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Not Even Christmas Could Save Me
Yes, there was no reprieve for me. I worked straight through Christmas eve and then Christmas.
Nah, It's Coo
Me: “And which credit card would you like to use?”
SC: “Mastercard…..do you want the number?”
No, that’s ok. I’ll take your word for it. The mere knowledge that you possess a Mastercard is sufficient enough payment. I shall begin processing the transaction immediately. Once I figure out how to get the call script to accept letters in the credit card number entry box so that I may type “Caller said she has one. It’s cool, yo.” you shall receive your purchase in 1-2 weeks.
You'd Think
Me: “And the card number please?”
SC: “Oh one moment, I have to get it.”
Me: “Alright”
SC: “You’d think I’d have all this ready, wouldn’t you?”
Yes, yes you would. In fact I can say with robust confidence that I was indeed thinking something quite similar to that. Although my thought had been prefixed with “Why didn’t you” and suffixed with “you idiot”. But other then that, yep, totally read my mind.
Too Easy
SC: “I’m calling from room 404 and I don’t have any internet”
……really? I mean….you’re just making it too easy now. At least pitch me one that’s a little hard. I’m not even going to make the obvious joke. Nope. Not going to do it. I’m not taking your bait. Why don’t you just hang up the phone, sit down for a minute and think about it. I’m sure you’ll figure out precisely why this dilemma has fallen upon you.
A Clue, Sherlock!
SC: “I think someone broke into my apartment!"
Me: “Alright-”
SC: “I came home and the parrot was sitting on top of his cage rather then in it.”
Welp, proof enough for me. So our perpetrator broke into your house, damaged nothing in the process, stole absolutely nothing and then let your parrot out? Truly they must be an unspeakable person that will stop at nothing without regard for laws or society as a whole. This, this bird freer must be brought to just immediately and made to pay for the heinous crimes he has committed. Surely something as grave as this must violate something in the Geneva Convention.
How Did You Even Get That
Me: “and the expiration?”
SC: “It says 0313.”
Me: “Alri-“
SC: “What does that mean?”
…what does what mean? The expiration date? ….are you serious? How did you even get that credit card? Did you find it somewhere? Aren’t they required to at least give you a basic run down of how your plastic wonder card functions? It’s not magic you know. It hasn’t opened some unending conduit to a realm full of leprechaun gold. You will have to pay for all of this and weirdly enough you’ll have to pay more then what the items you actually purchased were worth.
......
SC: “Merry Christmas, by the way! Too bad for you for having to answer my phone call at this hour!”
I know this isn't very peace and goodwill of me but I sincerely hope with every fiber of my being that you somehow get fisted by a leper before the night is out.
BOOOOOOMEEER!
I’m not safe. Not even on Christmas. I didn’t even experience 10 seconds of peace and safety after stepping on the Skytrain tonight. In other words I was lulled into a false sense of security just long enough for the doors to close behind me. Trapping me inside this dark, unfeeling metal tube with horrors I had only just begun to comprehend the full unspeakable nature of.
The first glorious warning sign was when I went to sit down at an empty seat only to discover that the seat, and indeed every single seat around it, had been splattered with a revolting spray of festive coloured Yule-tide puke. I mean spray too. It was everywhere. Covering every square inch of the seats, walls, floors and some of the windows. Red & green. As if some rogue Oompa Loompa’s terrorist attack had gone horribly horribly wrong.
I quickly fled the area, making several muttered pleas to whatever divine beings and not so divine beings that might be listening that none of it had gotten on me. While I touched no surface save the floor, and only because gravity required me too, I still couldn’t be sure as the floor too had been plastered quite extensively. I ran as far away as the train would allow. Finding myself an empty corner where I could cower in fear of the defilement which had corrupted the entire middle of the train. With some deep breaths I managed to slowly crawl away to my happy place and all was seemingly well….
….annnnd then there was the most horrible sound. As if someone had thrown a bucket of Campbell’s Thick & Chunky Stew against a wall from a moving vehicle. I looked up and beheld the terror. It was everywhere yet again. The heaving, sweaty bile beast responsible was only a mere 10 feet away. Its presence had gone totally undetected as I had assumed the smell was had merely permeated the entire area and was not in fact a localized event. But there it was and I knew only fear when confronted with its terrible, damp visage. One nearby passenger spoke my thoughts out loud by gesturing towards him and yelling “OH GOD ITS HIM”. Fear rippled through the train and people fled. Desperate to get clear of the blast zone. Some were successfully but others who had chosen the wrong direction found themselves running straight into the first blast area and were suddenly trapped between both. Their terrified cries rang in my ears. I could not save them.
