotelName. HotelName. HOTELNAME. How many times must I say it? I’ve spelled it out for you three times already. Why can you not grasp its name? It’s the HotelName. HotelName. Ho. Tel. Name. HoooooteeeeeelllllllNaaaaaammmmmme. HOTELNAME. Must I fly there and tattoo it on your forehead backwards with soy sauce and a thumbtack ( Because that’s really all we have in the office )? Because so help me I will if it will needle it into your surprising thick brain crust. Than I can just take your phone away and lock you in the bathroom with the sink mirror so you can stare slack jawed at your own reflection and your new brow billboard until it sinks in.
Hopefully it won't be too sloped to read.
Badges? Badges!?!
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “I’m from Igloolik.”
….Igloo….lick. Right, ok. But still, not what I asked.
Me: “Ok, but are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Ya”
Me: “Ok, which catalog will you be ordering from?”
SC: “Uhh….imma try to order pants”
Me: “Ok, but which catalog do you have?”
SC: “Uhhh……..the...….some…..the one you just order from.”
There’s lead paint on this Igloo, isn’t there?
Me: “….ok, but which one? Is it the Spring one?”
SC: “Yeah!”
Me: “Ok-“
SC: “Yeah, it says Summer.”
…<sigh>. I know that Spring and Summer are probably largely meaningless to you up there, but they are different things and different words. Stay with me here.
Me: "Alright, and what’s the product ID number?"
SC: “ID?! I don’t have no ID!!”
Again….not what I asked. However, I do like how you immediately dropped into your “Oh noz! Da Man's after ma hooch!” voice.
Wii Would Like To Play
Me: “Good morning, <my actual company's corporate line>, how may I help you?”
SC: “Yes, I’m looking for someone to inform me how much it would cost for a USB key to implement the Internet on a Wii system.”
….you….want me to help you hook up the Internet to your Nintendo Wii? What exactly did I say when I picked up the line? I don’t recall saying anything that would even remotely give the impression I was here in any capacity to assist you with your Nintendo Wii.
Me: “….O….k. This is a telecommunications company, I don’t think I can help you.”
SC: “Yes, exactly. All I need is that answer, Rogers has the data I need. Probably by Edge. I don’t know if they’re on Edge anymore. I only need a USB key with the Internet upon it so I can plug it into my Wii system so I can have internet upon it.”
Wait, did you take “How may I help you” as a completely open ended statement? Because it’s not. Its only within the context of my company and job description. I didn’t mean “Was there anything I could help you with regardless of subject and/or required skillset? Go ahead, ask, for I can readily comply with any request by spanking fairy dust off my asshole over the receiver."
Me: “You’ve got the wrong number entirely.”
SC: “Than why am I at Rogers?”
Me: “This isn’t Rogers.”
SC: “Than why did they say it was Rogers?”
I never said this was Rogers. If there is another voice present telling you that this is Rogers and that we can help you hook up your Nintendo Wii to the Internet than tell that voice to shut up because that voice is in your head and listening to it is not healthy. You should seek professionally assistance and/or medication before the voice starts informing you of the neighbour's dog's plans to overthrow Greenpeace and how you are the only one who can stop him. With a fire axe.
Me: “This is <company>”
SC: “<company>, what do you do?”
Me: “We’re a telecommunications company”
SC: “Oh, is it expensive?”
Me: “…….”
SC: "What is it? Phone lines or VOIP?”
Me: “……..”
Go play with your Wii.
Irish Eyes
Oh, the things that crawl out from the woodwork on the weekends…
This evening was a trio of fine Irish lads. Or so they claimed anyway. But I shall indulge their little fantasy as not to hurt their feelings and refer to them as Mikey, Rourney and O’Mally. This group had immediately drawn my ire for their chosen place of occupancy: Directly in front of the Skytrain doors. Thus blocking any and all traffic in and out of that particular exit. Whenever the doors opened, all 3 treated this mundane event with complete surprise as if they had not noticed the door opening 2 minutes ago at the previous stop or the stop before that...or the stop before that.
But anyway, our merry band of oddly similar looking man things were engaging in conversation. Loud conversation. The kind of which I am unwillingly ease dropping on and cringing at every other sentence of for it makes me worry for the future of humanity as I realize there is a remote possibility that one of these demi-humans might actually make it between someone's legs at some point.
Their initial discussion was simply how magnificent all of them were. No, really. They discussed their amazing bodies and overall hugeness for several minutes. Each one taking turns comparing his awesomeness and assuring the other two that “chicks” go weak kneed and moist at his very presence. I half expected them to just unzip right there, whip out a tape measure and combine to form some sort of Irish tube steak Triforce to prove each others throbbing virility.
After verbally measuring each other's penises, they moved on to the next favoured activity of truly manly man guys: Fighting. Oh yes, fighting. Boy they all just loved to fight. You know, because their Irish. One of the three in particular, O’Malley, began beguiling the other two of tales when he was a bouncer. Oh, the fun he had! He would actually try to start fights with drunken patrons just so he could hit people because that’s what manly man guys do! Girls love fistfights!
Oh, and he also mentioned he’d steal jewelry off drunk people he fought because they wouldn’t notice it missing until they sobered up the next day. Yeah, real fucking classy there.
