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The Nipple Tassel Paradox
Oi....telethons.
Its Time To Admit You Have A Problem
Hmmm….right, look here, Skippy. I may not be a police officer, attorney, therapist or even a Dear Abby columnist but if you’ve been arrested for driving under the influence so many times that I recognize your name then perhaps it’s time to admit you have a problem. I mean seriously, you must have still been out on bail. Maybe this thought hasn’t crossed the barren country road of your mind yet, or perhaps it tried and you ran it over, but it’s rather difficult to come up with a defense in court against a crime when you commit the same crime again while still on bail from the last time you did it.
A Plague Upon Phoenix Skyharbour
SC: “Look, I’m a business man. Money is no object. What can you do for me if I say offer you a little extra?”
Are you….trying to bribe me? Why, I never. I am offended good sir! You have insulted my honour, my integrity and my momma herself for implying that she raised such a son! Have you no respect? To even suggest that I would accept large cash transfers to a private Paypal account, which if you have a pen there I’ll give you the name of real quick, is both offensive and absurd! Why, to even fanthom that I would sell out my integrity completely and arrange for a nicer hotel for you by quickly canceling someone else’s reservation at say, the Hyatt, in exchange for a monetary sum in the neighbourhood of $10,000 in US funds is completely ludicrous.
In Theory, Yes
Me: “You should be able to find the courtesy phones in baggage claim-“
SC: “Oh…..will my luggage be there?!”
I….er….well, as stupid a question as that is to be asking me ironically it is one I can answer: Yes, yes it will. The very purpose of the area is contained entirely within it’s title: Baggage Claim. It is where you go to claim your baggage. So yes, your luggage should in theory be there. Well, should be there. You are flying US Airways. It’s possible it could be in Europe by now too.
Aren't You Dead Yet?
SC: “My name is Vick.”
Hello, Uncle Vick. Long time no speak. I feel there must be some sort of exchange of pleasantries here that reflect the extended period between communications. Something such as “yo dawg, what up?” or similar should suffice and be within acceptable cultural parameters.
SC: “I was watching the news and I understand Al Qaeda is targeting India again. Listen, I put the Air India guys in jail years ago.”
You did, did you? All by yourself? Did you have to try and get changed into a pair of spandex tights in a dirty telephone booth before hand? Wait, no, don’t answer that. Still, sorry to say Vicky my boy, but I can’t just let you ramble on like a lunatic anymore. Even our client is tired of you. Still, oddly, unlike most callers you’re actually rather lucid. So I must attempt this diplomatically…..to begin with, anyhow.
Me: “Alright, what does this have to do with us this early in the morning?”
SC: “Well you guys are all over the news. This is your thing right.”
Me: “You’re thinking of the CIA or the FBI. Perhaps you should try calling them and entertaining them for a while with your lurid tales.”
SC: “Oh….um...ok. Bye then.”
See? Diplomacy.
Cap'n Hindgrinder
As I journeyed forth towards the office this evening I spotted something rather…peculiar. When I rounded the corner up by the parkade I saw a rather rotund form perched right outside of it. What appeared to be a rather grizzled man of the sea. Or at least I assume judging by the fact he looked exactly like the ever great Captain Highliner. Even if no deliciously breaded fish sticks were immediately evident. The only flaw in this otherwise reassuring image of the frozen foods section was that this particular captain was…pickled. Exquisitely marinated if you will. I don’t think he really meant to be sitting in front of the parkade, but rather that was as far as his legs were able to take him before collapsing under the weight of several flagons of ale. Then whatever friends or crew he had mutinied and abandoned him there to his fate. Taking the ship and/or taxi cab with them.
Oddly, he did call out to me when I passed by him. Much to my alarm. Although I know not what statement or inquiry he was attempting to make, as all I heard was “Boweeeediddly!” in a somewhat musical tone. Perhaps if his blood alcohol level was a tad lower it might have been a rather rousing sea jaunty. But as is, it was more like the cry of a wounded Pokemon.
Song of the Siren
Me: “Are you calling to book a room?”
SC: “Yes ma’am.”
This is starting to become an unsettling trend and I really can’t pinpoint exactly why it is occurring. I mean, I thought I sounded male. Yet time and time again the tone I am emitting to what appear to be desperately lonely men in the night time hours is that of an irresistible siren.