I fled as well, trying to get even further away. Though my attempts were mostly futile as the windows are, surprisingly enough, not large enough to crawl out of without using the emergency hatch releases. Which, while tempting, would probably have been frowned upon by Skytrain security. Although, after witnessing the biohazard before them, they might understand. What few survivours aside from me that remained in the area began making frantic cell phone calls or hitting the security strip to summon aid.
The gelatinous beast, now dimly aware that blanketing half a Skytrain in vomit and smelling like a liquor store after an earthquake might draw some attention rose to its feet and began to waddle towards the door. Terrified villagers dived out of its path. Fearful of being engulfed in any further eruptions. It managed to shuffled off at Nanaimo, though I strongly suspect Broadway was its actual destination and it just needed to flee before it was corralled by security. Or at least it required a pristine, virginal Skytrain now that this one had been utterly defiled from stem to stern.
He didn’t make it overly far, as his top speed was rather slow and somewhat zombie like. My full pity goes to the cops that have to deal with the creature. They’d best stay at least 10 feet back at all times.
Eat Me.
SC: “Merry Christmas! I’m sorry you have to work today.”
You are not you rich entitled cuntpop. If you were you wouldn’t be calling at 1am to drain away the next 20 minutes of my life shopping for $1000 worth of expensive clothing with overnight shipping just so you can try it all on and then return the ones you don't like. You even had the nerve to ask me to just include RMA numbers for everything in the package just so you could pop whatever you didn't like back in the mail.
FYI, we don't rent cloths you sow and I can't wait for your little self contained me-centric biosphere to crumble in upon itself when you call back for customer service and they laugh in your face when you explain why you're asking for a return RMAs.
You want.....what?
( Fuck I wish I had to make this up sometimes. I really do. )
Me: “By credit card or COD?”
SC: “Uhh….….trading seal.”
Me: “….pardon?”
SC: “Trading seal.”
Trading….seal? Er….I should take a moment to clarify that we only accept cash or credit. I’m sure it’s very nice seal…um…pelt(?) but while it may be a valid form of payment where you live it’s definitely not what I would refer to as a globally traded currency. If you’re really that hard up, perhaps you could trade one of the other villages for shiny coin or magic paper? Or even convince one of them to place the order for you with actual currency or at least the vague promise of it and then trade them the seal for the pants?
Making It Official
And the first post-Christmas gift return attempt was officially recorded at 3:45am Dec 26th. She didn't even keep her husband's gift 24 hours before calling to return it.
Dear God That's Rude, Stop It
SC: “I was told by our strata that we have 24 hour service-I CAN HARDLY HEAR YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
I would venture to say that the cause for this is because you did not actually let me say anything. It’s a bit of a working theory but I’m quite confident it accurately depicts this scenario.
Me: “Alright, and the last name was xxxxxx?”
SC: “Yes..............I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
?@ JESUS CHRIST. STOP THAT. You can’t hear me because I am not speaking! These strange moments where there are no sounds are called silence. It’s not that there is sound and you are failing to hear it, it’s that there is no sound so there is nothing to hear. The quicker you grasp the rather critical difference between the two the easier this call will become.
Christmas Cheer
( Yeah, I hit the point of complete uncaring with this guy. So sue me. )
Me: “Good evening, <tech support line>”
SC: “Is this a cab company?”
Me: “No.”
SC: “Where is this?”
Me: “This is <tech support line>”
You know, like I said approximately 8 seconds ago. Pay attention. There’s a quiz later.
SC: “Oh, wrong number, sorry-“
Me: “Alright.“
SC: “Do you know the number for the cab?”
Me: “No.-“
SC: “Can you get me the number?”
Me: “No, I don’t have the number.”
SC: “Can't you get it for me?!”
Me: "No."
SC: “Well, can you call me a cab then?”
Me: “No.”
SC: “Why not?!”
Me: “Why would I?”
SC: “But you're <tech support line>.”
I believe that was my point. I’m sorry, I missed something here. Did I adopt you at some point in the last 30 seconds? Because you seem to be using me as a surrogate mother. Is there anything else you would like me to do for you? Need to be tucked in? Tummy rub? Can’t successfully operate toilet paper by yourself?
Me: “Yes, and thus I have absolutely nothing to do with cabs.”
SC: “How did you get that number if you can’t get the cab number?”
….what? That doesn’t even…..make……what? I’ll admit I’m having severe difficulties comprehending how your mind works and that’s really saying something considering someone just tried to trade me seal for pants and it made more sense. So…because my number is one number off from the correct number you were attempting to dial your logic dictates that I should have the correct number simply because my number is close to the one you were trying to dial?
What kind of fucking idiot are you? No, seriously. I actually need an answer to this. Because I’ve been here many a year and encountered many a fool, but I truly think I’ve discovered a new species here and I need to document it for posterity. This could be a new discovery in the scientific field of idiotology and I will be at its forefront.
annnd rest....for the moment. I still have more crap to write up but I have endured much damage this week. >.>
Nah, It's Coo
Me: “And which credit card would you like to use?”
