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Bitches don't know about ma Eggs!
Was off sick for half this week yet still, still they haunt me enough to warrant a post.
Story Time!
SC: “I have an idea for a story!”
A….story, you say? That’s….nice. But I fail to see what it has to do with a charity donation line.
SC: “Every Abbotsford franchise, every city on the planet. Farm factory. All done, Medicare solved. Free entrepreneurship for everyone. I think it would be wonderful!”
Wait, what? You want to set up franchises of….Abbotsford? And you want to do this to “solve” Medicare? I….I just don’t….even….I mean, these are not dots that connect in any conceivable fashion I can think of. Most dots can be connected with simple lines. These, however, will require high tension cabling.
Me: “Alright, this is just our donation line-“
SC: “Right, but you can pass stories along. You know a few people there.”
Me: “….”
No, actually, I don’t know anyone “there” as you put it. I am a lowly frontline drone. Also, this is not a newspaper, news desk, news site, news blog, news magazine, informative brochure or even just a weird guy on the corner informing people of key information points we should be aware of to prepare for the coming end times. So “stories” as you put it are not a foremost interest of me nor those I represent. Even if we were we'd need something a bit more grounded then “Abbotsford = Wal-mart = Farms = HEALTH CARE SOLVED”. At least the "END IS NEIGH" guy can explain why the end is neigh.
SC: “Our people can SOLVE IT. Our generation could solve it. They would love it in Mexico and South America, they would love the Canadian home & garden life style! You know, the husband wife best friend teammate lover. You could do that. You could get your raise and promotion and POWER and what have you.”
….the….Canadian Home & Garden lifestyle…? I…I guess yeah, they would love it. Hell, I would love it. But what you fail to realize is the construct that is the “life” of the botanical symbiotes on the home & garden network is an artificial thing that in reality would require a level of income neither one of us will ever know. Nevermind half the southern hemisphere.
You’ve also lost me on the “husbandwifebestfriendteamatelover”. Is that part of the lifestyle? Cannot I not fully enjoy my home or garden without a spouse’s best friend’s teammate lover? What does that even mean? Does that mean your spouse absolutely loves their best friend’s sports team? I require explanation.
I do applaud your attempt at wooing me with the sweet promise of power since that is what one as dark and sinister as myself ultimately wants, of course. It’s just that your plan doesn’t make a shred of sense and I fail to see how I can use it as a platform for world domination. And really, I’m not interesting in anything that can’t in some way be used as a platform to world domination.
You're Not Very Good At This
Me: “Alright, so the total is going to come to $356-“
SC: “Oh, I wasn’t looking to spend more then $200.”
Then I feel obligated to point out that the two items you’re trying to order are $160 and $150 respectively. Which, since you seem to have failed this complex equation yourself, actually totals $310 even before shipping and tax.
Oh, Broadway
Bless you Broadway for constantly showing me both wonders and horrors that I have never before witnessed. Regardless of how confident I become in my belief that I had finally seen it all, along you come to cruelly shatter that notion and then laugh while you look down on my weeping form.
Case in point: This evening a female boarded at Broadway whose….fashion ensemble….was most questionable. The question specifically being “What the hell?”. She had blue hair, of course, and was either obsessed with facial piercing or had fallen face first into a tackle box at some point over the last week or two. Neither is particularly unusual for this city I suppose. However, she was also wearing skintight plaid tights, with knee high…uh….how do I describe them? Knee high leather fetish boots with more buckles then a NASCAR rally? With matching gloves of course. But the crown jewel in her collection was a leather jacket ( Of which the sleeves were removed with what I can only assume were garden shears ) which was boldly emblazoned across the back with a full colour MacDonalds logo. Except it said “McShits” and then underneath that, in giant letters, “Fuck the world”. You know, pleasant messages of peace and love.
