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Why Don't You Have a Seat Over There
Holy Christ on a stick do I have some stories to tell this week.
Coat-rack
SC: “Well I guess I won’t order anything since you don’t have any pants small enough for me to wear!!”
Well…um….alright than. I’m not entirely sure what you want me to say at this juncture? I lack any sort of tailoring specific powers of conjuration with which to weave clothing out of little more than ether and dreams. Nor can I magically alter products in the warehouse from afar to conform to the standards of your praying mantis like figure. Though if you like we can bundle up a size XXS and throw in a complimentary sandwich and a belt.
Mr Fancy Pants
Me: “Alright, and which credit card would you like to use?”
SC: “My Avion Platinum”
That answer is invalid. I’m not even precisely sure what an Avion Platinum is. It sounds like it either forms the right leg of the Ultra Megazord or you mailed away for it with the label off of bottled water. But I suppose since it has platinum in the title that you are attempting to imply that you are an important human being beyond the context of being a mere customer like all these other plebs that call. I applaud this attempt but feel obligated to point out that I am utterly unmoved by your bling flashing and for all of your aura of wealth you still only purchased the cheapest ticket pack available.
Attention to Detail
SC: “I had a question.”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “The order form in your catalog only has space for 5 things. What if I want to order more than 5?”
Me: “Well, you can place the order with me or if you prefer you can go to our website and place it online.”
SC: “…...........there’s a website?”
….yes….it’s….on the top of every page of the catalog and on the front cover and the back cover and on the order form you are currently staring at. It is not possible to beam this information at your sloped frontal lobe from any more angles without making the catalog a talking popup book. Which, actually…to be honest might not be a half bad idea consider the level of intellect we’re generally dealing with on this line after hours. Heck, we could go the whole 9 yards and make the mail in form a colouring book sheet. You can just draw what you want and colour it the colour you want! We’ll even give you free shipping if you draw in a kitty or a polar bear or something in the background to liven it up.
Idiot Tax
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “No, that’s everything for now. I’ll call you back in a few once I finish looking through the rest of your catalogs.”
Me: “Are you sure? You’ll have to pay for shipping again.”
SC: “Yeah it’s ok, it’ll help me remember which is which.”
So you’d rather pay an additional $40+ pre order just for the convenience of remembering exactly what you ordered and keeping it organized. Despite the fact so far you have only ordered one item. Understood. Fair enough. Hey, here’s an idea: Why don’t you just send me $40 and I’ll just call you and remind you myself? It’ll be just as helpful and much less impersonal than multiple shipping charges. It’ll give your whole experience with their, er, our fine company that human touch.
Random Encounter #1
Ah yes, public transit. Where you can overhear one sided cell phone conversations like this:
“Yeah she’s only in 9th grade………….no, she’s 14…………yeah but she’s very mature for her age………dude, there’s nothing wrong with it………hey age differences aren’t that big a deal!..........yeah I know, but still!”
Where’s Chris Hansen when you need him.
Problems
Me: “Good morning, are you calling to place an order?”
Just on a side note before we begin I’d like to point out its 4:45am and you’re buying lottery tickets. You have a problem. Don’t make me an enabler.
SC: "Yeah"
Me: “Alright, can I have your name please?”
SC: “It’s xxxx-xxxx-”
Me: “….wait, what is this number?”
SC: “My VISA card.”
If your normal reaction to a question you don’t understand is to provide your VISA card number I’m a bit doubtful as to whether or not this order will actually go through.
Me: “Alright, and what’s your postal code please?”
SC: “Postal code…? …postal code…”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: "I don’t think I have a postal code….do I?”
Me: “….you should.”
Why do I suddenly get the distinct impression you have a <867 fan favourite> catalog somewhere in your house?
Me: “Alright, and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “I’d like a HUNDRED MILLION~ but I can only afford 1~”
Even if we kindly ignore the fact that there’s only 100,000 tickets being sold to begin with, that was still a fantastically stupid statement and you actually slurred it a bit. Leading me to believe the driving force behind this call actually came in liquid form.
