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The Post That Almost Wasn't
Seriously. Been so insane at work with disaster relief for Haiti ( but that's a different rant entirely ) that I have not had a moment to write a shred of anything. But then last night the Heaven's opened and urinated a foul stream of idiocy upon my sullen head and gave me time with which to contemplate my dampness. >.>
99% of this is from one shift.
Nah.
Me: “And your phone number please?”
SC: “You mean for where I’m at?”
Nah, just give me a completely random one. You don’t have to actually be there or not. Heck, it doesn’t even have to belong to you. Tell you what, go grab the Yellow Pages plop your arse on the couch and just start flipping pages till you see a particularly cool or pretty picture and give me the number under it. Hell, you know what? Even that requires too much thought. Why don’t you just start flipping the pages and then slam your head into the book. Whatever number you get a drool mark on is the one we’ll go with. Sound good?
...wha?
Me: “Thank you f-“
SC: “THE CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!!”
I’m sure there’s some extraordinary set of circumstances that gives that proclamation some sort of context that would actually make sense. However, I cannot conceive of any, so I must sit here and quietly stare at my screen in silence with one curiously arched brow until you explain yourself and your confectionery battle cry.
Right. Just a little weird.
SC: “I’m looking for the one and only”
….o…kay? The one and only what? Magnifico the Ferret Tosser? I think perhaps you have the wrong number. As you seem to be seeking the suffix of a Circus act poster.
Me: “I’m sorry?”
SC: “Is the one and only there? She should be in the office by now.
…..somehow that’s actually even worse then the first statement. Initially I could dismiss you as a wrong number or delusional stalker. However, this indicates that not only is there someone in the office that answers to that particular title but that everyone in the office acknowledges that they go by this title. That actually propels this from the realm of somewhat bemusing across the border into Republic of Actually Kind of Creepy.
Dial V
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah!”
Most curious, you seem to be roughly 8 years old. I realize this is not a school night and is it doubtful you even have any sort of educational facility on hand to shape your young, pliant, grape Jello like mind. However, it is still rather late for you to be conscious and annoying me.
Me: “I’m sorry, how old are you exactly?”
SC: “Um, 73!”
Somehow I highly doubt that, unless you missed adding a minus sign in there.
Me: “…..right.”
SC: “Wait, no, 23!”
The fact you at any point actually believed this ruse would succeed is rather astounding and inclines me to make some sort of donation to begin the construction of the aforementioned educational facility in your village.
Dial V #2
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah!”
Hello again. Have you been hurdled forward through time by some sort of dimensional tear in time and space within the last 5 minutes? No? Well then I’m afraid you’re still too young to be placing an order. But thank you for playing anyhow.
SC: “Um, I’m calling to order….uh…..like….ookley….”
Okay, you’re not even old enough to read the catalog properly and I sure as Hell am not sending you about $500 sunglasses. Cease this tomfoolery at once.
Me: “Mhmm. Right, so you’re how old?"
SC: “29”
Me: “……I’m afraid you’re too young to place an order. You’ll have to have a parent or guardian call to place it for you.”
SC: “Ok, bye.”
That was strangely easy, yet somehow I have still have a lingering sense of impending danger…
Dial V #3
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “No.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “I’m…get to order. Um….glasses.”
Ok, seriously, even my cat is smart enough to walk away after experiencing the bitter taste of failure once or twice and I can hear the wind if I hold her head up to my ear.
Me: “….alright. This is the third time you’ve called. As I’ve said you’re too young to place an order.”
SC: “I didn’t say to place an order, I said to order.”
Me: “…..and the difference would be what exactly?"
SC: “To order…..”
Me: “I’m afraid you’re too young to place to an order. You’ll have to have someone else call for you.”
SC: “I didn’t say order I said ordeer.”
Oh, well, since you’re adding a bad French accent clearly that makes all the difference. What would you like?
Dial V #4
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Can I place an order?”
Keep it up kid, I’m halfway to a vasectomy.
Dial V #5
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Right, checking the Yellowpages under “V”. I bet I can get an appointment for Monday.
Me: “Look, I’m not going to place an order for you, and you’re not going to get a different operator even if you keep calling.”
SC: “I’m 42!”
Me: “and before that you were 29, before that you were 23 and before that you were 79. You will forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
SC: “Ok, bye.”
Persistence is futile.
Dial V #6
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “Allllright….”
I should point that attempting to make your voice sound deeper just makes you sound like a kid trying to make his voice sound deeper. But very well, I shall play along, if only to hear the moniker by which this fictional construct you masquerade as goes by.
Me: “Right, and your name?”
SC: “uh…..Tuntess”
Me: “….and the last name?”
SC: “Whrgle?”
That’s not a typo, that’s how he spelled it. So there you have it folks, Tuntess Whrgle. Nunavut Bounty Hunter.
Me: “Mhmmm. And you’re how old this time?”
SC: “39.”
Me: “Riiight.”
You might maintain the barest, slightest shred of credibility if you at least maintained the same age from call to call.
Dial V #7
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Hi!”
