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How Not To Gain Assistance
Dear god, Olympics. All is lost. I've been unwittingly drafted into the Olympic staff and I am afraid.
Overruled
SC: “Yeah I need a cab.“
Me: “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “No.”
This is not up for debate. This is undeniable fact. We are not in a court of law and there is no burden of proof that I must satisfy to overcome your objections. If you will be so kind as to divert your attention slowly to your left, and then, to the right, you will see that there is in fact no jury baring witness to our verbal entanglement and no judge waiting to render the final sentence on whether or not I can dispatch a cab to your location. Just because you will it, does not make it so, else I imagine I would standing on the shoring watching you sail off into the sunset amidst a sea of Budweiser, clinging to a raft made from Tostitos and Swedish swimsuit models.
Inquisition
Me: “and your postal code please?”
SC: “Uhhhh…..ah Hell, I have no idea.”
And you did not notice this gaping chasm in your knowledge until now? You do know you’re ordering something that is physically sent to you right? Thus you must be able to impart to us your current location.
Me: “and your address please?”
SC: “Gah, more questions…..uh…..”
Yes, if you haven’t noticed this entire process is essentially one big questionnaire. A voluntary interrogation you signed on for the moment you foolishly called me. I am peppering you with these fiendish inquiries because oddly enough I require this information in order to A) Take your money and B) Sell you the illusion of a possible prize in return which will be represented by a deceptively small piece of paper. The fact I am essentially peddling dreams is irrelevant. All that is relevant is that I am selling you a product ( However ethereal ) and you must pay me for it. Preferably by VISA, Mastercard or Amex. This requires the gathering of information.
Me: “and your phone number please?”
SC: “….<SIGH>….uhhhhh……”
Look I know you’re weary and that having to spent 60 seconds answering personal questions so simplistic that the majority of them can actually be answered by the back of the tag on my cat’s collar. But we’re almost through this. There’s only a couple of questions left now. You’ve gotten through the worst of it and by God if we just keep on pushing forward together we can get through the rest of it. Don’t worry, my vacant headed companion, I am here for you. We can get through this. I won’t let you down. At least not for the duration of this call. After that you’re on your own again and its back to a life of stumbling around your apartment at 2am with the lights off trying to find the last half of that KFC bowl you had for lunch then left by sink.
SC: “It’s uh….604…..wait, no, that’s wrong”
No no, wait, that’s right! You’re right! Don’t doubt yourself, you were doing good! You can do it! Why do you doubt yourself? Have more confidence, man! You were on the right track. You can do this. You’re good enough, you’re smart enough and doggone it people like you. Not me, granted. But people. Some people. Somewhere. I’m sure. Maybe.
Easy there
Me: “And the product number please?”
SC: “It’s xxxx then…um…that little line thingie…then xxxx”
Whoa whoa whoa, easy there Archimedes, don’t get all fancy pancy on me with your big science words. I’m not some big elitist egghead like yourself. I’m just here….uh….dammit how do you plebs say i-oh right, keeping it real…..um, yo.
Don't Leave Home Without It?
Me: “And the card number please?”
SC: “It’s ummmm…..I can’t read it. Why do they make it so shiny?!?”
Ah yes, VISA Chrome.
The Fark? Leave Me Alone!
Me: “Good evening, <company that sells fucking diving equipment>”
SC: “yes…uh…I gotta problem wif ma vacuum.”
Me: “…….vacuum?”
SC: “Ma’am?”
.....<sigh>.
Me: “Excuse me?”
SC: “I have a problem wif ma vacuum”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “Is dis xxx-x-xxx-xxx-xxxx?”
Me: “No, this is <company>”
Right, two things. Number 1) That was nowhere close to the number you dialed and Number 2) That was an international number to someone’s house in London, England.. Who I’m quite positive would be likewise completely unable to help you with your vacuum.
SC: “…….say what now? Where do I dial den?”
Me: “I would not know, you’ve called the wrong number.”
SC: “Well now, I’ve called Walmart-“
I’m not particularly surprised you shop at Walmart, all things considered. However, as I’ve already told you, you have the wrong number. I did not ask for a recounting of events that led up to this moment of human failure. As they are totally irrelevant to me and regardless of how much supposed evidence you present you still called the wrong number and I still cannot help.
