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So I Finally Laughed At A Caller....
<sigh> I'm cracking. I can't take it anymore. Chinks are appearing in my armour. I couldn't help it though, it was just so absurd.
Thrice
Me: “Alright, and how many would you like to order?”
SC: “Three.”
Me: “Three? Alright-“
SC: “Because everything goes in threeeees”
….allllright. That was a little creepy. I’m not even going to venture to ask what you mean by “everything”. As I fear it may lead to an exhaustive police search and the discovery of a hidden shed in the woods on your property where everything, and indeed everyone, has been separated into threes.
Hisss~
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yes I am, my dear.”
Ok, point of contention: Pet names or terms of endearment end at 11pm. If you call past that you are prohibited from using any such terms. I will let it slide this time with just a warning. But next time it’s going to be a fine, missy. Multiple infractions might even lead to the confiscation and impoundment of your phone. Please dial responsibly.
Why Did You Even....?
Me: “and your phone number please?”
SC: “It’s xxx-xxx-xxxx. But that number is out of service, so use xxx-”
Wait wait wait, back up a moment. I have a question, if I may. Why in the world did you give me the first number if it’s out of service? You’re calling to request a call back so why would you give a number that cannot be successfully called back? Does that not seem somewhat counterproductive? Perhaps even borderline idiotic? Why are you working against your interests? Do you truly loath yourself so? Or are you just trying to make life more challenging?
You don’t have to play Life on the highest difficulty setting you know. You don’t actually get more points, nor is there any sort of top score board for people to admire your achievements in the face of adversity. You don’t even get extra loot or power ups. Quite the opposite. So you may as well dial it down to Normal like the rest of us.
Beyond Madness
Me: “Alright, and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “Um, probably three.”
Probably? I’d like to believe my inquiry was rather straight forward and requires a definitive answer. There should be no probability involved here aside from the high probability you will win absolutely nothing and be out $300. A fate you have incurred merely by calling at such an hour and having the misfortune of conducting your transaction through I. The luck singularity. I believe I warned you people of this last week. But no, you persist. Labouring under some foolish belief that perhaps you are special and may yet win fame and fortune despite the barrier that is my presence.
Again, I warn you. Turn back. You cannot overcome me. There will be no prizes, no success, no victory, indeed no Christmas should you continue to trifle with me. Do not underestimate the sheer amount of dark powers possessed by one such as I: An Elder CSR. We are ancient, horrific beings from far outside of your time and space. You cannot possible comprehend us and to look upon us is to know madness. Turn back while you can, mortal! If you come any further, even I cannot save you from the realm you trespass upon.
Stealth Advertising
Me: “And how did you hear about us?”
SC: “Oh, I’ve seen some work done locally on my house.”
Wait…what? Done locally on your house? Is this some sort of new marketing campaign I was unaware of? Do they send a specialized team of contractors to your house in the dead of night to break in and slowly renovate your kitche bit by bit till its half done? So you’re eventually either overwhelmed by its beauty or simply forced to call anyhow to get them to come finish the job? This seems like a rather ill advised advertising idea. Would there not be a risk of discovery and capture of these highly trained carpenter ninjas? Could they not be easily traced and apprehended? Or do they carry cyanide pills inside of a fake tooth so if they’re captured by local authorities the inner secrets of the company's floor tiling dies with them?
Yargh!
Me: “Do you have a VIP ID number?”
SC: “Oh, let’s see…..what does it look like?”
Hmm, well, I know my description was rather vague. So for that I apologize. Allow me to try and elaborate: You are looking for a number that says VIP ID. Does that help any? Again, my apologies for not being perfectly clear the first time. I really should have specified that it was a number next to the term VIP ID. Heck, even that is still being rather vague and mysterious. Terribly sorry. Let me try again. Ok, you are looking for a number which is composed of several individual digits that is printed on a piece of paper next to the term VIP ID which as you may or may not notice is constructed from five letters with a single space in-between to create the acronyms VIP and ID. VIP standing of course for very important person or perhaps very idiotic peon depending on the individual case. ID of course standing for identification. Thus what you are searching for is a number composed of digits next to a term which identifies a very important person which for some bizarre reason is actually suppose to refer to you.