In addition to this she had a skateboard and a fishing rod. A fishing rod. That she had made herself from a tree branch and some twine. The bait attached to the end of her line was an empty A&W cup. I….don’t know why this is. I can only assume she was going downtown to partake in hobo fishing.
It has occurred to me that this is distinct enough for her to recognize herself from this post. So if you are reading this, scary hobo fishing punk girl, please don't hurt me.
Psst! To everyone else, if I mysteriously stop posting, you have a description of the suspect. <cough> I mean ya, ha ha...ha....
I Need To Rephrase
Events this evening have prompted me to consider changing my common call inquiries on this account. Specifically, by the 15th item the caller asked for I realized I should not be asking “and what would you like?” but rather “and what can you afford?”. Because there is a very important distinction between the two which if not made could lead to a most unfortunate cavalcade that sounds more like some sort of fever dream wish list then an actual order. The only thing that stopped this grievous offender was the $1000 order limit.
Regardless, I nixed the lust list in its final stages as the increasing crescendo of drunken joyous jubilation from several background miscreants led me to believe they were in fact treating me not as an order desk, but rather as Saint Nicholas. A moniker I do not possess the facial hair nor girth to conceivably wear.
No.
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “I just…uh…yesterday ordered a sweater.”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “Did ya send dat sweater?”
Me: “I’m afraid customer service isn’t in this late so I couldn’t check if it shipped or not.”
SC: “Yep.”
Me: “So you'll have to call back in the morning to check“
SC: “Can ya check on it right now?”
Me: “….no”
I sense that yet again I used words that contained far too many syllables for the primitive mind to grasp. My apologies, I should have realized your predicament and broken my sentence structure down into single syllables punctuated with grunts and hoots. Sounds small enough for your brain to conceivably digest. A verbal Happy Meal if you will. Though I regret to inform you it does not come with a toy.
Eggs, Bitches!
There was a gentlemen on the corner over by the store this evening who was quite loudly professing his love for eggs. Loudly and profanely. I believe the direct quote was “Oh man I fucking love me some eggs.”. While professing this love, he was attempting to solicit donations so he could purchase said eggs. However, as he was referring to the collective sum of the passersby, myself included, as “bitches”, it did not appear his attempts were overly successful. This lack of egg funding seemed to aggravate him greatly and he doth protested “Do you think I’d be fucking standing out here like this if I didn’t fucking love eggs?! I just want some eggs, man!” and "If you bitches would just give me some change I could fucking get me some eggs!"
Sadly, by the time I was out of ear shot he was still tragically eggless. So I know not what became of his plight.
Twist Endings
( I get approximately 1-2 credit card orders per YEAR on this line and every time one occurs, events always unfold in a most unfortunate manner.... )
Me: “And by credit card or COD?”
SC: “Credit Card”
No, Muffy, no! You’re not yet ready for this kind of power! Please, I beg of you, turn back. This can only end in sorrow.
Me: “and when does it expire?”
SC: “Uh, after this order?…I don’t know.”
See!? I warned you! But nooooo. You have absolutely no idea how to use a credit card, and yet somehow you obtained one? Did you just find someone’s wallet or did someone actually manage to sucker you into signing up for one?
Me: “…alright, I need to know when it expires to place the order.”
SC: “I just got it yesterday, I dunno.”
Give me a moment. I need to take a few deep breaths, find my center and prepare myself for the arduous mental journey that is undoubtedly about to ensue. If I am to survive this call, I must ready my mind and body to endure the danger ahead.
Me: “It should be on the card itself and be three to four numbers on the front.”
SC: “Uh……wait….”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “………………………….<several minutes of confused silence>”
Much as I’m enjoying the silence, I’m not going to sit here for half an hour while you try to unravel the complex nuances of reading 4 numbers out loud.
Me: “…..do you know the expiration?”
SC: “Uh, I’m looking at it.”
Me: "......"