Problems #2
SC: “Hi it’s me again!”
Me: “Hello”
Shouldn’t you be pouring shots from a bottle of mint Listerine by now?
SC: “Um, is it $400, 60, like just is it….like buy fantasy procedure or does it like, 16 a whole lot different. 4 times 3 or 5 times 3.”
…..what? I don’t….but…..what the fuck did you just say? Bits and pieces of that came through as somewhat coherent but the rest was just a dribbling mess of random noises. Even the parts that came through don’t form any sort of coherent thought or sentence. Am I missing some sort of secret decoder ring? How many Smirnoff labels do I have to mail in to get one?
SC: “If you buy 16 tickets is it all different combinations of 3 or is it just times 3 times something or just 16 or just?”
….I….don’t know what you’re trying to ask. 16 is not divisible by 3 and liquor shouldn’t prevent plaque buildup. Aside from that I have no idea how to response to your….issues. It sounds like you’re asking me questions but despite my best efforts I am unable to form a coherent inquiry out of them with which to respond to. If you want my advice you should call back during the one hour of the day you’re normally sober: The hour right after the cops let you out of the drunk tank and before you manage to resume your desperate but horribly misguided war on gingivitis.
Random Encounter #2
And because yesterday wasn’t unsettling enough, tonight on the bus I got to listen to a guy at the back of the bus very loudly extol the virtues of auto-erotic asphyxiation to his friend. So loudly I could hear him quite clearly at the front of the bus. Yes, apparently auto-erotic asphyxiation is just like the absolute most awesome thing evar and his friend totally needs to try it. Because talking about your sex life in vivid detail at the top of your lungs on a crowded bus while even your best friend squirms awkwardly next to you is a great idea.
After listening to it for 10 minutes I began to suspect that his girlfriend had been choking him for an entirely different reason than the one he’s assuming.
A Little Incident
SC: “Yeah, uh, I had a little incident while I was on a walk out from my psyche ward.”
….I don’t think psyche wards let you go for walks. Especially not at 2am. So I’m going to assume you chewed through a strap, clubbed a nurse with an end table and escaped through a basement window. Before going on this walk of yours. But very well, what sort of little incident are we speaking of?”
SC: “They’re charging me with, um, breaking & entering.”
…you went on a little walk and broke into some place? ….wait, what place exactly? Is this a “I smash and grabbed some iPods for my crack habit” or more “I broke into someone’s house and they caught me butt naked with their underwear tied around my head like a bandana while relieving myself in the kitchen sink screaming GO GO POWER RANGERS~” incident?
Permission
Maintenance: “Yeah, if that guy calls back about being locked out again tell him he can suffer till 8am.”
Really? Can I? Because that’s honestly my first impulse to begin with, I’m just not allowed to go along with it. Something about account directions or some such silliness that I have to follow first if I want to keep my job. But hey, if it’s ok with you than great! Do you want me to just do that for the rest of the morning? Because I can………please. Let me do it. PLEASE.
C’mon. I’ll give you 40 bucks.
Rainbows~
Me: “Alright, and what colour would you like?”
SC: “Uh, all of dem.”
…all of them? Well…alright than. I guess we’re just going for the “carpet bombing” approach to shopping today.
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “xxxx”
Me: “And what colour?”
SC: “Uh, black, white and gray.”
Me: “….black/white and black/gray you mean?”
SC: “Black, white and gray.”
Me: “The item comes in three styles: Black/white, Black/gray and Red/white. Which would you like?”
SC: “Black, white and gray.”
Me: “…..alright, do you mean black/white and black/gray?”
SC: “Yeah, I want black/white and white/black.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Ok how about you just tell me how many you want and I’ll pick out the colours? Otherwise we’re going to be here all morning and I’m afraid I get off shift at 7 so I won’t be able to keep you company through this entire ordeal. Nor would I have the heart to pass you off to a coworker, knowing full well what sort of suffering I would be imparting. So just let me pick and we’ll say black/white and black/gray. Deal?
