God, they're getting....weirder somehow.
Don't Even Try It
Me: “Alright, your total comes to $315.14”
SC: “Uhhh….how much was da other things…..?”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “The shipping.”
Me: “COD shipping is $40.”
SC: “Uhhhh…….did they raise the prices on the items?”
Me: “No.”
SC: “Well it’s…….ummmmm……….uh………….nevermind.”
I’m going to assume, judging by the lengthy pauses, confused monosyllables and faint smell of burning rubber that you just attempted to perform basic mathematics. Which, in all honesty, you really should not be attempting under any circumstances. It simply isn’t safe for you, your immediately family or anyone within 50kms of you really, to be attempting such a feat. Regardless of how simple anyone with a full set of chromosomes might make this seem, it’s just too dangerous for you to attempt on your own. The rusted out husk of your mental capabilities isn’t that sturdy to begin with, there’s no telling what sort of damage ( or rather additional damage ) attempting basic addition might cause to what little ability you have left. Remember you’re just barely treading water above “Managed to dial” as is.
Just back away, sit down, relax and let me steer the good ship Comprehension through the murky waters of simple arithmetic for you.
<3
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Heeeeeeeeeeey!”
Me: “Hi.”
SC: “I been holdin’ fer a while”
Yes, yes you have. If you wish to prevent that in the future you could do what every other village does and just pass around the catalog and let each simian take his turn. Rather than 4 of you calling me within the span of a minute in your groping desire for laughably named designer clothing.
Me: “Yes-“
SC: “Dis da reprasentatav?”
Me: “....what, sorry?”
Ah yes, Reprasentatav. Use to be part of the Soviet Union if I recall right.
SC: “Ya I wanna make an ORADR”
Me: “Alright, and what’s the item number you’d like to order?”
SC: “First dings first, I want da In The Dark hoodie”
Well, it’s certainly appropriately named for you, isn’t it?
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “I think that’s about it. I LUB LOTS OF DINGS IN HERE. Wait. Lemme look……….I dunno, there’s SO MUCH I WANT. Oooooh, but I cants afford it.”
Normally I would mock her incessantly for that child like outburst. But she just sounded so…..so sad. I don’t have the heart. No, really. I don’t. It’s too blackened and shriveled now so I just leave it at home in a glass of orphan’s tears by my bed to keep it from drying out and hope the cat doesn’t paw it out onto the carpet while I’m at work.
Logic
Hmm, you don’t seem to be understanding anything I’m trying to explain. So let me just try to break this down into digestible bits for you:
Services I Offer:
- Locating rental vacancies
- Soothing sound of my buttery voice.
Your Problem:
- An outlet in your suite is warm. This frightens you.
- Your manager isn’t answering his door.
Now I want you to carefully compare both lists and see if you can fit anything from column B anywhere into anything in my column A. If you can succeed in this admitted daunting task, than I will consent to assist you. If not, you will go wanker off elsewhere and consent to sparing me your company any further. Deal?
Oh, one last caveat. You must solve this riddle using real logic. Not Imagination Land logic. That’s what got you into this mess to begin with.
Yes, This is a Hockey Joke. You Were Warned.
So apparently there was a hockey event this evening at GM Place. From what I gather it was a contest between the Canucks and San Jose. Normal enough. However, as the hockey crowd piled onto the Skytrain at GM place I was struck by an…..oddity in the crowd: A bright red Calgary Flames jersey. I will admit that this baffled me somewhat. Because it seems to indicate that the bearer of the garment intentionally wore a jersey of a team that was not actually present nor participating in this evening’s sporting events. Which would mean he specifically bought tickets and went to a hockey game to cheer for a team that was not actually playing. I’m not sure if Calgary was playing somewhere else tonight, perhaps they were. In which case I guess this is may be some sort of clairvoyant cheering.