SC: “……………<and again.>”
You really have to mentally picture this to fully appreciate the primitive grasp on reality I’m dealing with here. It has been upwards of 5 minutes and by her own admission she has spent the entire time staring directly at the card. In total silence. Desperately searching for some illusive clue to my rather benign inquiry.
SC: “I deposited money at the northern store on this Mastercard”
Me: “But you don’t know the expiration?”
SC: “No, it doesn’t say on it.”
Yes it does. Trust me. I have one myself. It is there. You must find it, young padawan. Or all is lost.
Me: “Alright, I’m afraid you can’t use a credit card without the expiration date.”
SC: “But I deposited money on it at the store.”
Me: “Yes, but I’m afraid we need the expiration date.”
SC: “Uhh…..just hold on.”
Me: “Alright”
SC: “<I hear her put the phone down and go consult with others of her ilk. This too takes several minutes.>”
That marks the third intermission. Meaning we’re tied up and going into OT.
SC: “Hello?”
Me: “Hi”
SC: “2012”
Me: “Alright, what month?”
SC: “Uhh…..3?”
Me: “3?”
SC: “79?”
Me: “......79?”
SC: “0705?”
Me: “0705?”
SC: “0212?”
Me: “The 2nd month of 2012?”
SC: “Uh, yeah.”
Thank you. Jeebus. While I am relieved at the eventual breakthrough I must point out your mind is damaged in ways that medical science will likely never be able to undo.
Me: “Alright, so with the total will come to $515.05-“
SC: “I said I phoned earlier and they said $10 off with a credit card instead of COD. The total was $471 then with a credit card is $10 off!”
Me: “Yes, shipping with a credit card is $12 cheaper then COD, but it still comes to $515.05”
SC: “Well this morning they should have just fucking said that! I’m short!.”
Ahhhh, and here, it seems, is our surprise twist ending. So for those of you that haven’t seen this call before, SPOILER WARNING!
It appears, from your blissfully unaware blathering that you do not recall moi. Whilst, I on the other hand do recall you. Yes, it I, Don Karnage, that you spoke with this morning and I distinctly recall this because you wasted 8 minutes of my time this morning as well trying to obtain a total for your items without actually placing an order. However, it seems your recollection, much like many other things, is quite foggy. Allow me to provide an encore of the scenario that unfolded this morning:
You called, seeking a total for a collection of items you wished to obtain and rub against yourself. I conceded and assembled the items to give you a total. However, the final item you desired was apparently the Item That Must Not be Named. The item number you gave me was wrong, and the only description you could offer was that it was A) A hat and B) Made by Oakley. I, being wondrously helpful, checked our catalog using these parameters and explained that we had 3 hats that matched this description. I named each of them in turn in the hopes of jump starting the damp, mildew laden shoebox full of beer caps and newspaper clippings that is your memory.
You, however, had one of your trademarked brain seizes and sat there in silent confusion for several minutes trying to figure out which hat it was. After which you became overwhelmed by the task at hand told me to forget it and hung up on me. THIS time, however, you did give me a valid item number for the headgear and I added the headgear in question to the order. And surprise surprise, adding more stuff to your order makes it cost more money. Crazy!
Me: “I’m afraid this is the total of the items you've selected.”
SC: “They should have just said that! I got the total to do it so I deposited $500!”
Me: “Alright, but I’m afraid this is still the total.”
SC: “But it costs like $40 to ship out to here with COD!”
Me: “Yes, with a credit card, its $28.”
SC: “Well they should have f**king explained that when I phoned this morning! I deposited $500 and now I’m short.”
Me: “Alright, well I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can do about the price. So what would you like to do?”
SC: “I know there’s nothing you can do! But they should have fucking explained it THE RIGHT WAY so you can go f**king tell them that!”
Odd, I recall explaining it the "Right way" as you put it, and weirdly enough, even have audio evidence to support the reality in which we dwell rather then the victimized one you're trying to interject.
Regardless, let me see if I have this straight: You want me to go tell me to take responsibility for your stupefied fuckery? Hmmm…..yeah, how about no.
annnnd rest. -.-
Story Time!