Right, that’s it. I’m not waiting for the appointment. Screw it, I’ll do it myself. How hard can it be? I mean what do you need? A soldering iron and a stapler? Maybe a hand mirror?
Well, That Helps
Alright, you don’t know what software you have. This I can accept. However, there is no hardware technician on call for your barren location that could tell me and the duty supervisor has no idea either as its not really his job to know. So you’re going to have to try and work with me here. I’ve even narrowed it down to two options for you. You have a 50/50 chance. No? Still can’t do it? Going to call your boss? Alright, I can wait a moment……what’s that? The boss doesn’t know? Neither does your store’s actual on call tech? Right, ok, it seems you may be just a little hooped here my baffled, tightly wound friend. Oh? You do know which of our technicians installed the system? Great, that will help. If I know who it is I can at least see what software he works o-
-n…….ok, you’re going to have to give me a bit more than “the chunky bald guy”.
STEP AWAY
Me: “Good ev-“
SC: “<SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP>”
Me: “?!!”
SC: “Hello, I-<SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP>”
Me: “Pard-<SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!>”
SC: “An alarm is-<SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!>”
Me: “I can’t hear you ov-<SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!>”
SC: “Can you hear me? <SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!>”
Me: “No, not with th-<SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!>”
SC: “There’s an alar-<SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!> coming from the intercom <SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!>”
Then, if I may ask, why are fark are you STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO IT?! You clearly cannot hear me, and I cannot hear you. Yet you insist on sitting there like a twit for 2 minutes trying to talk to me over that unspeakable sound of tormented souls from the depths of Hades. Why do you do this? You are clearly trying to communicate a problem to me, yet the problem itself is interfering with your attempt at communication. So your solution is to just stand directly next to it in abject bafflement for 2 minutes as to why you can’t hear me after the spirits of the damned?
After two calls and several more minutes worth of wasted time her roommate, who clearly has at least 4 functional brain cells, took the phone from her in disgust and walked 10 feet away miraculously allowing us to communicate. Fancy that.
Money Saving Tips
Attention <lastname> clan of <barren arctic village>: I know you’re all very proud of your personal ability to dial a telephone. However, seeing as you are all in the same family and all live in the same house with the same phone number perhaps you should arrange for some sort of consensus and unify the list of camouflage desirables that are currently making you moist. This plan where you all pass the phone around and each call me one by one to place an order for a single item worth $25 with $40 shipping seems to have several flaws. Chief amongst which being you just paid an extra $160 for shipping beyond what you would have had to had you formed a coherent plan before eagerly pawing at the keypad.
Service Fees
SC: "Yeah, I can't sign into Windows. I forgot my password."
And your solution to this is to place a $700 emergency service call with us? Right-o. Your boss is gonna love you come Monday morning.
annnnnd rest.
99% of this is from one shift.
Nah.
Me: “And your phone number please?”
SC: “You mean for where I’m at?”
Nah, just give me a completely random one. You don’t have to actually be there or not. Heck, it doesn’t even have to belong to you. Tell you what, go grab the Yellow Pages plop your arse on the couch and just start flipping pages till you see a particularly cool or pretty picture and give me the number under it. Hell, you know what? Even that requires too much thought. Why don’t you just start flipping the pages and then slam your head into the book. Whatever number you get a drool mark on is the one we’ll go with. Sound good?
...wha?
Me: “Thank you f-“
SC: “THE CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!!”
I’m sure there’s some extraordinary set of circumstances that gives that proclamation some sort of context that would actually make sense. However, I cannot conceive of any, so I must sit here and quietly stare at my screen in silence with one curiously arched brow until you explain yourself and your confectionery battle cry.
Right. Just a little weird.
SC: “I’m looking for the one and only”
….o…kay? The one and only what? Magnifico the Ferret Tosser? I think perhaps you have the wrong number. As you seem to be seeking the suffix of a Circus act poster.
Me: “I’m sorry?”
SC: “Is the one and only there? She should be in the office by now.
…..somehow that’s actually even worse then the first statement. Initially I could dismiss you as a wrong number or delusional stalker. However, this indicates that not only is there someone in the office that answers to that particular title but that everyone in the office acknowledges that they go by this title. That actually propels this from the realm of somewhat bemusing across the border into Republic of Actually Kind of Creepy.
Dial V
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah!”
Most curious, you seem to be roughly 8 years old. I realize this is not a school night and is it doubtful you even have any sort of educational facility on hand to shape your young, pliant, grape Jello like mind. However, it is still rather late for you to be conscious and annoying me.
Me: “I’m sorry, how old are you exactly?”
SC: “Um, 73!”
Somehow I highly doubt that, unless you missed adding a minus sign in there.
Me: “…..right.”
SC: “Wait, no, 23!”
The fact you at any point actually believed this ruse would succeed is rather astounding and inclines me to make some sort of donation to begin the construction of the aforementioned educational facility in your village.
Dial V #2
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah!”
Hello again. Have you been hurdled forward through time by some sort of dimensional tear in time and space within the last 5 minutes? No? Well then I’m afraid you’re still too young to be placing an order. But thank you for playing anyhow.
SC: “Um, I’m calling to order….uh…..like….ookley….”