Though we also had a pair of rather glum looking San Jose fans on the Skytrain as well, bravely facing off against the disdain and ridicule of their victorious peers on the train. One Canuck fan did regale them with an intricate and insightful overview of their team and it’s performance this evening. However, the particularities and language used in this overview cannot precisely be repeated in my shift report. Though I will mention that I do agree with the belligerent Canuck fan on one of the several points they made: San Jose likely does or has at some point licked the nether regions of a common barnyard animal. Since we can neither confirm nor deny any possible goat tasting that the team may have partaken or what part of the goat may have been involved, we cannot rule out the possibility that the statement is factual.
Grrr
“Have a good day at work!”
….what? Are you mocking me or are you really daft enough to utter such a supposed pleasantry this ungodly hour of the night? Because either way I’m afraid I’m going to have to look down on you with contempt and disdain. Nothing personal mind you, just business. It’ll only take a moment. Hold still now…..
……ok, there. All done. You may go now. Don't let me catch you kids around here again either!
Hot Tips
If you dry clean the Queen ( Not her cloths, the actual Queen herself. ) and fix the brakes on her car she’ll make you a queen too. You know, just FYI. Apparently the whole process of ascending to the head of the nobility is just that simple. Granted I imagine the Queen would struggle a fair amount if you tried to dry clean her plus I think even by Canadian law it’s technically high treason. But it’s ok, she’s rather small and I doubt she can put up too much of a fight before you can get the plastic bag on her.
Objection!
Alright, let me see if I have an accurate picture of the…scenario…as it were: Your wife beat you up, dragged you around the house, called the cops, blamed it on you and you got arrested for assault. Mhmmkay. Now, I’m not a judge, nor lawyer, but I have finished every Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney game so I am vaguely qualified in my own mind to render a verdict on this situation. The scenario, as you describe it, seems rather unlikely given the evidence presented. You’ve described numerous bruises and injuries, and indicated you were “dragged” around. Which means either your wife is significantly larger than you and far more skilled at melee combat, or you inadvertently married the She-Hulk. Secondly, the cops arrested you, not her. Despite your claim of severe and obvious injuries. Thirdly, you claim you “do not know” why you were arrested. Seeing as they tell you this while arresting you, this likewise seems suspect.
In my experience anyone that claims they don’t know why they were arrested knows perfectly well but doesn’t want to admit it because it’s easier to garner sympathy by acting like The Man™ is keeping you down.
So, based on this evidence, if it pleases the court, I would like to suggest a small number of scenarios for what truly transpired here:
Number 1:
You’re lying. You did something stupid like smack your wife, and were unaware she was actually a level 9 Berserker with Improved Power Strike. After beating you within an inch of your life with a jug of Sunny D while you cried like a little girl, she called the police and they arrested you.
Number 2:
You’re lying. You did something stupid like smack your wife, she called the police, they arrived and you attempted to throw down with them as it were. After which you were beaten within an inch of your life while you cried like a little girl.
Number 3:
You’re lying. Some neighbourhood kids stole your foil Charizard and when you tried to get it back they beat you up while you cried like a little girl. You called the police and told them your wife beat you up because that was less shameful. Albeit not by much.
You’ll notice a common thread amongst all three scenarios: You’re lying and someone beat you up while you cried like a little girl. Based on the evidence at hand and the short time I’ve spent listening to you whine at me, I believe both of these points to be irrefutable.
Justice For All
SC: “I-I-I-I-I..uh….I need an emergency!”
Oh, hello again. What happened this time? Did they steal Pikachu?
SC: “I’m like stuck here!”
Yes, oddly enough, that’s sort of the point of jail.
Me: “I’m there is no lawyer available at this hour-“
SC: “I know! But I need him BAD! These guys are fucking me over big time.”
Me: “Unfortunately, there’s not much I can do-“
SC: “I’m literally stuck here and these guys are fucking me over! Literally fucking me over!”
Wait….literally? Umm….that’s….not exactly a pleasant mental image……but, well, I suppose, oddly enough, that’s sort of the point of jail too.
Me: “We-“
SC: “Well I need my lawyer! I pay my lawyer money right? I pay for a reason! Hello!?”