You guys would tell me right? I mean, when I hear myself speak I think I sound male. But I could be utterly mistaken. You’d let me know if I really sounded like Jessica Rabbit or something, wouldn’t you? Guys?
Oh, Thanks
On my way to the Skytrain this evening a police cruiser pulled up beside me to make an inquiry. Namely had I seen a “half naked guy in white shorts running around here acting kinda crazy. Maybe jumping in front of cars and stuff like that.”. Well no, no I haven’t. But thank you, officer. Because I damn well will be keeping an eye out for him now, cripes. That was much appreciated. You may as well have just driven up to me and went “Oh hey, by the way we know its dark and you’re alone on a poorly lit street where no one will hear you scream, but somewhere out here with you is some half naked nut job and we just can’t seem to find him. Bye!” and drove off laughing.
One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
Me: “Alright, and when does the card expire?”
SC: “The card is expired?! Oh no!”
…you know I was initially amazed that you even possessed a credit card as this is frankly not a line where callers generally grasp more then “you send pants, me give shiny”. But now I rest assured that you’re just as confused and baffled as to exactly how the magic plastic operates as I suspected you would be. I’m not sure what sort of numerological voodoo you think I possess to be able to ascertain a credit card is expired just from the card number. Especially since the card numbers don’t actually change when a card is expired and replaced.
Alright?
Me: "Good evening, <real estate office>"
SC: “Yeah, hey can you transfer me to the bar?”
Apparently <client>'s office is a licensed establishment. Here we were debating new vending machines when we could have been installing a cocktail bar.
What Do You Want Me To Do?
SC: “I apologize for calling at such an hour.”
Oh please. No you don’t.
SC: “I don’t want to call the police for a stupid complaint.”
Then you aren’t going to like my client's call directions I’m afraid.
SC: “But there’s some people down the hall, I don’t know what apartment they’re from but they’re high on drugs or something and they’re being loud.”
People in the hall. On drugs, got it. Because anyone in the hallway at night must obviously be on drugs. No one uses hallways after 8pm except freaks and criminals. And clowns. Clowns too.
Me: “I’m afraid there’s not much I can do about that at this hour, you’ll have to call the police.”
SC: “I know, but could you just make a note of it for the office there?”
Me: “Alright, but you’re not sure what apartment they’re from?”
SC: “Well would you like me to go out there and get into a fight!? Because that’s what’s going to happen!”
Me “……”
…..that….wasn’t my question. All I asked was whether or not you knew what apartment they were from……not whether or not you could be a dear go out into the hallway for me and beat one of them within an inch of his life with a muffin pan until he revealed his place of residence. Still, I do kind of need to know what apartment they’re from if you want me to register a complaint. I can’t really just tell the office “Hey there were some guys in the hallway on the weekend. I don’t know who they were, where they were from or what they were doing. But you should like totally do something about it”.
So I suppose if you really want you could go grab that muffin pan I guess.
Argh
Me: “and your postal code please?”
SC: “XXX XXX”
Me: “That’s in <town>, correct?”
SC: “Umm….I think so….uh....wait....”
…you don’t even know what village, town and/or decommissioned arctic radar base you live in? Really? How is that even possible? I mean, you know the postal code. So you have absolutely no idea where you live, but you do know the postal code for it? Or are you just guessing? Because fair warning there are quite a few postal codes in Canada you can’t just take a crack at it, shrug and figure oh well if it’s wrong it just means we need to sled dog out another 20km to find out where the box was air dropped into the wilderness. I can guarantee it’ll probably go a bit further off target then that. Like air dropped into the pool at the YMCA in Halifax during Boy Scout’s water polo hour sort of off target.
A Cunning Plan
Me: “and how do you spell your last name?”
SC: “It’s C….A….R…um….K…..uh…..M? Um….wait, lemme start again-“
Right, that does it. Soon as I get home I’ll start packing and book the flight online for Monday morning. In the meantime I have to place a few quick orders and have them Fed Ex’d in overnight so they’ll be ready to go when I depart on the morrow. I’m coming up there and I’m bringing a few things with me. This has gone on long enough. It’s time that someone, somewhere did something about it before this goes any further. So I should be up there…er….how long does it take to get that bloody far north anyway…..ok, so it might take me a few days but rest assured I will get there and when I do you and me are going to sit down with the lone phone in your village and make a few much needed modifications.