Okay, you’re not even old enough to read the catalog properly and I sure as Hell am not sending you about $500 sunglasses. Cease this tomfoolery at once.
Me: “Mhmm. Right, so you’re how old?"
SC: “29”
Me: “……I’m afraid you’re too young to place an order. You’ll have to have a parent or guardian call to place it for you.”
SC: “Ok, bye.”
That was strangely easy, yet somehow I have still have a lingering sense of impending danger…
Dial V #3
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “No.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “I’m…get to order. Um….glasses.”
Ok, seriously, even my cat is smart enough to walk away after experiencing the bitter taste of failure once or twice and I can hear the wind if I hold her head up to my ear.
Me: “….alright. This is the third time you’ve called. As I’ve said you’re too young to place an order.”
SC: “I didn’t say to place an order, I said to order.”
Me: “…..and the difference would be what exactly?"
SC: “To order…..”
Me: “I’m afraid you’re too young to place to an order. You’ll have to have someone else call for you.”
SC: “I didn’t say order I said ordeer.”
Oh, well, since you’re adding a bad French accent clearly that makes all the difference. What would you like?
Dial V #4
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Can I place an order?”
Keep it up kid, I’m halfway to a vasectomy.
Dial V #5
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Right, checking the Yellowpages under “V”. I bet I can get an appointment for Monday.
Me: “Look, I’m not going to place an order for you, and you’re not going to get a different operator even if you keep calling.”
SC: “I’m 42!”
Me: “and before that you were 29, before that you were 23 and before that you were 79. You will forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
SC: “Ok, bye.”
Persistence is futile.
Dial V #6
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “Allllright….”
I should point that attempting to make your voice sound deeper just makes you sound like a kid trying to make his voice sound deeper. But very well, I shall play along, if only to hear the moniker by which this fictional construct you masquerade as goes by.
Me: “Right, and your name?”
SC: “uh…..Tuntess”
Me: “….and the last name?”
SC: “Whrgle?”
That’s not a typo, that’s how he spelled it. So there you have it folks, Tuntess Whrgle. Nunavut Bounty Hunter.
Me: “Mhmmm. And you’re how old this time?”
SC: “39.”
Me: “Riiight.”
You might maintain the barest, slightest shred of credibility if you at least maintained the same age from call to call.
Dial V #7
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Hi!”
Right, that’s it. I’m not waiting for the appointment. Screw it, I’ll do it myself. How hard can it be? I mean what do you need? A soldering iron and a stapler? Maybe a hand mirror?
Well, That Helps
Alright, you don’t know what software you have. This I can accept. However, there is no hardware technician on call for your barren location that could tell me and the duty supervisor has no idea either as its not really his job to know. So you’re going to have to try and work with me here. I’ve even narrowed it down to two options for you. You have a 50/50 chance. No? Still can’t do it? Going to call your boss? Alright, I can wait a moment……what’s that? The boss doesn’t know? Neither does your store’s actual on call tech? Right, ok, it seems you may be just a little hooped here my baffled, tightly wound friend. Oh? You do know which of our technicians installed the system? Great, that will help. If I know who it is I can at least see what software he works o-
-n…….ok, you’re going to have to give me a bit more than “the chunky bald guy”.
STEP AWAY
Me: “Good ev-“
SC: “<SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP>”
Me: “?!!”
SC: “Hello, I-<SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP>”
Me: “Pard-<SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!>”
SC: “An alarm is-<SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!>”
Me: “I can’t hear you ov-<SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!>”
SC: “Can you hear me? <SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!>”
Me: “No, not with th-<SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!>”
SC: “There’s an alar-<SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!> coming from the intercom <SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!>”
Then, if I may ask, why are fark are you STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO IT?! You clearly cannot hear me, and I cannot hear you. Yet you insist on sitting there like a twit for 2 minutes trying to talk to me over that unspeakable sound of tormented souls from the depths of Hades. Why do you do this? You are clearly trying to communicate a problem to me, yet the problem itself is interfering with your attempt at communication. So your solution is to just stand directly next to it in abject bafflement for 2 minutes as to why you can’t hear me after the spirits of the damned?
After two calls and several more minutes worth of wasted time her roommate, who clearly has at least 4 functional brain cells, took the phone from her in disgust and walked 10 feet away miraculously allowing us to communicate. Fancy that.
Money Saving Tips
Attention <lastname> clan of <barren arctic village>: I know you’re all very proud of your personal ability to dial a telephone. However, seeing as you are all in the same family and all live in the same house with the same phone number perhaps you should arrange for some sort of consensus and unify the list of camouflage desirables that are currently making you moist. This plan where you all pass the phone around and each call me one by one to place an order for a single item worth $25 with $40 shipping seems to have several flaws. Chief amongst which being you just paid an extra $160 for shipping beyond what you would have had to had you formed a coherent plan before eagerly pawing at the keypad.
Service Fees
SC: "Yeah, I can't sign into Windows. I forgot my password."
And your solution to this is to place a $700 emergency service call with us? Right-o. Your boss is gonna love you come Monday morning.
annnnnd rest.
), just this past week, it was the correct response to a Jeopardy clue. 
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