Ah, yes, your lawyer. The one you aren’t currently a client of and thus do not have a retainer for and thus have never actually given a dime? That one? Gotcha.
Me: “I'm afraid he's gone home for this evening-"
SC: “Well that’s just *&@%ing ridiculous *)&@$ing garbage *&@%$) *(^@%$^ @(^%@”
Ah, yes, using profanity as punctuation, that’ll surely convince me. Of what I don’t know, but carry on. If you must.
Yes, This Is Another Hockey Joke
I spotted another hockey related oddity this evening that further bolsters my theory that hockey fans in this city are at least moderately delusional. Again there was a fair number of Canuck’s jerseys about this evening as I think they were playing against some sort of water fowl or some such. Yet once again I spotted a wandering jester wearing a jersey that did not correspond to either team. Well, perhaps not a jester. She actually looked rather……leathery…….and any semblance of hope or life was completely absent in her features.
But than I think I know why that might be: The jersey she was wearing was….archaic and somewhat filthy. But mostly archaic. It was familiar, but it was only the faintest tickle in my younger memories that came to the surface. I actually had to ponder the strange symbols I had seen ( at Broadway of course ) for some time. It wasn’t until Stadium that the truth struck me:
That was a Hartford Whaler’s jersey. Wow. What moldy old water damaged box in the back of an abandoned warehouse in Butthole, Connecticut did you find that in? I mean really, I can remember coherently forming the concept of how much the Whaler’s sucked when I was five and I didn’t even like hockey as a kid. That is not a jersey to be proud of. It brings only shame and sadness. I know now why your eyes are devoid of hope. You have fallen under its sway and it is slowly eating away at your life force to feed its dark appetite. Fool! You should have burned it and buried the ashes on hallowed ground while you still had the chance. Now I’m afraid there is truly no way to free you from its insidious grasp.
What?
SC: “I was speaking earlier and I don’t, this man has called me, and not, I’m still being somewhat, somebody’s doing a nuisance back to my cell phone number that’s how I was advised to use my cell number someone has been using my cell in a nuisance way someone female has been using it this person has some off the wall idea I get a hold of this person exactly my point being I’m not talking to being I was using my phone tonight what I’m saying to you is my answering machine and my cell phone number those things are my not abused-“
I’ve elected to edit my futile objections out of this call transcript so you can experience firsthand the sheer wall of exposition that I myself faced when I foolishly picked up the line. Just so you can get the full effect and really feel like you’re right here, in this seat, experiencing the thrill first hand. With your face in your palm wondering what you ever did to deserve this and one eye peering around the desk for something to cut yourself with.
Of Course.
You’re at a bar. At 1am. With your friend. Clearly this is the best time to call and inquire about renting an apartment. Not for you either, for your friend. Whose standing right next to you. Telling you her phone number to give to me. Which would indicate that for some bizarre reason your friend not only decided now was the best time to call around looking for an apartment, but also managed to convince you to make the call for her. As if she realized how remarkably stupid this whole idea was but rather than electing to just not be an idiot tonight, she attempted to deflect some of the stupidity by using you as a surrogate. A sort of tard decoy if you will. A Tardulicrum.
Customer Service
So, apparently, from a “consumer perspective” I:
- Don’t make any sense
- I’m making it impossible for her to give us her hard earned money
- I don’t care
- Nobody here cares
- My apathy is "striking" and she is "shocked" at how uncaring I am.
- I am aloof
- I am “un-service oriented”
But GK, you say, that’s quite a list of horrific traits to have as a CSR! Truly you must have utterly mishandled the call and treated this poor woman like some sort of heartless trogdolyte to earn such a laundry list. Well, funny you should mention that really. She actually had her way with Coworker first, than failing that, demanded a Supervisor™ thus I foolishly stepped in bright eyed and curious as to how I could be of assistance. This proved to be a grave mistake as the above catalog of accusations would seem to indicate.