SC: “Mastercard…..do you want the number?”
No, that’s ok. I’ll take your word for it. The mere knowledge that you possess a Mastercard is sufficient enough payment. I shall begin processing the transaction immediately. Once I figure out how to get the call script to accept letters in the credit card number entry box so that I may type “Caller said she has one. It’s cool, yo.” you shall receive your purchase in 1-2 weeks.
You'd Think
Me: “And the card number please?”
SC: “Oh one moment, I have to get it.”
Me: “Alright”
SC: “You’d think I’d have all this ready, wouldn’t you?”
Yes, yes you would. In fact I can say with robust confidence that I was indeed thinking something quite similar to that. Although my thought had been prefixed with “Why didn’t you” and suffixed with “you idiot”. But other then that, yep, totally read my mind.
Too Easy
SC: “I’m calling from room 404 and I don’t have any internet”
……really? I mean….you’re just making it too easy now. At least pitch me one that’s a little hard. I’m not even going to make the obvious joke. Nope. Not going to do it. I’m not taking your bait. Why don’t you just hang up the phone, sit down for a minute and think about it. I’m sure you’ll figure out precisely why this dilemma has fallen upon you.
A Clue, Sherlock!
SC: “I think someone broke into my apartment!"
Me: “Alright-”
SC: “I came home and the parrot was sitting on top of his cage rather then in it.”
Welp, proof enough for me. So our perpetrator broke into your house, damaged nothing in the process, stole absolutely nothing and then let your parrot out? Truly they must be an unspeakable person that will stop at nothing without regard for laws or society as a whole. This, this bird freer must be brought to just immediately and made to pay for the heinous crimes he has committed. Surely something as grave as this must violate something in the Geneva Convention.
How Did You Even Get That
Me: “and the expiration?”
SC: “It says 0313.”
Me: “Alri-“
SC: “What does that mean?”
…what does what mean? The expiration date? ….are you serious? How did you even get that credit card? Did you find it somewhere? Aren’t they required to at least give you a basic run down of how your plastic wonder card functions? It’s not magic you know. It hasn’t opened some unending conduit to a realm full of leprechaun gold. You will have to pay for all of this and weirdly enough you’ll have to pay more then what the items you actually purchased were worth.
......
SC: “Merry Christmas, by the way! Too bad for you for having to answer my phone call at this hour!”
I know this isn't very peace and goodwill of me but I sincerely hope with every fiber of my being that you somehow get fisted by a leper before the night is out.
BOOOOOOMEEER!
I’m not safe. Not even on Christmas. I didn’t even experience 10 seconds of peace and safety after stepping on the Skytrain tonight. In other words I was lulled into a false sense of security just long enough for the doors to close behind me. Trapping me inside this dark, unfeeling metal tube with horrors I had only just begun to comprehend the full unspeakable nature of.
The first glorious warning sign was when I went to sit down at an empty seat only to discover that the seat, and indeed every single seat around it, had been splattered with a revolting spray of festive coloured Yule-tide puke. I mean spray too. It was everywhere. Covering every square inch of the seats, walls, floors and some of the windows. Red & green. As if some rogue Oompa Loompa’s terrorist attack had gone horribly horribly wrong.
I quickly fled the area, making several muttered pleas to whatever divine beings and not so divine beings that might be listening that none of it had gotten on me. While I touched no surface save the floor, and only because gravity required me too, I still couldn’t be sure as the floor too had been plastered quite extensively. I ran as far away as the train would allow. Finding myself an empty corner where I could cower in fear of the defilement which had corrupted the entire middle of the train. With some deep breaths I managed to slowly crawl away to my happy place and all was seemingly well….
….annnnd then there was the most horrible sound. As if someone had thrown a bucket of Campbell’s Thick & Chunky Stew against a wall from a moving vehicle. I looked up and beheld the terror. It was everywhere yet again. The heaving, sweaty bile beast responsible was only a mere 10 feet away. Its presence had gone totally undetected as I had assumed the smell was had merely permeated the entire area and was not in fact a localized event. But there it was and I knew only fear when confronted with its terrible, damp visage. One nearby passenger spoke my thoughts out loud by gesturing towards him and yelling “OH GOD ITS HIM”. Fear rippled through the train and people fled. Desperate to get clear of the blast zone. Some were successfully but others who had chosen the wrong direction found themselves running straight into the first blast area and were suddenly trapped between both. Their terrified cries rang in my ears. I could not save them.
I fled as well, trying to get even further away. Though my attempts were mostly futile as the windows are, surprisingly enough, not large enough to crawl out of without using the emergency hatch releases. Which, while tempting, would probably have been frowned upon by Skytrain security. Although, after witnessing the biohazard before them, they might understand. What few survivours aside from me that remained in the area began making frantic cell phone calls or hitting the security strip to summon aid.