SC: “I have an idea for a story!”
A….story, you say? That’s….nice. But I fail to see what it has to do with a charity donation line.
SC: “Every Abbotsford franchise, every city on the planet. Farm factory. All done, Medicare solved. Free entrepreneurship for everyone. I think it would be wonderful!”
Wait, what? You want to set up franchises of….Abbotsford? And you want to do this to “solve” Medicare? I….I just don’t….even….I mean, these are not dots that connect in any conceivable fashion I can think of. Most dots can be connected with simple lines. These, however, will require high tension cabling.
Me: “Alright, this is just our donation line-“
SC: “Right, but you can pass stories along. You know a few people there.”
Me: “….”
No, actually, I don’t know anyone “there” as you put it. I am a lowly frontline drone. Also, this is not a newspaper, news desk, news site, news blog, news magazine, informative brochure or even just a weird guy on the corner informing people of key information points we should be aware of to prepare for the coming end times. So “stories” as you put it are not a foremost interest of me nor those I represent. Even if we were we'd need something a bit more grounded then “Abbotsford = Wal-mart = Farms = HEALTH CARE SOLVED”. At least the "END IS NEIGH" guy can explain why the end is neigh.
SC: “Our people can SOLVE IT. Our generation could solve it. They would love it in Mexico and South America, they would love the Canadian home & garden life style! You know, the husband wife best friend teammate lover. You could do that. You could get your raise and promotion and POWER and what have you.”
….the….Canadian Home & Garden lifestyle…? I…I guess yeah, they would love it. Hell, I would love it. But what you fail to realize is the construct that is the “life” of the botanical symbiotes on the home & garden network is an artificial thing that in reality would require a level of income neither one of us will ever know. Nevermind half the southern hemisphere.
You’ve also lost me on the “husbandwifebestfriendteamatelover”. Is that part of the lifestyle? Cannot I not fully enjoy my home or garden without a spouse’s best friend’s teammate lover? What does that even mean? Does that mean your spouse absolutely loves their best friend’s sports team? I require explanation.
I do applaud your attempt at wooing me with the sweet promise of power since that is what one as dark and sinister as myself ultimately wants, of course. It’s just that your plan doesn’t make a shred of sense and I fail to see how I can use it as a platform for world domination. And really, I’m not interesting in anything that can’t in some way be used as a platform to world domination.
You're Not Very Good At This
Me: “Alright, so the total is going to come to $356-“
SC: “Oh, I wasn’t looking to spend more then $200.”
Then I feel obligated to point out that the two items you’re trying to order are $160 and $150 respectively. Which, since you seem to have failed this complex equation yourself, actually totals $310 even before shipping and tax.
Oh, Broadway
Bless you Broadway for constantly showing me both wonders and horrors that I have never before witnessed. Regardless of how confident I become in my belief that I had finally seen it all, along you come to cruelly shatter that notion and then laugh while you look down on my weeping form.
Case in point: This evening a female boarded at Broadway whose….fashion ensemble….was most questionable. The question specifically being “What the hell?”. She had blue hair, of course, and was either obsessed with facial piercing or had fallen face first into a tackle box at some point over the last week or two. Neither is particularly unusual for this city I suppose. However, she was also wearing skintight plaid tights, with knee high…uh….how do I describe them? Knee high leather fetish boots with more buckles then a NASCAR rally? With matching gloves of course. But the crown jewel in her collection was a leather jacket ( Of which the sleeves were removed with what I can only assume were garden shears ) which was boldly emblazoned across the back with a full colour MacDonalds logo. Except it said “McShits” and then underneath that, in giant letters, “Fuck the world”. You know, pleasant messages of peace and love.
In addition to this she had a skateboard and a fishing rod. A fishing rod. That she had made herself from a tree branch and some twine. The bait attached to the end of her line was an empty A&W cup. I….don’t know why this is. I can only assume she was going downtown to partake in hobo fishing.