So I bet you’re wondering what horrible transgression me and Coworker could have committed to spur this? Well, it seems she sent an email to <client> asking a question last night and no one had responded by 5am the following morning on a Saturday so logically we are all uncaring heartless puppy beaters. ( Well her first theory was technical difficulties, but barring that, heartless puppy beaters ) My attempts to logically explain that it may actually take something called “Time” for a business to answer an email, especially if it was sent in the evening right before the weekend, was met with disgust and disbelief.
How dare we not answer her email regarding waist measurements at 1am on a Saturday?
Hot Tips: Season Premiere
( Got a new crazy this week.I'm not sure I want him to turn into a regular. )
Me: "Good evening, how may I help you?"
SC: “<mumble> this a live person?”
Me: “Yes, can I help you?”
SC: “Agent in distress! Agent in distress! Agent in distress! Agent in distress!”
Me: “…....what?"
SC: “Agent in distress! You comprehend?! Don’t believe the Amer-the Canadian. The Canadian Revenue Agency! 777….um…what did that office say? About that biker group? Called…..uh….”
Hold that thought a sec. I just want to take a minute here to fondly think back, to many years ago, when I actually once got a legitimate call on this line that wasn’t either a complete raving lunatic or someone who thought they’d unraveled a complex terrorist plot while scratching their balls watching CNN one night. Man, those were the days. Er, day.
Right, ok, getting back to the topic at hand. You said something about bikers and a dress?
Me: “Alri-“
SC: “oh…uh…ROLLING THUNDER! ROLLING THUNDER IS A WHITE SUPREMIST GROUP THAT HATES OBAMA!”
Me: “…..what?”
SC: “PRESIDENTIAL ALERT! PRESIDENTIAL ALERT!”
DANGER WILL ROBINSON.
Me: “….right.”
SC: “I got the 9 diamond watch from Abraham Lincoln!”
Me: “….from Lincoln? Alrighty…”
SC: “Yeah, from Lincoln! The 9 diamond watch! He gave it to me!”
Me: “Bye bye now.”
Yep, Lincoln personally gave him his watch. I’m not entirely sure how that would be possible unless necromancy or time travel were somehow involved in this highly unlikely gift giving scenario. Even if, by some dark power, Lincoln did somehow rise from his grave as Zombie Lincoln. I’m pretty sure shuffling over to the museum, breaking in, taking the watch, than hitch hiking to Canada with it to give it to some random whack job would be low on his list of priorities. In fact I’m pretty sure his list of priorities wouldn’t extend beyond “#1 Braaaains”.
Although, oddly, Zombie Lincoln does appear to be rather popular on the Internet. He was even on the Daily Show. Impressive. Though that discredits you even further, I might add. Why would a renowned celebrity such as Zombie Lincoln bother himself with the little people like you? Zombie Lincoln would have much more important things to do and people to eat. I hardly think he’d bother himself with the likes of you. You’re probably really gamy anyhow.
IN SOVIET RUSSIA
SC: “Our complaint is OLD WOMAN!!”
.....alright? Just….old woman? I wasn’t aware being old was a cause for a property management emergency.
SC: “Old woman is DRUNK and she is defile our apartment with screams of alcohol!”
Old woman is drunk and defiling your living space. Got it.
Me: “I’m afraid you’ll have to call the police for a noise complaint.”
SC: “It’s not noise. It is known that she is MAD and she is drunker!”
Ok, so old woman is mad, drunker and defiling your apartment with scream of alcohol? But you don’t want to call the police because she’s not making noise? Even though she’s defiling with the screams of alcohol? Sooo….your complaint is that she’s simply Mad Drunker? Hrm. I’m not sure what to tell you dude. I’ve gone up and down my emergency list twice now and I just don’t see Old Woman Mad Drunker Defiling anywhere. So I’m afraid this just isn’t an emergency.
In fact pretty much any sort of mad drunker defiling is A-Okay by the looks of it. So you may as well crack open a cold one too.
Fair Enough
Me: “And what's the problem with the system?”
SC: “It smells like burnt.”
Well….er….that would be a rather large problem, yes. Perhaps not the most technical of explanations, but a rather effective one none the less.