In which case I guess I can actually see why you might be confused. My apologies.
The Victim
Me: “Good morning, <company>”
SC: “Where is this?”
Me: “This is <company>, can I help you?”
SC: “Who?”
Me: “<company>”
SC: “My car was towed from a legal parking spot.”
Me: “I’m afraid that has absolutely nothing to do with us. You have the wrong number.”
Just to demonstrate how wrong, this company services large restaurant appliances.
SC: “Oh. So who am I talking to?”
Me: “You’ve reached <company>.”
SC: “How do you spell that?”
Me: “<c-o-m-p-a-n-y>.”
SC: “What do I have to say?! What do I have to do!?”
….try calling the right number, perhaps? You might find it to be a more successful course of action.
Me: “I would have no idea, we don’t deal with parking, towing or anything to that effect. You have the wrong number.”
SC: “This is the number I’ve been given and you cannot help me!? WELL WHAT A SURPRISE <click>”
I fail to follow your logic here. I assume you’re attempting to be sarcastic and level some sort of verbal parting shot at me. However, seeing as you called the wrong number your parting shot has gone just a tad off the mark as it were. It’s not exactly a surprise that I cannot help you. In fact it’s pretty blatantly obvious I can’t help you because you called the wrong number. A fact I believe I informed you of. No fault can be found with me if you refuse to believe and instead persist in this hallucinatory fairy tale of victimization you seem to be embarking on.
The Beast of Smells
Lord help me, I boarded the Skytrain this evening under the naïve impression that all would be well with my trip. As, track maintenance aside, I was actually doing pretty good at avoiding….encounters, on transit lately. But it was not to be so. For mid way downtown a creature boarded the train. Somehow managing to hide itself amongst the crowd of normal human beings before resting itself on the seat in front of me. I didn’t even see it at first, for I was busy feigning sleep. A defense mechanism that has served me well all these years. Oh no, instead I smelled him first. For this was a Beast of Smells. A myriad of odours mixed together that both stung the back of my throat and cleared my sinuses in seconds.
The burning sensation in my skull prompted me to open my eyes rather quickly and I beheld the pudgy beast in all his glory. But the sight left me confused as to what could possibly have created such a tragedy. I can only assume that this poor creature had taken every Calvin Klein ad just a tad too seriously and believed that the direct route to raw sexiness was an overabundance of expensive fragrances, a goatee and a slightly tilted beret instead of something a tad more practical like, say, sit ups. Normally such an approach wouldn’t be that bad. At least not to the point it could inflict physical pain on adjacent people. However, he had really gone above and beyond. There were so many various aromas at work here that it was impossible to sort any of them out and just inhaling them too deeply was making me light headed. It was if he’d bought every aftershave and cologne he could find worth more than $20, emptied them into a tub then soaked his sheets in them for 12 hours before rolling himself up in them for a fort night of bestial hibernation seeking to emerge from this tainted cocoon as some sort of glorious butterfly. Either that or he was physically ingesting them at such a quantity that they are now remerging through his pores. One of the two.
Even as I watched ( through tear filled eyes ) he continued to lather additional scents on himself. First by applying yet another layer of something I can only identify as “Tear Gas & Mint” to every flubbery inch of where his neck should be. Then by taking a jar of some sort of fragrant body moisturizer and reaching down his shirt to apply it lustily to his chest in large globs. An activity he seemed to be getting just a bit too into when he discovered his nipple areas.
This beast rode with us all the way to Stadium. Where I promptly attempted to flee but was thwarted yet again by Skytrain Control. It seems they found a solution to the abject chaos that ensues when they try to do track maintenance on Friday nights. It’s quite simple really. You let the train pull in but don’t actually open the doors and let anyone off. Instead you seal them inside with the Beast of Smells for a couple of minutes while the other side of the platform sorts itself out. Curse you, Skytrain Control. CURSE YOU.
God I Wish I Was Making This Up
SC: “I tried pushing the Any key like it said and it didn’t work.”
Bravo! You know most end users struggle desperately just to find the Any key. Yet you have not only successfully located it but have indeed pushed it as the on screen directions clearly indicated. I am impressed. That deserves a round of half hearted applause from beneath a withering tired glare. Go ahead, take a bow. You deserve it.