SC: “-and they gave me a number to uh….xxx-xxx-xxxx-
Me: "Look, I would have no idea, you have called the wrong number. So I would have no idea what number you were trying to reach.”
SC: “Ok…but da number they gave me to Walmart is uh….a uh, talk on sex line.”
I’m sure that kept you occupied for some time.
Me: “You have called the wrong number.”
SC: “How do I get the right number?”
Me: “I don’t know, this is the wrong number.”
SC: “Ok…uh…I called da number on the machine and it does the same thing-“
Me: “This is the wrong one.”
SC: “No one can get me through to Walmart?”
Me: “No, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “How do I get the right one?”
Me: “I don’t know, this is the wrong number.”
SC: “Uh…ok……thank you. <click>”
Oh my God. This is not rocket science. This isn’t even guy who fries the chicken nuggets at McDonald’s science. This is a simple, singular, absolute indomitable truth I am trying to impart to you: You. That means you, the dribbling, fleshy ape like creature currently clutching both a phone and a steam vac. Have called. That was the thing you did where you mashed the keypad with your face until voices emerged. The wrong. That means not right. Number. That’s the thing you mashed into the keypad with your face until voices emerged. If at all necessary I would be quite happy to take each incremental truth, scrawl it onto a piece of some sort of robust sports equipment, and liberally apply it about your head and neck area with as much force as is required for it to begin to sink into your disturbingly sloped skull.
Seriously, do you have to remember to breath?
You're Not Helping Your Case
Hmm, it seems you’ve put me in a rather strange dilemma. Allow me to explain: See, I do understand that you are concerned about a friend who hasn’t answered his phone in all of….er….a day and you wish for us to check up on him. But to be completely honest with you, if you truly have a concern for this fellow of yours perhaps you should be calling the police. Whom I assume, given the amount of time he’s been out of contact, will laugh at you. But none the less if an officer had come down and made such a request of me I would comply.
Instead what you have done is asked the manager of the building to open his suite and check on him. This is technically illegal unless a dire emergency is occurring. You cannot prove such an emergency currently exists as the fact he hasn’t answered his phone in 12 hours isn’t exactly compelling evidence. But none the less, that doesn’t generate a paradox in and of itself. Oh no. The paradox in question was created when the manager told you to call me to ask me to authorize her entering the suite.
Funny thing, really. See, she's my emergency contact for the building. Her telling you to call me just makes me turn around and call her and tell her you called me. Thus creating an unbreakable logic loop that I cannot escape. So what I would recommend is talking with the manager again and-
SC: “So basically you can’t do anything whatsoever and you’re pointless, aren’t you?”
-right, ok. Hold that thought a moment. I feel obligated to point out that insulting someone in a condescending tone of voice is probably not the best course of action to use when you’re trying to get someone to assist you. In fact it’s practically 100% effective in getting rid of pesky impulses such as “compassion”, “caring” and “Well I guess they pay me to do this.”. Heck, I can feel any inclination I had of helping you beginning to melting away as we speak! Amazing.
SC: “Like I said you’re pretty much pointless aren’t you.”
See, still not really feeling the urge to help you out now. In fact, "Go fuck yourself" seems to slowly be creeping in for some reason.
SC: “You’re doing a fantastic job of doing nothing.”
Why thank you! But I can’t possible take all the credit on this one. You deserve a round of applause as well, after all you’re doing a fantastic job of being an asshole, yourself. I really couldn’t have done it without you.
AAJHFGHASHDGADG!!!!
Man oh man, where do I even start with you, Steve. I mean, I’d like to start with an extensive public flogging + live webcast. But sadly it isn’t feasible. Ok, look, I understand you have a horrifically outdated catalog over a year old. I don’t mind checking a couple of items for you to see if we still carry them. A couple. Making me do it for over 10 minutes is not a couple. It is a long, stupid, torturous journey during which I wished grievous harm on you multiple times. But alas none of my wishes came true and at no point where you dragged screaming away from the phone by bears giving me the opportunity to listen to the musical sounds of your terror and anguish intermingled with growls and crunching noises.