Because frankly I don’t think I’m going to get any of this through your little head without the use of a drill bit.
Ok?
( She's calling our corporate line. IE she has the wrong number. )
Me: "Good morning, <company>"
SC: “Yes, hi, I’m moving to Florida”
I’m afraid you’re already far beyond my help than.
SC: “and I just wanted to know do they have Medicare there?”
Considering Medicare is a program specifically for ages 65+, I imagine they not only have Medicare in Florida but Florida represents as sort of vast rectal void in the program’s annual budget. I’m sure you’ll be fine.
Random Encounter #3
We must again speak of my…encounters on this city’s public transit system. As they are grower more odd by the day. I was hounded and traumatized by both bus and Skytrain in the last 24 hours. I wasn’t even safe on my way home this morning. Usually at least the Skytrain/bus home is safe as there’s typically only 3-4 people on the bus total and most of the freaks are either already in jail or just starting to come to in a ditch in Surrey.
But not today, oh no. Today Jimmy Joe Bob wandered onto the bus and immediately spotted his good ol’ buddy Bubba Jim Bob. Whom he greeted with a hearty “ey man! How yew doin’?” and exchanged what I can only describe as secret white guy handshake pleasantries were they both attempted to poorly imitate something they saw cooler people do in a rap video once but are both too afraid of being perceived as gay to touch each other enough to replicate.
Jimmy Joe Bob than immediately sat down ( But not too close Bubba Jim Bob, they needed at least two seats between them to prove their heterosexuality to onlookers ) and complained about his girlfriend. Cus Jimmy Joe Bob jus don’t understand women. They’re always mad at em and he just doesn’t understand why. Yeah he was out all night drinkin’ with the guys when he said he was going to stay home and have dinner with her. But he just needed his alone time you know? No seriously, that was his actual argument. He needed “alone time” so he could come back refreshed and “enrich” their relationship. I assume he read half a page of a Cosmo magazine at some point and was poorly attempting to use it as justification for getting drunk.
This whole time Bubba Jim Bob just nodded wisely and agreed. Than Jimmy Joe Bob attempted to explain why he didn’t make it home last night. By this point an odd, rather powerful smell was beginning to waft my way. Powerful enough to sting my eyes a little. I chocked it up to Bubba or Jimmy having a copious amount of some rather awful cologne on. Oh how naïve I was.
You see, Jimmy’s story ( which his girlfriend didn’t believe ) is that he was trying to come straight home to her after the bar, but he was accosted by some young guys and they shoved him around. Than pepper sprayed him for no reason and ran off. That’s right, I’m sitting here whiffing Jimmy Joe Bob’s pepper spray aftershave. Because Jimmy Joe Bob, despite having been pepper sprayed over 6 hours ago. Didn’t think it was important to take a shower or otherwise wash it off so he’s just gonna head straight to work in the same clothes he was pepper sprayed in. You go Jimmy.
Why didn’t Jimmy go home after that? Well, Jimmy surmised that cus he’d been pepper sprayed the paramedics should show up to help him…….cept Jimmy didn’t actually call 911. He just sat down, covered in pepper spray and waited under the false assumption that our city’s emergency services employ psychics. He waited like this for a few hours before deciding maybe they weren’t going to come after all. Jimmy had choice words for the paramedics for their oversight in not coming to help him despite not being notified he needed help. Jimmy is a swift lad to say the least.
His girlfriend on the other hand, thinks Jimmy got liquored up and attempted to molest the wrong female, who was more than adequately armed to repel his affections. As apparently this has happened before. I’m inclined to agree with his girlfriend on this one. As that scenario seems far more likely based on the limited amount of time I have spent listening to and being forced to smell Jimmy. So his girlfriend called him up right before he got on the bus and told him his stuff would be on the lawn by the time he got off work and that she’s called his mom to come pick it up. Oh, and she would be changing the locks. So don’t bother coming home after work, go cry to your mommy.
This has not been a good day for Jimmy Joe Bob.
Why is this important?