It has occurred to me that this is distinct enough for her to recognize herself from this post. So if you are reading this, scary hobo fishing punk girl, please don't hurt me.
Psst! To everyone else, if I mysteriously stop posting, you have a description of the suspect. <cough> I mean ya, ha ha...ha....
I Need To Rephrase
Events this evening have prompted me to consider changing my common call inquiries on this account. Specifically, by the 15th item the caller asked for I realized I should not be asking “and what would you like?” but rather “and what can you afford?”. Because there is a very important distinction between the two which if not made could lead to a most unfortunate cavalcade that sounds more like some sort of fever dream wish list then an actual order. The only thing that stopped this grievous offender was the $1000 order limit.
Regardless, I nixed the lust list in its final stages as the increasing crescendo of drunken joyous jubilation from several background miscreants led me to believe they were in fact treating me not as an order desk, but rather as Saint Nicholas. A moniker I do not possess the facial hair nor girth to conceivably wear.
No.
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “I just…uh…yesterday ordered a sweater.”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “Did ya send dat sweater?”
Me: “I’m afraid customer service isn’t in this late so I couldn’t check if it shipped or not.”
SC: “Yep.”
Me: “So you'll have to call back in the morning to check“
SC: “Can ya check on it right now?”
Me: “….no”
I sense that yet again I used words that contained far too many syllables for the primitive mind to grasp. My apologies, I should have realized your predicament and broken my sentence structure down into single syllables punctuated with grunts and hoots. Sounds small enough for your brain to conceivably digest. A verbal Happy Meal if you will. Though I regret to inform you it does not come with a toy.
Eggs, Bitches!
There was a gentlemen on the corner over by the store this evening who was quite loudly professing his love for eggs. Loudly and profanely. I believe the direct quote was “Oh man I fucking love me some eggs.”. While professing this love, he was attempting to solicit donations so he could purchase said eggs. However, as he was referring to the collective sum of the passersby, myself included, as “bitches”, it did not appear his attempts were overly successful. This lack of egg funding seemed to aggravate him greatly and he doth protested “Do you think I’d be fucking standing out here like this if I didn’t fucking love eggs?! I just want some eggs, man!” and "If you bitches would just give me some change I could fucking get me some eggs!"
Sadly, by the time I was out of ear shot he was still tragically eggless. So I know not what became of his plight.
Twist Endings
( I get approximately 1-2 credit card orders per YEAR on this line and every time one occurs, events always unfold in a most unfortunate manner.... )
Me: “And by credit card or COD?”
SC: “Credit Card”
No, Muffy, no! You’re not yet ready for this kind of power! Please, I beg of you, turn back. This can only end in sorrow.
Me: “and when does it expire?”
SC: “Uh, after this order?…I don’t know.”
See!? I warned you! But nooooo. You have absolutely no idea how to use a credit card, and yet somehow you obtained one? Did you just find someone’s wallet or did someone actually manage to sucker you into signing up for one?
Me: “…alright, I need to know when it expires to place the order.”
SC: “I just got it yesterday, I dunno.”
Give me a moment. I need to take a few deep breaths, find my center and prepare myself for the arduous mental journey that is undoubtedly about to ensue. If I am to survive this call, I must ready my mind and body to endure the danger ahead.
Me: “It should be on the card itself and be three to four numbers on the front.”
SC: “Uh……wait….”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “………………………….<several minutes of confused silence>”
Much as I’m enjoying the silence, I’m not going to sit here for half an hour while you try to unravel the complex nuances of reading 4 numbers out loud.
Me: “…..do you know the expiration?”
SC: “Uh, I’m looking at it.”
Me: "......"
SC: “……………<and again.>”
You really have to mentally picture this to fully appreciate the primitive grasp on reality I’m dealing with here. It has been upwards of 5 minutes and by her own admission she has spent the entire time staring directly at the card. In total silence. Desperately searching for some illusive clue to my rather benign inquiry.