Distrust
SC: “So how do I know that my tickets are really going in the drawing box?
How refreshingly paranoid. I guess you’ll just have to trust us. I know, it’s a little hard. What with us being backed by such a shadowy organization as charity fund raiser for sick children. I mean seriously, an organization that helps children? How much shadier can you get? Obviously it must be run by the mafia. Or Morlocks. Probably Morlocks.
SC: “The card number is xxxx-xxxx-“
Back up a moment, can you repeat the first part? Sorry, I think I typed it in wrong but it’s hard to tell with the glare from the Eye of Sauron reflecting off my monitor here.
Science!
SC: “It’s been like an hour and a half since I called! Do you know when he’s going to get here?”
If I could just interrupt you for a moment there. First of all I’d like to congratulate you on the amazing scientific achievement that must be inventing a time machine seeing as you clearly must be calling me from the future according to your estimate. They said it couldn’t be done but by God you’ve proved them wrong haven’t you? Sure it’s not that great of a time machine as it seems to have only managed you to hurdled you forward in time by 47 minutes but still. Time travel is time travel.
I smell Nobel prize.
Grand Theft Auto?
Around 1:45am the Vancouver PD rolled up out front and began stealing cars. Which seemed rather counter intuitive to their whole purpose in life. I’m not sure what prompted them to descend upon our street in such a manner, but there they were. The first one they put on a flatbed trailer and drove off to god knows where. Then an unending march of tow trucks began to arrive, stopping briefly to converse with the police, and then select a car, seemingly at random, to drive off with into the night with it. They made off with three while I watched and I’m not sure how many more afterwards. I peeked out the window a half hour later and the cops were gone along with at least half the vehicles along our street.
Parking violations is serious business to the Vancouver PD apparently.
She's Baaaaack
SC: “Hi, whose working on Monday to talk to about the service?”
Oh, hello again crazy lady.
Me: “I’m afraid I’m the afterhours emergency, so I wouldn’t know. But the office will be in after 8:00am on Monday.”
SC: “Who would be the person to speak too?”
Me: “The office should be able to help you-“
SC: “You don’t know who the manager is?”
Me: “I’m afraid I don’t know who would be in the office on Monday-“
SC: “Well I don’t know anyone named <coworker A> and I don’t know anyone named <coworker B> and I don’t know anyone named <coworker C>! Especially to do with anything to do with anything in the province! <click>”
Notice how she’s slowly compiling a list of our operators and believes each one of them to either be stalking her or accusing her of being an accomplice in some sort of federal crime. I tried to warn <coworker C> when he got a call on this account. But it was too late. Now he too has been added to her hit list of imaginary tormentors.
And Again
SC: “Hi, yeah, there was a <client's van> at my building where I’m living. Right now. Currently. Within two or three days ago. Within the last week.”
Me: “…okay”
So that’s where you got this number. You saw a <company>van and immediately assumed they were out to get you. Of course, why didn’t I think of that. It makes perfect sense…….if you have various mental afflictions and aren’t taking your medication.
SC: “And I don’t know if, what’s going on. Anyway they were here early evening. I wanted to know if anyone was trying……anyway, when I was speaking with you you said something about <coworker A>, <coworker B> or <coworker C> and I’m NOT <coworker C>!”
Me: “No, you said that.”
SC: "I....wha?"
Me: "You said that before, not me."
SC: “It was a person that hung up, it said <coworker B> or something like that. I am not not <coworker B>or <coworker B>or <coworker B>or anything to that effect!”
Don’t confuse me with the voices in your head. It’s impolite.
SC: “Anyway point being someone moved out here within the building I’m living in. For one of those many different names indicated and it was NOT with my consent!”
….no one is allowed to move out of your apartment building without your consent? Duly noted. I shall add “controlling” and “megalomania” to your list of suspected afflictions. It’s good to keep track of these things you know.
SC: “I had a break in, in my apartment and someone moved away with some of my belongings. I definitely am interested! Goodbye! <click>”
……what….I don’t even……what colour is the sky in your world and how high of a dosage do you need before it turns back to blue?