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “No, actually I just had a question.”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “What’s the square footage of the grand prize home?”
Congratulations, you actually managed to find something even less important than ordering tickets at 4am on a Sunday. The square footage of the prize home. Wow. That little burning morsel of information was so pressing you were seriously pushed into picking up the phone and calling to ask about it at 4am on a Sunday morning. Why do you even want to know? Your chances of winning it are remarkably slim you know. I don’t think you should be making any sort of plans for what you’ll do with it just yet.
Random Encounter #4
After that rampaging stupidity I was fearful to once again board the bus this evening on my way to work. But it proved uneventful, if populated by loud, obnoxious teenagers. But otherwise uneventful. My hope cautiously grew as even on the Skytrain I seemed to be blessed with no obvious idiots or freaks about to inflict their company upon me. Annnnd than I got to Broadway.
Although in all fairness, this almost made me laugh at him more than anything else. A couple guys got on at Broadway who were…..spectacularly dressed. I guess they were aiming for the goth/emo sort of look, but had failed miserably. Well, one of them wasn’t too bad. He was just doing the whole leather pants/black trenchcoat silliness. But the other guy. My god, the other guy. I actually wished I had a camera. Allow me to try and pant the picture:
This guy has to be at least 35-40. No neck. Squat. Balding and what hair he did have remaining has been shaved off. He was wearing black combat boots, skin tight black leather pants, and a tight black tank top. But he had two distinct elements that just carried his outfit from slightly odd straight into hilarity: First of all he was wearing black eye shadow. Not a little bit either. A ton of it with a bit of glitter that was shaped into triangular points, Egyptian style. Second, he had on elbow length black satin gloves. With cute little skulls sewn into them. The sort of thing you would wear if you were the 10 year old fairy princess of the Emo Kingdom. Except on this squat, burly middle aged little bald troll man. It was hilarious. He had this look on his face like he thought he was utterly badass too. I really wish I’d brought my camera with me tonight. I really do.
annnnd rest. Unfortunately I'm missing one day's worth now that I look, I forgot to email it home. So it'll have to wait till I get back to work next week. ><
Coat-rack
SC: “Well I guess I won’t order anything since you don’t have any pants small enough for me to wear!!”
Well…um….alright than. I’m not entirely sure what you want me to say at this juncture? I lack any sort of tailoring specific powers of conjuration with which to weave clothing out of little more than ether and dreams. Nor can I magically alter products in the warehouse from afar to conform to the standards of your praying mantis like figure. Though if you like we can bundle up a size XXS and throw in a complimentary sandwich and a belt.
Mr Fancy Pants
Me: “Alright, and which credit card would you like to use?”
SC: “My Avion Platinum”
That answer is invalid. I’m not even precisely sure what an Avion Platinum is. It sounds like it either forms the right leg of the Ultra Megazord or you mailed away for it with the label off of bottled water. But I suppose since it has platinum in the title that you are attempting to imply that you are an important human being beyond the context of being a mere customer like all these other plebs that call. I applaud this attempt but feel obligated to point out that I am utterly unmoved by your bling flashing and for all of your aura of wealth you still only purchased the cheapest ticket pack available.
Attention to Detail
SC: “I had a question.”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “The order form in your catalog only has space for 5 things. What if I want to order more than 5?”
Me: “Well, you can place the order with me or if you prefer you can go to our website and place it online.”
SC: “…...........there’s a website?”
….yes….it’s….on the top of every page of the catalog and on the front cover and the back cover and on the order form you are currently staring at. It is not possible to beam this information at your sloped frontal lobe from any more angles without making the catalog a talking popup book. Which, actually…to be honest might not be a half bad idea consider the level of intellect we’re generally dealing with on this line after hours. Heck, we could go the whole 9 yards and make the mail in form a colouring book sheet. You can just draw what you want and colour it the colour you want! We’ll even give you free shipping if you draw in a kitty or a polar bear or something in the background to liven it up.
Idiot Tax
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “No, that’s everything for now. I’ll call you back in a few once I finish looking through the rest of your catalogs.”