Seriously, dude, what the fuck? I even warned you a couple of times that because the catalog is so old I likely don’t have any of those items anymore. That was a hint. A not so subtle one. One I repeated on you roughly oh, every 10 items or so you made me check. Oh and then, when you finally, finally found a single thing that was in stock albeit not quite in the size you wanted. You argue with me over the price of it? Really? Really?
And then, then, as if you had not yet done enough to earn my lifelong hatred, after all that and wasting 12 minutes of my time you had the gall to ask me if I had gone to see the Olympic opening ceremony? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t spent the next 5 minutes after you called praying to anyone or thing listening to grant me the power to inflict pain with my mind. If only for 30 seconds. That’s all I would need. Really. Please?
......adjashdlahkhg: Part 2
Me: “And your name please?”
SC: “It’s Steve, I jus called.”
You, my boy, are tempting fate in ways you cannot even begin to comprehend.
SC: “Ya, I found another catalog”
Oh joy. Hopefully its one that was issued sometime after Diefenbaker was prime minister.
SC: “Ya its Fall 2007”
…..right, how much does a ticket to Nunavut cost? Because I will I swear I will sell my body on Craig's List if I have to.
<Insert incoherent rage>
SC: “Yeah, its Steve again.”
………right. Fair warning. If you can’t understand me from here on out, it’s just because I am screaming incoherently into the mouth piece.
SC: “How about xxx3, xxx4, xxx5 or xxx6?”
No, no, no, no. I do not have any of them because you are reading them out of a catalog from Christmas Past. This is futile. Please, if you have any mercy in your heart, cease this pointless crusade you are waging against me. I do not have what you seek and the sooner you start to wrap your pitiful mind around it the better.
SC: “I guess I should just wait fer the new catalog to arrive, huh?”
Gee, ya think? I only suggested that what, 10 times over the last 30 minutes of my life you have completely wasted with your banality? I’m happy you’ve finally grasped the painfully obvious. However, I’ve already registered happyfuntimebearpitwebcast.ca. So it’s a bit too late to just call the show off now. The t-shirts are already being printed.
Olympia
Right, I’m using the Dunsmir exit from Granville Station for the remainder of the Olympics. Not only was it once again a screaming throng of stupid people carpeting the entire area. But a dance off had triggered up at the corner. Apparently, a group of Americans up for the Olympics were dancing and this was an affront to the home team. So a nearby group of Canadians served them as it were. Triggering a dance battle of some sort between the two groups.
I quickly fled before hostilities escalated.
!!!!!
SC: “Hold on, I’m going to page 40!!”
HOLY SHIT! WAIT, NOT YET! LET ME GRAB ONTO SOMETHING!
My Mind To Your Mind
SC: “What I’m reading really clearly from you is that you are not willing to help. Is that correct?”
Right, ok. Since apparently this lesson didn’t sink in yesterday, allow me to repeat it: Getting snide and insulting with someone you’re asking for assistance from is a very poor method of obtaining that assistance. Since you seem to be psychic and are currently reading my mind I figured you would know this already. Yet it seems to be eluding you.
All that aside, I would actually love to help you. The little morsel of happiness and self satisfaction from aiding a fellow human being would be gloriously uplifting and would literally complete my entire day. Well, ok, not really. But still I would like to help you. If only because my paycheque tells me too. The problem is that the only thing you know is that someone you know got arrested. That’s it. You don’t know where they were arrested, where they were taken, how to contact them or the arresting officer, what they were arrested for and you weren’t even there when it happened. You can tell me nothing except that you have reason to believe the event in question occurred somewhere in the lower mainland at some point in time this evening. I’m assuming you came across this information after scrying for it in some sort of crystal ball or reflecting pool and thus your information is incomplete.
SC: “I’m just trying to get a lawyer for someone someone and I’m getting really clearly that you have a limited interest in helping.”
Charles, nooo! Get out of my head, Charles!
Got It
Let me see if I have this straight: There’s an alarm going off somewhere in your store. But you don’t have the faintest idea of what it is or what it means. You just know that somewhere, somehow, something is beeping. On top of that you don’t know what your store number is and you don’t know what the phone number to the store is. So to summarize: You would like a technician to call you back at a number you don’t know to arrange to come down to a place you can’t identify to fix an alarm that you can’t find and do not know the meaning of?