The First Chink In My Armour
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “No, I’m calling because I bought a jacket about four years ago-“
Annnnnd I’m already 100% positive whatever your problem is, isn’t something I can conceivably help you with nor would I have any obligation too. But don't let that stop you.
SC: “and it faded really badly.”
Yep, see? Can’t help you. Not even sure how you could possibly conceive that I could help you nor why I would be obligated to help you over a jacket you purchased 4 years ago.
SC: “I just wanted to report this.”
Well, consider it reported. Bye bye now.
SC: “You can tell its sun faded. The arms and shoulders and upper back are faded a lot and it looks like it’s from the sun. I’m not really an out doorsy person either. I mean I went sun boarding about 15 times and did some hiking last summer but I wasn't out in the sun that much so then we went to the beach a few times in September and-“
Ok, right. Stop. This is getting absurd. I don't even know what to say to you now. I have utterly no idea what the heck you want from me, why you called or what you expect me to do about this 4 year old jacket you speak of. I’m not even entirely convinced you’re not mildly insane. I’m honestly not even sure what to say at this point. Only that I must stop you somehow.
Me: "....okay....what....just....okay <snerk> heheeh okay wait-"
SC: ".....can I talk to someone else?!"
Me: "Alright, ok.....what exactly do you want me to do?"
SC: “Well I’m calling to tell you I have a quality problem with your product!”
Me: “Alright, but these are individual clothing labels. We don’t manufacture them.”
SC: “Oh….but I see it on your website here-“
Wait, did you even buy this jacket from us? Or did you just Google search for the jacket, saw that we sold it and assumed because we sold it we made it? An assumption that is tragically flawed in almost every common retail situation?
Me: “We’re a clothing outlet. So we sell them but we don’t manufacture them.”
SC: “Oh…........really?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: "Oh....um...."
Now run along and bother them with your crazy instead. 4 years ago, cripes. I don’t think you could buy a car with a 4 year warranty these days. Nevermind a jacket with a return policy beyond 2 weeks. You’re a lunatic if you think anyone is going to give a rat’s flaming butt hair on a George Foreman grill about the colour fading out of your precious 4 year old jacket. Clothes fade over time. Deal with it. If you don’t like it you should have spent the last four years washing it in Tide with Colour Guard Plus™
annnnd rest.
Thrice
Me: “Alright, and how many would you like to order?”
SC: “Three.”
Me: “Three? Alright-“
SC: “Because everything goes in threeeees”
….allllright. That was a little creepy. I’m not even going to venture to ask what you mean by “everything”. As I fear it may lead to an exhaustive police search and the discovery of a hidden shed in the woods on your property where everything, and indeed everyone, has been separated into threes.
Hisss~
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yes I am, my dear.”
Ok, point of contention: Pet names or terms of endearment end at 11pm. If you call past that you are prohibited from using any such terms. I will let it slide this time with just a warning. But next time it’s going to be a fine, missy. Multiple infractions might even lead to the confiscation and impoundment of your phone. Please dial responsibly.
Why Did You Even....?
Me: “and your phone number please?”
SC: “It’s xxx-xxx-xxxx. But that number is out of service, so use xxx-”
Wait wait wait, back up a moment. I have a question, if I may. Why in the world did you give me the first number if it’s out of service? You’re calling to request a call back so why would you give a number that cannot be successfully called back? Does that not seem somewhat counterproductive? Perhaps even borderline idiotic? Why are you working against your interests? Do you truly loath yourself so? Or are you just trying to make life more challenging?
You don’t have to play Life on the highest difficulty setting you know. You don’t actually get more points, nor is there any sort of top score board for people to admire your achievements in the face of adversity. You don’t even get extra loot or power ups. Quite the opposite. So you may as well dial it down to Normal like the rest of us.
Beyond Madness
Me: “Alright, and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “Um, probably three.”
Probably? I’d like to believe my inquiry was rather straight forward and requires a definitive answer. There should be no probability involved here aside from the high probability you will win absolutely nothing and be out $300. A fate you have incurred merely by calling at such an hour and having the misfortune of conducting your transaction through I. The luck singularity. I believe I warned you people of this last week. But no, you persist. Labouring under some foolish belief that perhaps you are special and may yet win fame and fortune despite the barrier that is my presence.