Me: “Are you sure? You’ll have to pay for shipping again.”
SC: “Yeah it’s ok, it’ll help me remember which is which.”
So you’d rather pay an additional $40+ pre order just for the convenience of remembering exactly what you ordered and keeping it organized. Despite the fact so far you have only ordered one item. Understood. Fair enough. Hey, here’s an idea: Why don’t you just send me $40 and I’ll just call you and remind you myself? It’ll be just as helpful and much less impersonal than multiple shipping charges. It’ll give your whole experience with their, er, our fine company that human touch.
Random Encounter #1
Ah yes, public transit. Where you can overhear one sided cell phone conversations like this:
“Yeah she’s only in 9th grade………….no, she’s 14…………yeah but she’s very mature for her age………dude, there’s nothing wrong with it………hey age differences aren’t that big a deal!..........yeah I know, but still!”
Where’s Chris Hansen when you need him.
Problems
Me: “Good morning, are you calling to place an order?”
Just on a side note before we begin I’d like to point out its 4:45am and you’re buying lottery tickets. You have a problem. Don’t make me an enabler.
SC: "Yeah"
Me: “Alright, can I have your name please?”
SC: “It’s xxxx-xxxx-”
Me: “….wait, what is this number?”
SC: “My VISA card.”
If your normal reaction to a question you don’t understand is to provide your VISA card number I’m a bit doubtful as to whether or not this order will actually go through.
Me: “Alright, and what’s your postal code please?”
SC: “Postal code…? …postal code…”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: "I don’t think I have a postal code….do I?”
Me: “….you should.”
Why do I suddenly get the distinct impression you have a <867 fan favourite> catalog somewhere in your house?
Me: “Alright, and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “I’d like a HUNDRED MILLION~ but I can only afford 1~”
Even if we kindly ignore the fact that there’s only 100,000 tickets being sold to begin with, that was still a fantastically stupid statement and you actually slurred it a bit. Leading me to believe the driving force behind this call actually came in liquid form.
Problems #2
SC: “Hi it’s me again!”
Me: “Hello”
Shouldn’t you be pouring shots from a bottle of mint Listerine by now?
SC: “Um, is it $400, 60, like just is it….like buy fantasy procedure or does it like, 16 a whole lot different. 4 times 3 or 5 times 3.”
…..what? I don’t….but…..what the fuck did you just say? Bits and pieces of that came through as somewhat coherent but the rest was just a dribbling mess of random noises. Even the parts that came through don’t form any sort of coherent thought or sentence. Am I missing some sort of secret decoder ring? How many Smirnoff labels do I have to mail in to get one?
SC: “If you buy 16 tickets is it all different combinations of 3 or is it just times 3 times something or just 16 or just?”
….I….don’t know what you’re trying to ask. 16 is not divisible by 3 and liquor shouldn’t prevent plaque buildup. Aside from that I have no idea how to response to your….issues. It sounds like you’re asking me questions but despite my best efforts I am unable to form a coherent inquiry out of them with which to respond to. If you want my advice you should call back during the one hour of the day you’re normally sober: The hour right after the cops let you out of the drunk tank and before you manage to resume your desperate but horribly misguided war on gingivitis.
Random Encounter #2
And because yesterday wasn’t unsettling enough, tonight on the bus I got to listen to a guy at the back of the bus very loudly extol the virtues of auto-erotic asphyxiation to his friend. So loudly I could hear him quite clearly at the front of the bus. Yes, apparently auto-erotic asphyxiation is just like the absolute most awesome thing evar and his friend totally needs to try it. Because talking about your sex life in vivid detail at the top of your lungs on a crowded bus while even your best friend squirms awkwardly next to you is a great idea.
After listening to it for 10 minutes I began to suspect that his girlfriend had been choking him for an entirely different reason than the one he’s assuming.
A Little Incident
SC: “Yeah, uh, I had a little incident while I was on a walk out from my psyche ward.”