Gotcha, I’ll get right on it.
annnnd rest.
Overruled
SC: “Yeah I need a cab.“
Me: “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “No.”
This is not up for debate. This is undeniable fact. We are not in a court of law and there is no burden of proof that I must satisfy to overcome your objections. If you will be so kind as to divert your attention slowly to your left, and then, to the right, you will see that there is in fact no jury baring witness to our verbal entanglement and no judge waiting to render the final sentence on whether or not I can dispatch a cab to your location. Just because you will it, does not make it so, else I imagine I would standing on the shoring watching you sail off into the sunset amidst a sea of Budweiser, clinging to a raft made from Tostitos and Swedish swimsuit models.
Inquisition
Me: “and your postal code please?”
SC: “Uhhhh…..ah Hell, I have no idea.”
And you did not notice this gaping chasm in your knowledge until now? You do know you’re ordering something that is physically sent to you right? Thus you must be able to impart to us your current location.
Me: “and your address please?”
SC: “Gah, more questions…..uh…..”
Yes, if you haven’t noticed this entire process is essentially one big questionnaire. A voluntary interrogation you signed on for the moment you foolishly called me. I am peppering you with these fiendish inquiries because oddly enough I require this information in order to A) Take your money and B) Sell you the illusion of a possible prize in return which will be represented by a deceptively small piece of paper. The fact I am essentially peddling dreams is irrelevant. All that is relevant is that I am selling you a product ( However ethereal ) and you must pay me for it. Preferably by VISA, Mastercard or Amex. This requires the gathering of information.
Me: “and your phone number please?”
SC: “….<SIGH>….uhhhhh……”
Look I know you’re weary and that having to spent 60 seconds answering personal questions so simplistic that the majority of them can actually be answered by the back of the tag on my cat’s collar. But we’re almost through this. There’s only a couple of questions left now. You’ve gotten through the worst of it and by God if we just keep on pushing forward together we can get through the rest of it. Don’t worry, my vacant headed companion, I am here for you. We can get through this. I won’t let you down. At least not for the duration of this call. After that you’re on your own again and its back to a life of stumbling around your apartment at 2am with the lights off trying to find the last half of that KFC bowl you had for lunch then left by sink.
SC: “It’s uh….604…..wait, no, that’s wrong”
No no, wait, that’s right! You’re right! Don’t doubt yourself, you were doing good! You can do it! Why do you doubt yourself? Have more confidence, man! You were on the right track. You can do this. You’re good enough, you’re smart enough and doggone it people like you. Not me, granted. But people. Some people. Somewhere. I’m sure. Maybe.
Easy there
Me: “And the product number please?”
SC: “It’s xxxx then…um…that little line thingie…then xxxx”
Whoa whoa whoa, easy there Archimedes, don’t get all fancy pancy on me with your big science words. I’m not some big elitist egghead like yourself. I’m just here….uh….dammit how do you plebs say i-oh right, keeping it real…..um, yo.
Don't Leave Home Without It?
Me: “And the card number please?”
SC: “It’s ummmm…..I can’t read it. Why do they make it so shiny?!?”
Ah yes, VISA Chrome.
The Fark? Leave Me Alone!
Me: “Good evening, <company that sells fucking diving equipment>”
SC: “yes…uh…I gotta problem wif ma vacuum.”
Me: “…….vacuum?”
SC: “Ma’am?”
.....<sigh>.
Me: “Excuse me?”
SC: “I have a problem wif ma vacuum”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “Is dis xxx-x-xxx-xxx-xxxx?”
Me: “No, this is <company>”
Right, two things. Number 1) That was nowhere close to the number you dialed and Number 2) That was an international number to someone’s house in London, England.. Who I’m quite positive would be likewise completely unable to help you with your vacuum.
SC: “…….say what now? Where do I dial den?”
Me: “I would not know, you’ve called the wrong number.”
SC: “Well now, I’ve called Walmart-“
I’m not particularly surprised you shop at Walmart, all things considered. However, as I’ve already told you, you have the wrong number. I did not ask for a recounting of events that led up to this moment of human failure. As they are totally irrelevant to me and regardless of how much supposed evidence you present you still called the wrong number and I still cannot help.