Again, I warn you. Turn back. You cannot overcome me. There will be no prizes, no success, no victory, indeed no Christmas should you continue to trifle with me. Do not underestimate the sheer amount of dark powers possessed by one such as I: An Elder CSR. We are ancient, horrific beings from far outside of your time and space. You cannot possible comprehend us and to look upon us is to know madness. Turn back while you can, mortal! If you come any further, even I cannot save you from the realm you trespass upon.
Stealth Advertising
Me: “And how did you hear about us?”
SC: “Oh, I’ve seen some work done locally on my house.”
Wait…what? Done locally on your house? Is this some sort of new marketing campaign I was unaware of? Do they send a specialized team of contractors to your house in the dead of night to break in and slowly renovate your kitche bit by bit till its half done? So you’re eventually either overwhelmed by its beauty or simply forced to call anyhow to get them to come finish the job? This seems like a rather ill advised advertising idea. Would there not be a risk of discovery and capture of these highly trained carpenter ninjas? Could they not be easily traced and apprehended? Or do they carry cyanide pills inside of a fake tooth so if they’re captured by local authorities the inner secrets of the company's floor tiling dies with them?
Yargh!
Me: “Do you have a VIP ID number?”
SC: “Oh, let’s see…..what does it look like?”
Hmm, well, I know my description was rather vague. So for that I apologize. Allow me to try and elaborate: You are looking for a number that says VIP ID. Does that help any? Again, my apologies for not being perfectly clear the first time. I really should have specified that it was a number next to the term VIP ID. Heck, even that is still being rather vague and mysterious. Terribly sorry. Let me try again. Ok, you are looking for a number which is composed of several individual digits that is printed on a piece of paper next to the term VIP ID which as you may or may not notice is constructed from five letters with a single space in-between to create the acronyms VIP and ID. VIP standing of course for very important person or perhaps very idiotic peon depending on the individual case. ID of course standing for identification. Thus what you are searching for is a number composed of digits next to a term which identifies a very important person which for some bizarre reason is actually suppose to refer to you.
In which case I guess I can actually see why you might be confused. My apologies.
The Victim
Me: “Good morning, <company>”
SC: “Where is this?”
Me: “This is <company>, can I help you?”
SC: “Who?”
Me: “<company>”
SC: “My car was towed from a legal parking spot.”
Me: “I’m afraid that has absolutely nothing to do with us. You have the wrong number.”
Just to demonstrate how wrong, this company services large restaurant appliances.
SC: “Oh. So who am I talking to?”
Me: “You’ve reached <company>.”
SC: “How do you spell that?”
Me: “<c-o-m-p-a-n-y>.”
SC: “What do I have to say?! What do I have to do!?”
….try calling the right number, perhaps? You might find it to be a more successful course of action.
Me: “I would have no idea, we don’t deal with parking, towing or anything to that effect. You have the wrong number.”
SC: “This is the number I’ve been given and you cannot help me!? WELL WHAT A SURPRISE <click>”
I fail to follow your logic here. I assume you’re attempting to be sarcastic and level some sort of verbal parting shot at me. However, seeing as you called the wrong number your parting shot has gone just a tad off the mark as it were. It’s not exactly a surprise that I cannot help you. In fact it’s pretty blatantly obvious I can’t help you because you called the wrong number. A fact I believe I informed you of. No fault can be found with me if you refuse to believe and instead persist in this hallucinatory fairy tale of victimization you seem to be embarking on.
The Beast of Smells
Lord help me, I boarded the Skytrain this evening under the naïve impression that all would be well with my trip. As, track maintenance aside, I was actually doing pretty good at avoiding….encounters, on transit lately. But it was not to be so. For mid way downtown a creature boarded the train. Somehow managing to hide itself amongst the crowd of normal human beings before resting itself on the seat in front of me. I didn’t even see it at first, for I was busy feigning sleep. A defense mechanism that has served me well all these years. Oh no, instead I smelled him first. For this was a Beast of Smells. A myriad of odours mixed together that both stung the back of my throat and cleared my sinuses in seconds.