Annnd rest.....for now. >.>
Don't Even Try It
Me: “Alright, your total comes to $315.14”
SC: “Uhhh….how much was da other things…..?”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “The shipping.”
Me: “COD shipping is $40.”
SC: “Uhhhh…….did they raise the prices on the items?”
Me: “No.”
SC: “Well it’s…….ummmmm……….uh………….nevermind.”
I’m going to assume, judging by the lengthy pauses, confused monosyllables and faint smell of burning rubber that you just attempted to perform basic mathematics. Which, in all honesty, you really should not be attempting under any circumstances. It simply isn’t safe for you, your immediately family or anyone within 50kms of you really, to be attempting such a feat. Regardless of how simple anyone with a full set of chromosomes might make this seem, it’s just too dangerous for you to attempt on your own. The rusted out husk of your mental capabilities isn’t that sturdy to begin with, there’s no telling what sort of damage ( or rather additional damage ) attempting basic addition might cause to what little ability you have left. Remember you’re just barely treading water above “Managed to dial” as is.
Just back away, sit down, relax and let me steer the good ship Comprehension through the murky waters of simple arithmetic for you.
<3
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Heeeeeeeeeeey!”
Me: “Hi.”
SC: “I been holdin’ fer a while”
Yes, yes you have. If you wish to prevent that in the future you could do what every other village does and just pass around the catalog and let each simian take his turn. Rather than 4 of you calling me within the span of a minute in your groping desire for laughably named designer clothing.
Me: “Yes-“
SC: “Dis da reprasentatav?”
Me: “....what, sorry?”
Ah yes, Reprasentatav. Use to be part of the Soviet Union if I recall right.
SC: “Ya I wanna make an ORADR”
Me: “Alright, and what’s the item number you’d like to order?”
SC: “First dings first, I want da In The Dark hoodie”
Well, it’s certainly appropriately named for you, isn’t it?
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “I think that’s about it. I LUB LOTS OF DINGS IN HERE. Wait. Lemme look……….I dunno, there’s SO MUCH I WANT. Oooooh, but I cants afford it.”
Normally I would mock her incessantly for that child like outburst. But she just sounded so…..so sad. I don’t have the heart. No, really. I don’t. It’s too blackened and shriveled now so I just leave it at home in a glass of orphan’s tears by my bed to keep it from drying out and hope the cat doesn’t paw it out onto the carpet while I’m at work.
Logic
Hmm, you don’t seem to be understanding anything I’m trying to explain. So let me just try to break this down into digestible bits for you:
Services I Offer:
- Locating rental vacancies
- Soothing sound of my buttery voice.
Your Problem:
- An outlet in your suite is warm. This frightens you.
- Your manager isn’t answering his door.
Now I want you to carefully compare both lists and see if you can fit anything from column B anywhere into anything in my column A. If you can succeed in this admitted daunting task, than I will consent to assist you. If not, you will go wanker off elsewhere and consent to sparing me your company any further. Deal?
Oh, one last caveat. You must solve this riddle using real logic. Not Imagination Land logic. That’s what got you into this mess to begin with.
Yes, This is a Hockey Joke. You Were Warned.
So apparently there was a hockey event this evening at GM Place. From what I gather it was a contest between the Canucks and San Jose. Normal enough. However, as the hockey crowd piled onto the Skytrain at GM place I was struck by an…..oddity in the crowd: A bright red Calgary Flames jersey. I will admit that this baffled me somewhat. Because it seems to indicate that the bearer of the garment intentionally wore a jersey of a team that was not actually present nor participating in this evening’s sporting events. Which would mean he specifically bought tickets and went to a hockey game to cheer for a team that was not actually playing. I’m not sure if Calgary was playing somewhere else tonight, perhaps they were. In which case I guess this is may be some sort of clairvoyant cheering.