Namely we’ll be installing a breathalyzer lock. They make em for cars, so I can’t see why I can’t adapt one to a padlock on the receiver with some tinkering. If you can’t blow under you can’t dial out. Simple as that. I think it would solve a lot of problems and be of great benefit to us both. Mostly me, but technically to us both. Because frankly you are not legally sober enough to operate a motor vehicle, never mind the dog sled required to head out to pick up your parcel and friends don’t let friends drink and dog sled.
The Paradox
I found myself the focal point of a most unusual paradox this evening. As I approached the office someone called out to me and inquired if I was “from around here”. The questioner in question would be classified as around a Level 9 Jock with 4-6 points in the Douchebag tree ( Gelled up buzz cut, muscle shirt, at least 2 gold chains, Axe bodyspray for the set bonus ). Normally the lead in “are you from around here” is a pick up line so I will admit a moment of sheer blinding terror. However, it soon became apparent he was searching for directions. Thus comes the paradox. I am a nerdchild and thus I am bespectacled. If you have ever worn glasses before you’re likely familiar with the fact that every random stranger on the street sees them and automatically assumes you have a direct neural uplink to both Wikipedia and Google Maps.
But this poor fellow inadvertently invoked a paradox. Being a spindly geek creature, I have glasses and therefore obviously must know everything. However, he was looking for directions to some sort of liquor serving establishment which may or may not have badly coordinated females who remove articles of clothing to a static filled rendition of “Sweet Child of Mine”. Again, being a spindly geek creature, I would never step foot in such an establishment. I could see the realization of this slowly dawn on his face and the confusion that followed. He has glasses so he knows everything, but he’s obviously a geek so he wouldn’t know anything about nipple tassels. I finally took pity on him and the strained look on his face by confirming I indeed did not know the location. Thus once again restoring balance to his world.
For I am a benevolent god and have no wish to see the lesser mortals suffer. ( Much, anyhow. )
Holy Shit, Dude
A little back story on this one, we have a new lottery that just started and the client hasn't gotten all the info to us yet. So we're missing a detailed prize list. Its not that we don't have any idea what the prizes are. Just that we don't have the specifics. Its not a big deal since they haven't started advertising yet and aren't expecting many calls. But then there's this wank chariot. Who road in literally like a matter of hours after the line went live.
SC: "How much is the grand prize worth?"
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry but we haven't received the full detailed prize list from <organization> yet so I don't have a monetary value on the grand prize."
SC: "WHAT?! Why not?!?!"
Me: "We really only just started selling tickets so they haven't gotten that info to us yet, unfortunately."
SC: "Well is there anyone else there you can ask?!"
Me: "No one else here would know, the call centre hasn't received detailed info yet."
SC: "WELL CAN'T YOU ASK?!"
( I should note I'm the ONLY one on shift atm )
Me: "None of us would know, we simply haven't received that information yet."
SC: "Then let me talk to your supervisor I'll ask them!!!"
Me: "Sir, we simply do not have the info yet as we quite literally just opened the lines. We will have it by first thing Monday morning. So no one here would kn-"
SC: "WELL I WANT TO ASK THEM."
Me: "I am the duty supervisor at the moment, as I s-"
SC: "Then where is YOUR boss?!"
You seriously think I'm going to bother our Queen with your insolence? Hah!
Me: ".....she is not in the office presently."
SC: "WELL WHY NOT?!"
Me: "Because it is 3am on a Saturday night, sir."
SC: "WELL WHEN DOES SHE GET IN THIS MORNING?! I'll call then and you can put me through to HER!!"
You will not, Little man. Unlike most, I am fortunate enough to have a boss that's' pretty cool whom I actually like and will not pass along this sort of misery upon her. The fuck stops here.
Me: "She will not be in today-"
SC: "WHY NOT?!"
Me: "Because it is the weekend and our main office is not open on weekends-"
SC: "DAJHASD I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU DON'T KNOW"
If you had listened to a single word I had said you would understand exactly why I don't know.
Me: "As I said, we simply haven't gotten complete details yet. We'll get them as soon as <client organization> opens-"
SC: "RAWRADHSLASFQF <click>"
Sweet mother of Christ with Buddha ridin' shotgun, what is your PROBLEM? Would you like the gambling crisis hotline number? We actually do have that in our information. Specifically for lunatics like yourself.
I guess lotteries iz seriuz bizness for some....folk.
annnnnd rest.