The burning sensation in my skull prompted me to open my eyes rather quickly and I beheld the pudgy beast in all his glory. But the sight left me confused as to what could possibly have created such a tragedy. I can only assume that this poor creature had taken every Calvin Klein ad just a tad too seriously and believed that the direct route to raw sexiness was an overabundance of expensive fragrances, a goatee and a slightly tilted beret instead of something a tad more practical like, say, sit ups. Normally such an approach wouldn’t be that bad. At least not to the point it could inflict physical pain on adjacent people. However, he had really gone above and beyond. There were so many various aromas at work here that it was impossible to sort any of them out and just inhaling them too deeply was making me light headed. It was if he’d bought every aftershave and cologne he could find worth more than $20, emptied them into a tub then soaked his sheets in them for 12 hours before rolling himself up in them for a fort night of bestial hibernation seeking to emerge from this tainted cocoon as some sort of glorious butterfly. Either that or he was physically ingesting them at such a quantity that they are now remerging through his pores. One of the two.
Even as I watched ( through tear filled eyes ) he continued to lather additional scents on himself. First by applying yet another layer of something I can only identify as “Tear Gas & Mint” to every flubbery inch of where his neck should be. Then by taking a jar of some sort of fragrant body moisturizer and reaching down his shirt to apply it lustily to his chest in large globs. An activity he seemed to be getting just a bit too into when he discovered his nipple areas.
This beast rode with us all the way to Stadium. Where I promptly attempted to flee but was thwarted yet again by Skytrain Control. It seems they found a solution to the abject chaos that ensues when they try to do track maintenance on Friday nights. It’s quite simple really. You let the train pull in but don’t actually open the doors and let anyone off. Instead you seal them inside with the Beast of Smells for a couple of minutes while the other side of the platform sorts itself out. Curse you, Skytrain Control. CURSE YOU.
God I Wish I Was Making This Up
SC: “I tried pushing the Any key like it said and it didn’t work.”
Bravo! You know most end users struggle desperately just to find the Any key. Yet you have not only successfully located it but have indeed pushed it as the on screen directions clearly indicated. I am impressed. That deserves a round of half hearted applause from beneath a withering tired glare. Go ahead, take a bow. You deserve it.
Distrust
SC: “So how do I know that my tickets are really going in the drawing box?
How refreshingly paranoid. I guess you’ll just have to trust us. I know, it’s a little hard. What with us being backed by such a shadowy organization as charity fund raiser for sick children. I mean seriously, an organization that helps children? How much shadier can you get? Obviously it must be run by the mafia. Or Morlocks. Probably Morlocks.
SC: “The card number is xxxx-xxxx-“
Back up a moment, can you repeat the first part? Sorry, I think I typed it in wrong but it’s hard to tell with the glare from the Eye of Sauron reflecting off my monitor here.
Science!
SC: “It’s been like an hour and a half since I called! Do you know when he’s going to get here?”
If I could just interrupt you for a moment there. First of all I’d like to congratulate you on the amazing scientific achievement that must be inventing a time machine seeing as you clearly must be calling me from the future according to your estimate. They said it couldn’t be done but by God you’ve proved them wrong haven’t you? Sure it’s not that great of a time machine as it seems to have only managed you to hurdled you forward in time by 47 minutes but still. Time travel is time travel.
I smell Nobel prize.
Grand Theft Auto?
Around 1:45am the Vancouver PD rolled up out front and began stealing cars. Which seemed rather counter intuitive to their whole purpose in life. I’m not sure what prompted them to descend upon our street in such a manner, but there they were. The first one they put on a flatbed trailer and drove off to god knows where. Then an unending march of tow trucks began to arrive, stopping briefly to converse with the police, and then select a car, seemingly at random, to drive off with into the night with it. They made off with three while I watched and I’m not sure how many more afterwards. I peeked out the window a half hour later and the cops were gone along with at least half the vehicles along our street.
Parking violations is serious business to the Vancouver PD apparently.
She's Baaaaack
SC: “Hi, whose working on Monday to talk to about the service?”
Oh, hello again crazy lady.
Me: “I’m afraid I’m the afterhours emergency, so I wouldn’t know. But the office will be in after 8:00am on Monday.”
SC: “Who would be the person to speak too?”
Me: “The office should be able to help you-“
SC: “You don’t know who the manager is?”