Though we also had a pair of rather glum looking San Jose fans on the Skytrain as well, bravely facing off against the disdain and ridicule of their victorious peers on the train. One Canuck fan did regale them with an intricate and insightful overview of their team and it’s performance this evening. However, the particularities and language used in this overview cannot precisely be repeated in my shift report. Though I will mention that I do agree with the belligerent Canuck fan on one of the several points they made: San Jose likely does or has at some point licked the nether regions of a common barnyard animal. Since we can neither confirm nor deny any possible goat tasting that the team may have partaken or what part of the goat may have been involved, we cannot rule out the possibility that the statement is factual.
Grrr
“Have a good day at work!”
….what? Are you mocking me or are you really daft enough to utter such a supposed pleasantry this ungodly hour of the night? Because either way I’m afraid I’m going to have to look down on you with contempt and disdain. Nothing personal mind you, just business. It’ll only take a moment. Hold still now…..
……ok, there. All done. You may go now. Don't let me catch you kids around here again either!
Hot Tips
If you dry clean the Queen ( Not her cloths, the actual Queen herself. ) and fix the brakes on her car she’ll make you a queen too. You know, just FYI. Apparently the whole process of ascending to the head of the nobility is just that simple. Granted I imagine the Queen would struggle a fair amount if you tried to dry clean her plus I think even by Canadian law it’s technically high treason. But it’s ok, she’s rather small and I doubt she can put up too much of a fight before you can get the plastic bag on her.
Objection!
Alright, let me see if I have an accurate picture of the…scenario…as it were: Your wife beat you up, dragged you around the house, called the cops, blamed it on you and you got arrested for assault. Mhmmkay. Now, I’m not a judge, nor lawyer, but I have finished every Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney game so I am vaguely qualified in my own mind to render a verdict on this situation. The scenario, as you describe it, seems rather unlikely given the evidence presented. You’ve described numerous bruises and injuries, and indicated you were “dragged” around. Which means either your wife is significantly larger than you and far more skilled at melee combat, or you inadvertently married the She-Hulk. Secondly, the cops arrested you, not her. Despite your claim of severe and obvious injuries. Thirdly, you claim you “do not know” why you were arrested. Seeing as they tell you this while arresting you, this likewise seems suspect.
In my experience anyone that claims they don’t know why they were arrested knows perfectly well but doesn’t want to admit it because it’s easier to garner sympathy by acting like The Man™ is keeping you down.
So, based on this evidence, if it pleases the court, I would like to suggest a small number of scenarios for what truly transpired here:
Number 1:
You’re lying. You did something stupid like smack your wife, and were unaware she was actually a level 9 Berserker with Improved Power Strike. After beating you within an inch of your life with a jug of Sunny D while you cried like a little girl, she called the police and they arrested you.
Number 2:
You’re lying. You did something stupid like smack your wife, she called the police, they arrived and you attempted to throw down with them as it were. After which you were beaten within an inch of your life while you cried like a little girl.
Number 3:
You’re lying. Some neighbourhood kids stole your foil Charizard and when you tried to get it back they beat you up while you cried like a little girl. You called the police and told them your wife beat you up because that was less shameful. Albeit not by much.
You’ll notice a common thread amongst all three scenarios: You’re lying and someone beat you up while you cried like a little girl. Based on the evidence at hand and the short time I’ve spent listening to you whine at me, I believe both of these points to be irrefutable.
Justice For All
SC: “I-I-I-I-I..uh….I need an emergency!”
Oh, hello again. What happened this time? Did they steal Pikachu?
SC: “I’m like stuck here!”
Yes, oddly enough, that’s sort of the point of jail.
Me: “I’m there is no lawyer available at this hour-“
SC: “I know! But I need him BAD! These guys are fucking me over big time.”
Me: “Unfortunately, there’s not much I can do-“
SC: “I’m literally stuck here and these guys are fucking me over! Literally fucking me over!”
Wait….literally? Umm….that’s….not exactly a pleasant mental image……but, well, I suppose, oddly enough, that’s sort of the point of jail too.
Me: “We-“
SC: “Well I need my lawyer! I pay my lawyer money right? I pay for a reason! Hello!?”