SC: “I deposited money at the northern store on this Mastercard”
Me: “But you don’t know the expiration?”
SC: “No, it doesn’t say on it.”
Yes it does. Trust me. I have one myself. It is there. You must find it, young padawan. Or all is lost.
Me: “Alright, I’m afraid you can’t use a credit card without the expiration date.”
SC: “But I deposited money on it at the store.”
Me: “Yes, but I’m afraid we need the expiration date.”
SC: “Uhh…..just hold on.”
Me: “Alright”
SC: “<I hear her put the phone down and go consult with others of her ilk. This too takes several minutes.>”
That marks the third intermission. Meaning we’re tied up and going into OT.
SC: “Hello?”
Me: “Hi”
SC: “2012”
Me: “Alright, what month?”
SC: “Uhh…..3?”
Me: “3?”
SC: “79?”
Me: “......79?”
SC: “0705?”
Me: “0705?”
SC: “0212?”
Me: “The 2nd month of 2012?”
SC: “Uh, yeah.”
Thank you. Jeebus. While I am relieved at the eventual breakthrough I must point out your mind is damaged in ways that medical science will likely never be able to undo.
Me: “Alright, so with the total will come to $515.05-“
SC: “I said I phoned earlier and they said $10 off with a credit card instead of COD. The total was $471 then with a credit card is $10 off!”
Me: “Yes, shipping with a credit card is $12 cheaper then COD, but it still comes to $515.05”
SC: “Well this morning they should have just fucking said that! I’m short!.”
Ahhhh, and here, it seems, is our surprise twist ending. So for those of you that haven’t seen this call before, SPOILER WARNING!
It appears, from your blissfully unaware blathering that you do not recall moi. Whilst, I on the other hand do recall you. Yes, it I, Don Karnage, that you spoke with this morning and I distinctly recall this because you wasted 8 minutes of my time this morning as well trying to obtain a total for your items without actually placing an order. However, it seems your recollection, much like many other things, is quite foggy. Allow me to provide an encore of the scenario that unfolded this morning:
You called, seeking a total for a collection of items you wished to obtain and rub against yourself. I conceded and assembled the items to give you a total. However, the final item you desired was apparently the Item That Must Not be Named. The item number you gave me was wrong, and the only description you could offer was that it was A) A hat and B) Made by Oakley. I, being wondrously helpful, checked our catalog using these parameters and explained that we had 3 hats that matched this description. I named each of them in turn in the hopes of jump starting the damp, mildew laden shoebox full of beer caps and newspaper clippings that is your memory.
You, however, had one of your trademarked brain seizes and sat there in silent confusion for several minutes trying to figure out which hat it was. After which you became overwhelmed by the task at hand told me to forget it and hung up on me. THIS time, however, you did give me a valid item number for the headgear and I added the headgear in question to the order. And surprise surprise, adding more stuff to your order makes it cost more money. Crazy!
Me: “I’m afraid this is the total of the items you've selected.”
SC: “They should have just said that! I got the total to do it so I deposited $500!”
Me: “Alright, but I’m afraid this is still the total.”
SC: “But it costs like $40 to ship out to here with COD!”
Me: “Yes, with a credit card, its $28.”
SC: “Well they should have f**king explained that when I phoned this morning! I deposited $500 and now I’m short.”
Me: “Alright, well I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can do about the price. So what would you like to do?”
SC: “I know there’s nothing you can do! But they should have fucking explained it THE RIGHT WAY so you can go f**king tell them that!”
Odd, I recall explaining it the "Right way" as you put it, and weirdly enough, even have audio evidence to support the reality in which we dwell rather then the victimized one you're trying to interject.
Regardless, let me see if I have this straight: You want me to go tell me to take responsibility for your stupefied fuckery? Hmmm…..yeah, how about no.
annnnd rest. -.-
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