SC: “-and they gave me a number to uh….xxx-xxx-xxxx-
Me: "Look, I would have no idea, you have called the wrong number. So I would have no idea what number you were trying to reach.”
SC: “Ok…but da number they gave me to Walmart is uh….a uh, talk on sex line.”
I’m sure that kept you occupied for some time.
Me: “You have called the wrong number.”
SC: “How do I get the right number?”
Me: “I don’t know, this is the wrong number.”
SC: “Ok…uh…I called da number on the machine and it does the same thing-“
Me: “This is the wrong one.”
SC: “No one can get me through to Walmart?”
Me: “No, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “How do I get the right one?”
Me: “I don’t know, this is the wrong number.”
SC: “Uh…ok……thank you. <click>”
Oh my God. This is not rocket science. This isn’t even guy who fries the chicken nuggets at McDonald’s science. This is a simple, singular, absolute indomitable truth I am trying to impart to you: You. That means you, the dribbling, fleshy ape like creature currently clutching both a phone and a steam vac. Have called. That was the thing you did where you mashed the keypad with your face until voices emerged. The wrong. That means not right. Number. That’s the thing you mashed into the keypad with your face until voices emerged. If at all necessary I would be quite happy to take each incremental truth, scrawl it onto a piece of some sort of robust sports equipment, and liberally apply it about your head and neck area with as much force as is required for it to begin to sink into your disturbingly sloped skull.
Seriously, do you have to remember to breath?
You're Not Helping Your Case
Hmm, it seems you’ve put me in a rather strange dilemma. Allow me to explain: See, I do understand that you are concerned about a friend who hasn’t answered his phone in all of….er….a day and you wish for us to check up on him. But to be completely honest with you, if you truly have a concern for this fellow of yours perhaps you should be calling the police. Whom I assume, given the amount of time he’s been out of contact, will laugh at you. But none the less if an officer had come down and made such a request of me I would comply.
Instead what you have done is asked the manager of the building to open his suite and check on him. This is technically illegal unless a dire emergency is occurring. You cannot prove such an emergency currently exists as the fact he hasn’t answered his phone in 12 hours isn’t exactly compelling evidence. But none the less, that doesn’t generate a paradox in and of itself. Oh no. The paradox in question was created when the manager told you to call me to ask me to authorize her entering the suite.
Funny thing, really. See, she's my emergency contact for the building. Her telling you to call me just makes me turn around and call her and tell her you called me. Thus creating an unbreakable logic loop that I cannot escape. So what I would recommend is talking with the manager again and-
SC: “So basically you can’t do anything whatsoever and you’re pointless, aren’t you?”
-right, ok. Hold that thought a moment. I feel obligated to point out that insulting someone in a condescending tone of voice is probably not the best course of action to use when you’re trying to get someone to assist you. In fact it’s practically 100% effective in getting rid of pesky impulses such as “compassion”, “caring” and “Well I guess they pay me to do this.”. Heck, I can feel any inclination I had of helping you beginning to melting away as we speak! Amazing.
SC: “Like I said you’re pretty much pointless aren’t you.”
See, still not really feeling the urge to help you out now. In fact, "Go fuck yourself" seems to slowly be creeping in for some reason.
SC: “You’re doing a fantastic job of doing nothing.”
Why thank you! But I can’t possible take all the credit on this one. You deserve a round of applause as well, after all you’re doing a fantastic job of being an asshole, yourself. I really couldn’t have done it without you.
AAJHFGHASHDGADG!!!!
Man oh man, where do I even start with you, Steve. I mean, I’d like to start with an extensive public flogging + live webcast. But sadly it isn’t feasible. Ok, look, I understand you have a horrifically outdated catalog over a year old. I don’t mind checking a couple of items for you to see if we still carry them. A couple. Making me do it for over 10 minutes is not a couple. It is a long, stupid, torturous journey during which I wished grievous harm on you multiple times. But alas none of my wishes came true and at no point where you dragged screaming away from the phone by bears giving me the opportunity to listen to the musical sounds of your terror and anguish intermingled with growls and crunching noises.
Seriously, dude, what the fuck? I even warned you a couple of times that because the catalog is so old I likely don’t have any of those items anymore. That was a hint. A not so subtle one. One I repeated on you roughly oh, every 10 items or so you made me check. Oh and then, when you finally, finally found a single thing that was in stock albeit not quite in the size you wanted. You argue with me over the price of it? Really? Really?