Ah, yes, your lawyer. The one you aren’t currently a client of and thus do not have a retainer for and thus have never actually given a dime? That one? Gotcha.
Me: “I'm afraid he's gone home for this evening-"
SC: “Well that’s just *&@%ing ridiculous *)&@$ing garbage *&@%$) *(^@%$^ @(^%@”
Ah, yes, using profanity as punctuation, that’ll surely convince me. Of what I don’t know, but carry on. If you must.
Yes, This Is Another Hockey Joke
I spotted another hockey related oddity this evening that further bolsters my theory that hockey fans in this city are at least moderately delusional. Again there was a fair number of Canuck’s jerseys about this evening as I think they were playing against some sort of water fowl or some such. Yet once again I spotted a wandering jester wearing a jersey that did not correspond to either team. Well, perhaps not a jester. She actually looked rather……leathery…….and any semblance of hope or life was completely absent in her features.
But than I think I know why that might be: The jersey she was wearing was….archaic and somewhat filthy. But mostly archaic. It was familiar, but it was only the faintest tickle in my younger memories that came to the surface. I actually had to ponder the strange symbols I had seen ( at Broadway of course ) for some time. It wasn’t until Stadium that the truth struck me:
That was a Hartford Whaler’s jersey. Wow. What moldy old water damaged box in the back of an abandoned warehouse in Butthole, Connecticut did you find that in? I mean really, I can remember coherently forming the concept of how much the Whaler’s sucked when I was five and I didn’t even like hockey as a kid. That is not a jersey to be proud of. It brings only shame and sadness. I know now why your eyes are devoid of hope. You have fallen under its sway and it is slowly eating away at your life force to feed its dark appetite. Fool! You should have burned it and buried the ashes on hallowed ground while you still had the chance. Now I’m afraid there is truly no way to free you from its insidious grasp.
What?
SC: “I was speaking earlier and I don’t, this man has called me, and not, I’m still being somewhat, somebody’s doing a nuisance back to my cell phone number that’s how I was advised to use my cell number someone has been using my cell in a nuisance way someone female has been using it this person has some off the wall idea I get a hold of this person exactly my point being I’m not talking to being I was using my phone tonight what I’m saying to you is my answering machine and my cell phone number those things are my not abused-“
I’ve elected to edit my futile objections out of this call transcript so you can experience firsthand the sheer wall of exposition that I myself faced when I foolishly picked up the line. Just so you can get the full effect and really feel like you’re right here, in this seat, experiencing the thrill first hand. With your face in your palm wondering what you ever did to deserve this and one eye peering around the desk for something to cut yourself with.
Of Course.
You’re at a bar. At 1am. With your friend. Clearly this is the best time to call and inquire about renting an apartment. Not for you either, for your friend. Whose standing right next to you. Telling you her phone number to give to me. Which would indicate that for some bizarre reason your friend not only decided now was the best time to call around looking for an apartment, but also managed to convince you to make the call for her. As if she realized how remarkably stupid this whole idea was but rather than electing to just not be an idiot tonight, she attempted to deflect some of the stupidity by using you as a surrogate. A sort of tard decoy if you will. A Tardulicrum.
Customer Service
So, apparently, from a “consumer perspective” I:
- Don’t make any sense
- I’m making it impossible for her to give us her hard earned money
- I don’t care
- Nobody here cares
- My apathy is "striking" and she is "shocked" at how uncaring I am.
- I am aloof
- I am “un-service oriented”
But GK, you say, that’s quite a list of horrific traits to have as a CSR! Truly you must have utterly mishandled the call and treated this poor woman like some sort of heartless trogdolyte to earn such a laundry list. Well, funny you should mention that really. She actually had her way with Coworker first, than failing that, demanded a Supervisor™ thus I foolishly stepped in bright eyed and curious as to how I could be of assistance. This proved to be a grave mistake as the above catalog of accusations would seem to indicate.