The gelatinous beast, now dimly aware that blanketing half a Skytrain in vomit and smelling like a liquor store after an earthquake might draw some attention rose to its feet and began to waddle towards the door. Terrified villagers dived out of its path. Fearful of being engulfed in any further eruptions. It managed to shuffled off at Nanaimo, though I strongly suspect Broadway was its actual destination and it just needed to flee before it was corralled by security. Or at least it required a pristine, virginal Skytrain now that this one had been utterly defiled from stem to stern.
He didn’t make it overly far, as his top speed was rather slow and somewhat zombie like. My full pity goes to the cops that have to deal with the creature. They’d best stay at least 10 feet back at all times.
Eat Me.
SC: “Merry Christmas! I’m sorry you have to work today.”
You are not you rich entitled cuntpop. If you were you wouldn’t be calling at 1am to drain away the next 20 minutes of my life shopping for $1000 worth of expensive clothing with overnight shipping just so you can try it all on and then return the ones you don't like. You even had the nerve to ask me to just include RMA numbers for everything in the package just so you could pop whatever you didn't like back in the mail.
FYI, we don't rent cloths you sow and I can't wait for your little self contained me-centric biosphere to crumble in upon itself when you call back for customer service and they laugh in your face when you explain why you're asking for a return RMAs.
You want.....what?
( Fuck I wish I had to make this up sometimes. I really do. )
Me: “By credit card or COD?”
SC: “Uhh….….trading seal.”
Me: “….pardon?”
SC: “Trading seal.”
Trading….seal? Er….I should take a moment to clarify that we only accept cash or credit. I’m sure it’s very nice seal…um…pelt(?) but while it may be a valid form of payment where you live it’s definitely not what I would refer to as a globally traded currency. If you’re really that hard up, perhaps you could trade one of the other villages for shiny coin or magic paper? Or even convince one of them to place the order for you with actual currency or at least the vague promise of it and then trade them the seal for the pants?
Making It Official
And the first post-Christmas gift return attempt was officially recorded at 3:45am Dec 26th. She didn't even keep her husband's gift 24 hours before calling to return it.
Dear God That's Rude, Stop It
SC: “I was told by our strata that we have 24 hour service-I CAN HARDLY HEAR YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
I would venture to say that the cause for this is because you did not actually let me say anything. It’s a bit of a working theory but I’m quite confident it accurately depicts this scenario.
Me: “Alright, and the last name was xxxxxx?”
SC: “Yes..............I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
?@ JESUS CHRIST. STOP THAT. You can’t hear me because I am not speaking! These strange moments where there are no sounds are called silence. It’s not that there is sound and you are failing to hear it, it’s that there is no sound so there is nothing to hear. The quicker you grasp the rather critical difference between the two the easier this call will become.
Christmas Cheer
( Yeah, I hit the point of complete uncaring with this guy. So sue me. )
Me: “Good evening, <tech support line>”
SC: “Is this a cab company?”
Me: “No.”
SC: “Where is this?”
Me: “This is <tech support line>”
You know, like I said approximately 8 seconds ago. Pay attention. There’s a quiz later.
SC: “Oh, wrong number, sorry-“
Me: “Alright.“
SC: “Do you know the number for the cab?”
Me: “No.-“
SC: “Can you get me the number?”
Me: “No, I don’t have the number.”
SC: “Can't you get it for me?!”
Me: "No."
SC: “Well, can you call me a cab then?”
Me: “No.”
SC: “Why not?!”
Me: “Why would I?”
SC: “But you're <tech support line>.”
I believe that was my point. I’m sorry, I missed something here. Did I adopt you at some point in the last 30 seconds? Because you seem to be using me as a surrogate mother. Is there anything else you would like me to do for you? Need to be tucked in? Tummy rub? Can’t successfully operate toilet paper by yourself?
Me: “Yes, and thus I have absolutely nothing to do with cabs.”
SC: “How did you get that number if you can’t get the cab number?”
….what? That doesn’t even…..make……what? I’ll admit I’m having severe difficulties comprehending how your mind works and that’s really saying something considering someone just tried to trade me seal for pants and it made more sense. So…because my number is one number off from the correct number you were attempting to dial your logic dictates that I should have the correct number simply because my number is close to the one you were trying to dial?
What kind of fucking idiot are you? No, seriously. I actually need an answer to this. Because I’ve been here many a year and encountered many a fool, but I truly think I’ve discovered a new species here and I need to document it for posterity. This could be a new discovery in the scientific field of idiotology and I will be at its forefront.
annnd rest....for the moment. I still have more crap to write up but I have endured much damage this week. >.>
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