Its Time To Admit You Have A Problem
Hmmm….right, look here, Skippy. I may not be a police officer, attorney, therapist or even a Dear Abby columnist but if you’ve been arrested for driving under the influence so many times that I recognize your name then perhaps it’s time to admit you have a problem. I mean seriously, you must have still been out on bail. Maybe this thought hasn’t crossed the barren country road of your mind yet, or perhaps it tried and you ran it over, but it’s rather difficult to come up with a defense in court against a crime when you commit the same crime again while still on bail from the last time you did it.
A Plague Upon Phoenix Skyharbour
SC: “Look, I’m a business man. Money is no object. What can you do for me if I say offer you a little extra?”
Are you….trying to bribe me? Why, I never. I am offended good sir! You have insulted my honour, my integrity and my momma herself for implying that she raised such a son! Have you no respect? To even suggest that I would accept large cash transfers to a private Paypal account, which if you have a pen there I’ll give you the name of real quick, is both offensive and absurd! Why, to even fanthom that I would sell out my integrity completely and arrange for a nicer hotel for you by quickly canceling someone else’s reservation at say, the Hyatt, in exchange for a monetary sum in the neighbourhood of $10,000 in US funds is completely ludicrous.
In Theory, Yes
Me: “You should be able to find the courtesy phones in baggage claim-“
SC: “Oh…..will my luggage be there?!”
I….er….well, as stupid a question as that is to be asking me ironically it is one I can answer: Yes, yes it will. The very purpose of the area is contained entirely within it’s title: Baggage Claim. It is where you go to claim your baggage. So yes, your luggage should in theory be there. Well, should be there. You are flying US Airways. It’s possible it could be in Europe by now too.
Aren't You Dead Yet?
SC: “My name is Vick.”
Hello, Uncle Vick. Long time no speak. I feel there must be some sort of exchange of pleasantries here that reflect the extended period between communications. Something such as “yo dawg, what up?” or similar should suffice and be within acceptable cultural parameters.
SC: “I was watching the news and I understand Al Qaeda is targeting India again. Listen, I put the Air India guys in jail years ago.”
You did, did you? All by yourself? Did you have to try and get changed into a pair of spandex tights in a dirty telephone booth before hand? Wait, no, don’t answer that. Still, sorry to say Vicky my boy, but I can’t just let you ramble on like a lunatic anymore. Even our client is tired of you. Still, oddly, unlike most callers you’re actually rather lucid. So I must attempt this diplomatically…..to begin with, anyhow.
Me: “Alright, what does this have to do with us this early in the morning?”
SC: “Well you guys are all over the news. This is your thing right.”
Me: “You’re thinking of the CIA or the FBI. Perhaps you should try calling them and entertaining them for a while with your lurid tales.”
SC: “Oh….um...ok. Bye then.”
See? Diplomacy.
Cap'n Hindgrinder
As I journeyed forth towards the office this evening I spotted something rather…peculiar. When I rounded the corner up by the parkade I saw a rather rotund form perched right outside of it. What appeared to be a rather grizzled man of the sea. Or at least I assume judging by the fact he looked exactly like the ever great Captain Highliner. Even if no deliciously breaded fish sticks were immediately evident. The only flaw in this otherwise reassuring image of the frozen foods section was that this particular captain was…pickled. Exquisitely marinated if you will. I don’t think he really meant to be sitting in front of the parkade, but rather that was as far as his legs were able to take him before collapsing under the weight of several flagons of ale. Then whatever friends or crew he had mutinied and abandoned him there to his fate. Taking the ship and/or taxi cab with them.
Oddly, he did call out to me when I passed by him. Much to my alarm. Although I know not what statement or inquiry he was attempting to make, as all I heard was “Boweeeediddly!” in a somewhat musical tone. Perhaps if his blood alcohol level was a tad lower it might have been a rather rousing sea jaunty. But as is, it was more like the cry of a wounded Pokemon.
Song of the Siren
Me: “Are you calling to book a room?”
SC: “Yes ma’am.”
This is starting to become an unsettling trend and I really can’t pinpoint exactly why it is occurring. I mean, I thought I sounded male. Yet time and time again the tone I am emitting to what appear to be desperately lonely men in the night time hours is that of an irresistible siren.