So I bet you’re wondering what horrible transgression me and Coworker could have committed to spur this? Well, it seems she sent an email to <client> asking a question last night and no one had responded by 5am the following morning on a Saturday so logically we are all uncaring heartless puppy beaters. ( Well her first theory was technical difficulties, but barring that, heartless puppy beaters ) My attempts to logically explain that it may actually take something called “Time” for a business to answer an email, especially if it was sent in the evening right before the weekend, was met with disgust and disbelief.
How dare we not answer her email regarding waist measurements at 1am on a Saturday?
Hot Tips: Season Premiere
( Got a new crazy this week.I'm not sure I want him to turn into a regular. )
Me: "Good evening, how may I help you?"
SC: “<mumble> this a live person?”
Me: “Yes, can I help you?”
SC: “Agent in distress! Agent in distress! Agent in distress! Agent in distress!”
Me: “…....what?"
SC: “Agent in distress! You comprehend?! Don’t believe the Amer-the Canadian. The Canadian Revenue Agency! 777….um…what did that office say? About that biker group? Called…..uh….”
Hold that thought a sec. I just want to take a minute here to fondly think back, to many years ago, when I actually once got a legitimate call on this line that wasn’t either a complete raving lunatic or someone who thought they’d unraveled a complex terrorist plot while scratching their balls watching CNN one night. Man, those were the days. Er, day.
Right, ok, getting back to the topic at hand. You said something about bikers and a dress?
Me: “Alri-“
SC: “oh…uh…ROLLING THUNDER! ROLLING THUNDER IS A WHITE SUPREMIST GROUP THAT HATES OBAMA!”
Me: “…..what?”
SC: “PRESIDENTIAL ALERT! PRESIDENTIAL ALERT!”
DANGER WILL ROBINSON.
Me: “….right.”
SC: “I got the 9 diamond watch from Abraham Lincoln!”
Me: “….from Lincoln? Alrighty…”
SC: “Yeah, from Lincoln! The 9 diamond watch! He gave it to me!”
Me: “Bye bye now.”
Yep, Lincoln personally gave him his watch. I’m not entirely sure how that would be possible unless necromancy or time travel were somehow involved in this highly unlikely gift giving scenario. Even if, by some dark power, Lincoln did somehow rise from his grave as Zombie Lincoln. I’m pretty sure shuffling over to the museum, breaking in, taking the watch, than hitch hiking to Canada with it to give it to some random whack job would be low on his list of priorities. In fact I’m pretty sure his list of priorities wouldn’t extend beyond “#1 Braaaains”.
Although, oddly, Zombie Lincoln does appear to be rather popular on the Internet. He was even on the Daily Show. Impressive. Though that discredits you even further, I might add. Why would a renowned celebrity such as Zombie Lincoln bother himself with the little people like you? Zombie Lincoln would have much more important things to do and people to eat. I hardly think he’d bother himself with the likes of you. You’re probably really gamy anyhow.
IN SOVIET RUSSIA
SC: “Our complaint is OLD WOMAN!!”
.....alright? Just….old woman? I wasn’t aware being old was a cause for a property management emergency.
SC: “Old woman is DRUNK and she is defile our apartment with screams of alcohol!”
Old woman is drunk and defiling your living space. Got it.
Me: “I’m afraid you’ll have to call the police for a noise complaint.”
SC: “It’s not noise. It is known that she is MAD and she is drunker!”
Ok, so old woman is mad, drunker and defiling your apartment with scream of alcohol? But you don’t want to call the police because she’s not making noise? Even though she’s defiling with the screams of alcohol? Sooo….your complaint is that she’s simply Mad Drunker? Hrm. I’m not sure what to tell you dude. I’ve gone up and down my emergency list twice now and I just don’t see Old Woman Mad Drunker Defiling anywhere. So I’m afraid this just isn’t an emergency.
In fact pretty much any sort of mad drunker defiling is A-Okay by the looks of it. So you may as well crack open a cold one too.
Fair Enough
Me: “And what's the problem with the system?”
SC: “It smells like burnt.”
Well….er….that would be a rather large problem, yes. Perhaps not the most technical of explanations, but a rather effective one none the less.
Annnd rest.....for now. >.>
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