….I don’t think psyche wards let you go for walks. Especially not at 2am. So I’m going to assume you chewed through a strap, clubbed a nurse with an end table and escaped through a basement window. Before going on this walk of yours. But very well, what sort of little incident are we speaking of?”
SC: “They’re charging me with, um, breaking & entering.”
…you went on a little walk and broke into some place? ….wait, what place exactly? Is this a “I smash and grabbed some iPods for my crack habit” or more “I broke into someone’s house and they caught me butt naked with their underwear tied around my head like a bandana while relieving myself in the kitchen sink screaming GO GO POWER RANGERS~” incident?
Permission
Maintenance: “Yeah, if that guy calls back about being locked out again tell him he can suffer till 8am.”
Really? Can I? Because that’s honestly my first impulse to begin with, I’m just not allowed to go along with it. Something about account directions or some such silliness that I have to follow first if I want to keep my job. But hey, if it’s ok with you than great! Do you want me to just do that for the rest of the morning? Because I can………please. Let me do it. PLEASE.
C’mon. I’ll give you 40 bucks.
Rainbows~
Me: “Alright, and what colour would you like?”
SC: “Uh, all of dem.”
…all of them? Well…alright than. I guess we’re just going for the “carpet bombing” approach to shopping today.
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “xxxx”
Me: “And what colour?”
SC: “Uh, black, white and gray.”
Me: “….black/white and black/gray you mean?”
SC: “Black, white and gray.”
Me: “The item comes in three styles: Black/white, Black/gray and Red/white. Which would you like?”
SC: “Black, white and gray.”
Me: “…..alright, do you mean black/white and black/gray?”
SC: “Yeah, I want black/white and white/black.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Ok how about you just tell me how many you want and I’ll pick out the colours? Otherwise we’re going to be here all morning and I’m afraid I get off shift at 7 so I won’t be able to keep you company through this entire ordeal. Nor would I have the heart to pass you off to a coworker, knowing full well what sort of suffering I would be imparting. So just let me pick and we’ll say black/white and black/gray. Deal?
Because frankly I don’t think I’m going to get any of this through your little head without the use of a drill bit.
Ok?
( She's calling our corporate line. IE she has the wrong number. )
Me: "Good morning, <company>"
SC: “Yes, hi, I’m moving to Florida”
I’m afraid you’re already far beyond my help than.
SC: “and I just wanted to know do they have Medicare there?”
Considering Medicare is a program specifically for ages 65+, I imagine they not only have Medicare in Florida but Florida represents as sort of vast rectal void in the program’s annual budget. I’m sure you’ll be fine.
Random Encounter #3
We must again speak of my…encounters on this city’s public transit system. As they are grower more odd by the day. I was hounded and traumatized by both bus and Skytrain in the last 24 hours. I wasn’t even safe on my way home this morning. Usually at least the Skytrain/bus home is safe as there’s typically only 3-4 people on the bus total and most of the freaks are either already in jail or just starting to come to in a ditch in Surrey.
But not today, oh no. Today Jimmy Joe Bob wandered onto the bus and immediately spotted his good ol’ buddy Bubba Jim Bob. Whom he greeted with a hearty “ey man! How yew doin’?” and exchanged what I can only describe as secret white guy handshake pleasantries were they both attempted to poorly imitate something they saw cooler people do in a rap video once but are both too afraid of being perceived as gay to touch each other enough to replicate.
Jimmy Joe Bob than immediately sat down ( But not too close Bubba Jim Bob, they needed at least two seats between them to prove their heterosexuality to onlookers ) and complained about his girlfriend. Cus Jimmy Joe Bob jus don’t understand women. They’re always mad at em and he just doesn’t understand why. Yeah he was out all night drinkin’ with the guys when he said he was going to stay home and have dinner with her. But he just needed his alone time you know? No seriously, that was his actual argument. He needed “alone time” so he could come back refreshed and “enrich” their relationship. I assume he read half a page of a Cosmo magazine at some point and was poorly attempting to use it as justification for getting drunk.