And then, then, as if you had not yet done enough to earn my lifelong hatred, after all that and wasting 12 minutes of my time you had the gall to ask me if I had gone to see the Olympic opening ceremony? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t spent the next 5 minutes after you called praying to anyone or thing listening to grant me the power to inflict pain with my mind. If only for 30 seconds. That’s all I would need. Really. Please?
......adjashdlahkhg: Part 2
Me: “And your name please?”
SC: “It’s Steve, I jus called.”
You, my boy, are tempting fate in ways you cannot even begin to comprehend.
SC: “Ya, I found another catalog”
Oh joy. Hopefully its one that was issued sometime after Diefenbaker was prime minister.
SC: “Ya its Fall 2007”
…..right, how much does a ticket to Nunavut cost? Because I will I swear I will sell my body on Craig's List if I have to.
<Insert incoherent rage>
SC: “Yeah, its Steve again.”
………right. Fair warning. If you can’t understand me from here on out, it’s just because I am screaming incoherently into the mouth piece.
SC: “How about xxx3, xxx4, xxx5 or xxx6?”
No, no, no, no. I do not have any of them because you are reading them out of a catalog from Christmas Past. This is futile. Please, if you have any mercy in your heart, cease this pointless crusade you are waging against me. I do not have what you seek and the sooner you start to wrap your pitiful mind around it the better.
SC: “I guess I should just wait fer the new catalog to arrive, huh?”
Gee, ya think? I only suggested that what, 10 times over the last 30 minutes of my life you have completely wasted with your banality? I’m happy you’ve finally grasped the painfully obvious. However, I’ve already registered happyfuntimebearpitwebcast.ca. So it’s a bit too late to just call the show off now. The t-shirts are already being printed.
Olympia
Right, I’m using the Dunsmir exit from Granville Station for the remainder of the Olympics. Not only was it once again a screaming throng of stupid people carpeting the entire area. But a dance off had triggered up at the corner. Apparently, a group of Americans up for the Olympics were dancing and this was an affront to the home team. So a nearby group of Canadians served them as it were. Triggering a dance battle of some sort between the two groups.
I quickly fled before hostilities escalated.
!!!!!
SC: “Hold on, I’m going to page 40!!”
HOLY SHIT! WAIT, NOT YET! LET ME GRAB ONTO SOMETHING!
My Mind To Your Mind
SC: “What I’m reading really clearly from you is that you are not willing to help. Is that correct?”
Right, ok. Since apparently this lesson didn’t sink in yesterday, allow me to repeat it: Getting snide and insulting with someone you’re asking for assistance from is a very poor method of obtaining that assistance. Since you seem to be psychic and are currently reading my mind I figured you would know this already. Yet it seems to be eluding you.
All that aside, I would actually love to help you. The little morsel of happiness and self satisfaction from aiding a fellow human being would be gloriously uplifting and would literally complete my entire day. Well, ok, not really. But still I would like to help you. If only because my paycheque tells me too. The problem is that the only thing you know is that someone you know got arrested. That’s it. You don’t know where they were arrested, where they were taken, how to contact them or the arresting officer, what they were arrested for and you weren’t even there when it happened. You can tell me nothing except that you have reason to believe the event in question occurred somewhere in the lower mainland at some point in time this evening. I’m assuming you came across this information after scrying for it in some sort of crystal ball or reflecting pool and thus your information is incomplete.
SC: “I’m just trying to get a lawyer for someone someone and I’m getting really clearly that you have a limited interest in helping.”
Charles, nooo! Get out of my head, Charles!
Got It
Let me see if I have this straight: There’s an alarm going off somewhere in your store. But you don’t have the faintest idea of what it is or what it means. You just know that somewhere, somehow, something is beeping. On top of that you don’t know what your store number is and you don’t know what the phone number to the store is. So to summarize: You would like a technician to call you back at a number you don’t know to arrange to come down to a place you can’t identify to fix an alarm that you can’t find and do not know the meaning of?
Gotcha, I’ll get right on it.
annnnd rest.
err wait...wrong smile 
yea...that the one I meant.....
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