You guys would tell me right? I mean, when I hear myself speak I think I sound male. But I could be utterly mistaken. You’d let me know if I really sounded like Jessica Rabbit or something, wouldn’t you? Guys?
Oh, Thanks
On my way to the Skytrain this evening a police cruiser pulled up beside me to make an inquiry. Namely had I seen a “half naked guy in white shorts running around here acting kinda crazy. Maybe jumping in front of cars and stuff like that.”. Well no, no I haven’t. But thank you, officer. Because I damn well will be keeping an eye out for him now, cripes. That was much appreciated. You may as well have just driven up to me and went “Oh hey, by the way we know its dark and you’re alone on a poorly lit street where no one will hear you scream, but somewhere out here with you is some half naked nut job and we just can’t seem to find him. Bye!” and drove off laughing.
One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
Me: “Alright, and when does the card expire?”
SC: “The card is expired?! Oh no!”
…you know I was initially amazed that you even possessed a credit card as this is frankly not a line where callers generally grasp more then “you send pants, me give shiny”. But now I rest assured that you’re just as confused and baffled as to exactly how the magic plastic operates as I suspected you would be. I’m not sure what sort of numerological voodoo you think I possess to be able to ascertain a credit card is expired just from the card number. Especially since the card numbers don’t actually change when a card is expired and replaced.
Alright?
Me: "Good evening, <real estate office>"
SC: “Yeah, hey can you transfer me to the bar?”
Apparently <client>'s office is a licensed establishment. Here we were debating new vending machines when we could have been installing a cocktail bar.
What Do You Want Me To Do?
SC: “I apologize for calling at such an hour.”
Oh please. No you don’t.
SC: “I don’t want to call the police for a stupid complaint.”
Then you aren’t going to like my client's call directions I’m afraid.
SC: “But there’s some people down the hall, I don’t know what apartment they’re from but they’re high on drugs or something and they’re being loud.”
People in the hall. On drugs, got it. Because anyone in the hallway at night must obviously be on drugs. No one uses hallways after 8pm except freaks and criminals. And clowns. Clowns too.
Me: “I’m afraid there’s not much I can do about that at this hour, you’ll have to call the police.”
SC: “I know, but could you just make a note of it for the office there?”
Me: “Alright, but you’re not sure what apartment they’re from?”
SC: “Well would you like me to go out there and get into a fight!? Because that’s what’s going to happen!”
Me “……”
…..that….wasn’t my question. All I asked was whether or not you knew what apartment they were from……not whether or not you could be a dear go out into the hallway for me and beat one of them within an inch of his life with a muffin pan until he revealed his place of residence. Still, I do kind of need to know what apartment they’re from if you want me to register a complaint. I can’t really just tell the office “Hey there were some guys in the hallway on the weekend. I don’t know who they were, where they were from or what they were doing. But you should like totally do something about it”.
So I suppose if you really want you could go grab that muffin pan I guess.
Argh
Me: “and your postal code please?”
SC: “XXX XXX”
Me: “That’s in <town>, correct?”
SC: “Umm….I think so….uh....wait....”
…you don’t even know what village, town and/or decommissioned arctic radar base you live in? Really? How is that even possible? I mean, you know the postal code. So you have absolutely no idea where you live, but you do know the postal code for it? Or are you just guessing? Because fair warning there are quite a few postal codes in Canada you can’t just take a crack at it, shrug and figure oh well if it’s wrong it just means we need to sled dog out another 20km to find out where the box was air dropped into the wilderness. I can guarantee it’ll probably go a bit further off target then that. Like air dropped into the pool at the YMCA in Halifax during Boy Scout’s water polo hour sort of off target.
A Cunning Plan
Me: “and how do you spell your last name?”
SC: “It’s C….A….R…um….K…..uh…..M? Um….wait, lemme start again-“
Right, that does it. Soon as I get home I’ll start packing and book the flight online for Monday morning. In the meantime I have to place a few quick orders and have them Fed Ex’d in overnight so they’ll be ready to go when I depart on the morrow. I’m coming up there and I’m bringing a few things with me. This has gone on long enough. It’s time that someone, somewhere did something about it before this goes any further. So I should be up there…er….how long does it take to get that bloody far north anyway…..ok, so it might take me a few days but rest assured I will get there and when I do you and me are going to sit down with the lone phone in your village and make a few much needed modifications.