Having covered girls, their penises and fist fighting, they moved onto the next topic of manly man guys: Getting drunk. Again, you know, because they’re Irish. So obviously they get drunk all the time. Every night they just get blasted because that’s what manly man guys do. Real Men drink like it’s a cure for cancer. Because nothing turns women on more than liver failure.
Really though, the strange reoccurring theme in all this was that after every horrible tale the group would blame their shortcomings and personal problems on being “Irish”. Oh, I’m not a raging jerk with anger management issues, I’m just Irish! Oh, I’m not a chronic alcoholic, I’m just Irish! Oh, I don't need to slip a girl roofies to get some, I'm just Irish! Somehow, being Irish was an acceptable answer to any and all of life’s failures.
Having covered girls, penises, fighting and booze they ran out of topics and simply began discussing being Irish. Or rather, just took turns convincing each other just how Irish they were and how real Irish people acted and how real Irish people pronounce it “Arrrrr-Land” as if Ireland was a pirate themed amusement park. They began bragging they could get Irish citizenship because they were just so incredibly Irish that shamrocks grew out of their asshole or some such. I may be paraphrasing.
……than O’Malley began attempting an Irish accent and….much to my surprise…..Ireland is apparently in the Kansas.
I'm not your bro, bro
SC: “Hey bro, our system is down.”
I do not respond to the moniker “bro”. As you are in no way genetically or legally related to me. Thus this term is being invalidly applied and I would ask that you desist. If you truly must address me by some sort of casual nickname than I will grudgingly accept “pal”, “dude” or “Lord Oberon”.
Yes, Yes We Do
SC: “Do hews do da metal ruffs?”
Apparently, Dr Suess would like a new roof. In which case, yes, Hews do da metal ruffs. Though you will find that they are applicable to a house, but are incompatible with a mouse. We could probably attempt to install them on a box, but our products are completely untested with a fox.
Luckily, due to having regional offices in both Canada and the US, we can in fact provide them here and there. We can provide them anywhere.
Stop.
SC: “Yeah bro, our system is down again.”
Seriously, stop that. It is stupid, ill-mattered and conveys the impression you inhale a lot of drugs on a daily if not hourly basis. That term of interpersonal address is only acceptable between strangers if they are in fact remarkably high. Of which I am not. I am quite firmly rooted in cold, uncompromising reality. Whilst you appear to be bobbling along in a hazy, colourful world composed entirely of an unending swirl of crayons and pork rinds.
STOP.
“Hey bro, it’s me again.”
Stop. That. You are not Bill. I am not Ted. We do not possess a phone booth capable of transcending time and the adventure we are currently embarking on is in no way shape or form excellent.
Theories
( This was at 3am to boot )
Me: “I’m afraid this is an emergency line only so I can't assist you. If you like you may call the office after 8am for assistance."
SC: “Oh, ok”
Annnnd 2 minutes later…
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Oh hi, it’s me again. Did you just call? I received a call a minute ago but I couldn’t trace the number.”
Me: “…..no, it wasn’t us.”
SC: “Oh, I thought it might have been.”
And why, exactly, would you have thought that? Did I at any point inform you that I would be doing so? No? Did you give me your name or phone number the first time? No? So the working theory you seem to have shoehorned yourself into is that after I hung up, I was suddenly overcome with guilt and remorse at having been unable to help you ( hahaha ). Than, my small heart having grown three sizes that day, I was filled with compassion and just had to assist you. At which point, powered entirely by the raw fumes of love for my fellow man, I obtained a capacity for clairvoyance and was able to pull your name and phone number out of the ether through the sheer power of heart while a small platoon of diminutive tattooed dwarf bears chanted “I Care, I Care!” behind me.
Does that sound about right?
STOP IT.
SC: “Hey, it’s me again bro.”
You know, I beginning to think you’re breaking your own system repeatedly just to give you an excuse to call again in an effort to desperately stave off the overwhelming loneliness that is your life. Please, stop it. I can in no way help you fill the gaping void in your heart. You’re going to have to resort to filling it with liquor, fistfights and HBO like everyone else.
You know, be Irish.
I Hate This Guy
( This guy is required to check in every 2 hours because he patrols near docks, so if he fails, we have to treat it as a possible drowning )
Annnd the security guard at <location> failed to check in again and its Shithead again! You may remember him from such past shows as “GK has to mobilize a police search & rescue team to find Shithead because he hide himself in a building to take a nap” and "GK has to send the cops out to wake up Shithead for the 9th time in 4 months."
So what fun, whacky adventure did our lazy ass inept employee get up too this week?
Make that the 10th time. Yet again, Shithead snuck off to nap somewhere and required municipal emergency services to go scour the area, find him, and wake his lazy ass up. I really am beginning to dislike this boy. Not to mention I'm usually the one that gets chewed out by the police for his fucking lazy ass.
I trust he cease to be gainfully employed after this evening, as he was suspended for some time after the last incident. Which may be for the best, as the police are becoming remarkably displeased with him. To the point where I would not fault them if they simply rolled his sleeping form off of the dock and radio’d it in as a drowning.
annnd rest.....for now.
Why is that cool again? Now I will read the awesomeness ...
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