Me: “I’m afraid I don’t know who would be in the office on Monday-“
SC: “Well I don’t know anyone named <coworker A> and I don’t know anyone named <coworker B> and I don’t know anyone named <coworker C>! Especially to do with anything to do with anything in the province! <click>”
Notice how she’s slowly compiling a list of our operators and believes each one of them to either be stalking her or accusing her of being an accomplice in some sort of federal crime. I tried to warn <coworker C> when he got a call on this account. But it was too late. Now he too has been added to her hit list of imaginary tormentors.
And Again
SC: “Hi, yeah, there was a <client's van> at my building where I’m living. Right now. Currently. Within two or three days ago. Within the last week.”
Me: “…okay”
So that’s where you got this number. You saw a <company>van and immediately assumed they were out to get you. Of course, why didn’t I think of that. It makes perfect sense…….if you have various mental afflictions and aren’t taking your medication.
SC: “And I don’t know if, what’s going on. Anyway they were here early evening. I wanted to know if anyone was trying……anyway, when I was speaking with you you said something about <coworker A>, <coworker B> or <coworker C> and I’m NOT <coworker C>!”
Me: “No, you said that.”
SC: "I....wha?"
Me: "You said that before, not me."
SC: “It was a person that hung up, it said <coworker B> or something like that. I am not not <coworker B>or <coworker B>or <coworker B>or anything to that effect!”
Don’t confuse me with the voices in your head. It’s impolite.
SC: “Anyway point being someone moved out here within the building I’m living in. For one of those many different names indicated and it was NOT with my consent!”
….no one is allowed to move out of your apartment building without your consent? Duly noted. I shall add “controlling” and “megalomania” to your list of suspected afflictions. It’s good to keep track of these things you know.
SC: “I had a break in, in my apartment and someone moved away with some of my belongings. I definitely am interested! Goodbye! <click>”
……what….I don’t even……what colour is the sky in your world and how high of a dosage do you need before it turns back to blue?
The First Chink In My Armour
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “No, I’m calling because I bought a jacket about four years ago-“
Annnnnd I’m already 100% positive whatever your problem is, isn’t something I can conceivably help you with nor would I have any obligation too. But don't let that stop you.
SC: “and it faded really badly.”
Yep, see? Can’t help you. Not even sure how you could possibly conceive that I could help you nor why I would be obligated to help you over a jacket you purchased 4 years ago.
SC: “I just wanted to report this.”
Well, consider it reported. Bye bye now.
SC: “You can tell its sun faded. The arms and shoulders and upper back are faded a lot and it looks like it’s from the sun. I’m not really an out doorsy person either. I mean I went sun boarding about 15 times and did some hiking last summer but I wasn't out in the sun that much so then we went to the beach a few times in September and-“
Ok, right. Stop. This is getting absurd. I don't even know what to say to you now. I have utterly no idea what the heck you want from me, why you called or what you expect me to do about this 4 year old jacket you speak of. I’m not even entirely convinced you’re not mildly insane. I’m honestly not even sure what to say at this point. Only that I must stop you somehow.
Me: "....okay....what....just....okay <snerk> heheeh okay wait-"
SC: ".....can I talk to someone else?!"
Me: "Alright, ok.....what exactly do you want me to do?"
SC: “Well I’m calling to tell you I have a quality problem with your product!”
Me: “Alright, but these are individual clothing labels. We don’t manufacture them.”
SC: “Oh….but I see it on your website here-“
Wait, did you even buy this jacket from us? Or did you just Google search for the jacket, saw that we sold it and assumed because we sold it we made it? An assumption that is tragically flawed in almost every common retail situation?
Me: “We’re a clothing outlet. So we sell them but we don’t manufacture them.”
SC: “Oh…........really?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: "Oh....um...."
Now run along and bother them with your crazy instead. 4 years ago, cripes. I don’t think you could buy a car with a 4 year warranty these days. Nevermind a jacket with a return policy beyond 2 weeks. You’re a lunatic if you think anyone is going to give a rat’s flaming butt hair on a George Foreman grill about the colour fading out of your precious 4 year old jacket. Clothes fade over time. Deal with it. If you don’t like it you should have spent the last four years washing it in Tide with Colour Guard Plus™
annnnd rest.
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