This whole time Bubba Jim Bob just nodded wisely and agreed. Than Jimmy Joe Bob attempted to explain why he didn’t make it home last night. By this point an odd, rather powerful smell was beginning to waft my way. Powerful enough to sting my eyes a little. I chocked it up to Bubba or Jimmy having a copious amount of some rather awful cologne on. Oh how naïve I was.
You see, Jimmy’s story ( which his girlfriend didn’t believe ) is that he was trying to come straight home to her after the bar, but he was accosted by some young guys and they shoved him around. Than pepper sprayed him for no reason and ran off. That’s right, I’m sitting here whiffing Jimmy Joe Bob’s pepper spray aftershave. Because Jimmy Joe Bob, despite having been pepper sprayed over 6 hours ago. Didn’t think it was important to take a shower or otherwise wash it off so he’s just gonna head straight to work in the same clothes he was pepper sprayed in. You go Jimmy.
Why didn’t Jimmy go home after that? Well, Jimmy surmised that cus he’d been pepper sprayed the paramedics should show up to help him…….cept Jimmy didn’t actually call 911. He just sat down, covered in pepper spray and waited under the false assumption that our city’s emergency services employ psychics. He waited like this for a few hours before deciding maybe they weren’t going to come after all. Jimmy had choice words for the paramedics for their oversight in not coming to help him despite not being notified he needed help. Jimmy is a swift lad to say the least.
His girlfriend on the other hand, thinks Jimmy got liquored up and attempted to molest the wrong female, who was more than adequately armed to repel his affections. As apparently this has happened before. I’m inclined to agree with his girlfriend on this one. As that scenario seems far more likely based on the limited amount of time I have spent listening to and being forced to smell Jimmy. So his girlfriend called him up right before he got on the bus and told him his stuff would be on the lawn by the time he got off work and that she’s called his mom to come pick it up. Oh, and she would be changing the locks. So don’t bother coming home after work, go cry to your mommy.
This has not been a good day for Jimmy Joe Bob.
Why is this important?
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “No, actually I just had a question.”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “What’s the square footage of the grand prize home?”
Congratulations, you actually managed to find something even less important than ordering tickets at 4am on a Sunday. The square footage of the prize home. Wow. That little burning morsel of information was so pressing you were seriously pushed into picking up the phone and calling to ask about it at 4am on a Sunday morning. Why do you even want to know? Your chances of winning it are remarkably slim you know. I don’t think you should be making any sort of plans for what you’ll do with it just yet.
Random Encounter #4
After that rampaging stupidity I was fearful to once again board the bus this evening on my way to work. But it proved uneventful, if populated by loud, obnoxious teenagers. But otherwise uneventful. My hope cautiously grew as even on the Skytrain I seemed to be blessed with no obvious idiots or freaks about to inflict their company upon me. Annnnd than I got to Broadway.
Although in all fairness, this almost made me laugh at him more than anything else. A couple guys got on at Broadway who were…..spectacularly dressed. I guess they were aiming for the goth/emo sort of look, but had failed miserably. Well, one of them wasn’t too bad. He was just doing the whole leather pants/black trenchcoat silliness. But the other guy. My god, the other guy. I actually wished I had a camera. Allow me to try and pant the picture:
This guy has to be at least 35-40. No neck. Squat. Balding and what hair he did have remaining has been shaved off. He was wearing black combat boots, skin tight black leather pants, and a tight black tank top. But he had two distinct elements that just carried his outfit from slightly odd straight into hilarity: First of all he was wearing black eye shadow. Not a little bit either. A ton of it with a bit of glitter that was shaped into triangular points, Egyptian style. Second, he had on elbow length black satin gloves. With cute little skulls sewn into them. The sort of thing you would wear if you were the 10 year old fairy princess of the Emo Kingdom. Except on this squat, burly middle aged little bald troll man. It was hilarious. He had this look on his face like he thought he was utterly badass too. I really wish I’d brought my camera with me tonight. I really do.
annnnd rest. Unfortunately I'm missing one day's worth now that I look, I forgot to email it home. So it'll have to wait till I get back to work next week. ><
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