Namely we’ll be installing a breathalyzer lock. They make em for cars, so I can’t see why I can’t adapt one to a padlock on the receiver with some tinkering. If you can’t blow under you can’t dial out. Simple as that. I think it would solve a lot of problems and be of great benefit to us both. Mostly me, but technically to us both. Because frankly you are not legally sober enough to operate a motor vehicle, never mind the dog sled required to head out to pick up your parcel and friends don’t let friends drink and dog sled.
The Paradox
I found myself the focal point of a most unusual paradox this evening. As I approached the office someone called out to me and inquired if I was “from around here”. The questioner in question would be classified as around a Level 9 Jock with 4-6 points in the Douchebag tree ( Gelled up buzz cut, muscle shirt, at least 2 gold chains, Axe bodyspray for the set bonus ). Normally the lead in “are you from around here” is a pick up line so I will admit a moment of sheer blinding terror. However, it soon became apparent he was searching for directions. Thus comes the paradox. I am a nerdchild and thus I am bespectacled. If you have ever worn glasses before you’re likely familiar with the fact that every random stranger on the street sees them and automatically assumes you have a direct neural uplink to both Wikipedia and Google Maps.
But this poor fellow inadvertently invoked a paradox. Being a spindly geek creature, I have glasses and therefore obviously must know everything. However, he was looking for directions to some sort of liquor serving establishment which may or may not have badly coordinated females who remove articles of clothing to a static filled rendition of “Sweet Child of Mine”. Again, being a spindly geek creature, I would never step foot in such an establishment. I could see the realization of this slowly dawn on his face and the confusion that followed. He has glasses so he knows everything, but he’s obviously a geek so he wouldn’t know anything about nipple tassels. I finally took pity on him and the strained look on his face by confirming I indeed did not know the location. Thus once again restoring balance to his world.
For I am a benevolent god and have no wish to see the lesser mortals suffer. ( Much, anyhow. )
Holy Shit, Dude
A little back story on this one, we have a new lottery that just started and the client hasn't gotten all the info to us yet. So we're missing a detailed prize list. Its not that we don't have any idea what the prizes are. Just that we don't have the specifics. Its not a big deal since they haven't started advertising yet and aren't expecting many calls. But then there's this wank chariot. Who road in literally like a matter of hours after the line went live.
SC: "How much is the grand prize worth?"
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry but we haven't received the full detailed prize list from <organization> yet so I don't have a monetary value on the grand prize."
SC: "WHAT?! Why not?!?!"
Me: "We really only just started selling tickets so they haven't gotten that info to us yet, unfortunately."
SC: "Well is there anyone else there you can ask?!"
Me: "No one else here would know, the call centre hasn't received detailed info yet."
SC: "WELL CAN'T YOU ASK?!"
( I should note I'm the ONLY one on shift atm )
Me: "None of us would know, we simply haven't received that information yet."
SC: "Then let me talk to your supervisor I'll ask them!!!"
Me: "Sir, we simply do not have the info yet as we quite literally just opened the lines. We will have it by first thing Monday morning. So no one here would kn-"
SC: "WELL I WANT TO ASK THEM."
Me: "I am the duty supervisor at the moment, as I s-"
SC: "Then where is YOUR boss?!"
You seriously think I'm going to bother our Queen with your insolence? Hah!
Me: ".....she is not in the office presently."
SC: "WELL WHY NOT?!"
Me: "Because it is 3am on a Saturday night, sir."
SC: "WELL WHEN DOES SHE GET IN THIS MORNING?! I'll call then and you can put me through to HER!!"
You will not, Little man. Unlike most, I am fortunate enough to have a boss that's' pretty cool whom I actually like and will not pass along this sort of misery upon her. The fuck stops here.
Me: "She will not be in today-"
SC: "WHY NOT?!"
Me: "Because it is the weekend and our main office is not open on weekends-"
SC: "DAJHASD I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU DON'T KNOW"
If you had listened to a single word I had said you would understand exactly why I don't know.
Me: "As I said, we simply haven't gotten complete details yet. We'll get them as soon as <client organization> opens-"
SC: "RAWRADHSLASFQF <click>"
Sweet mother of Christ with Buddha ridin' shotgun, what is your PROBLEM? Would you like the gambling crisis hotline number? We actually do have that in our information. Specifically for lunatics like yourself.
I guess lotteries iz seriuz bizness for some....folk.
annnnnd rest.
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