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Kitten Infestation
and no, thats not even a clever title I had to make up.
....wha?
SC: “Do you guys sell direct or only install yourself?”
Me: “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know, I’m their message desk for afterhours. You’ll have to speak with them during office hours.”
SC: “Ok. Thanks a lot, you FOB. <click>”
I…wait, what did you call me? I’ll admit I don’t tend to keep up to date on all the various derogatory terms. Let me Google that one and….wait, “Fresh Off the Boat”? ….seriously? I…I don’t even know what to say to that. I’ve been called many, many things over the years on shift but that’s a new one. Where exactly do you think I’m from? New Whitebread?
I fully admit in the past I have had both a Maritime and at one point even a bit of a French Canadien accent. However, both of those have long since been quelled. And even if either one was re-emerging somehow, they are both still parts of Canada you know and did not require a boat to travel to Vancouver from. Unless you think I somehow sailed here across the mighty Alberta Sea?
Besides, you're Chinese. ><
Honesty is the Best Policy
Me: “Are you calling to book a room?”
C: “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Thank you. Such breathless honesty is exquisitely rare on my shift. Bless you and your utterly confused little heart. If only more callers would just admit that straight up front instead of forcing me to figure it out on my own with ever increasing dread over the course of a call.
No, no you didn't
SC: “Yeah, I was walking around the Internets and-”
Hold that thought a moment. I would just like to make a quick point in the hopes of sparing you further embarrassment at the hands of your children and everyone else under the age of 35. You do not “walk around” the Internet. That statement tells me everything about your current level of technological expertise as well as what your children think of you. ( Hint: They think you’re lame and fear a future of having to program your holodisk player for you. ).
But I am nothing if not merciful. So I shall adept to help you here somewhat. To begin with, you do not “walk” the Internet. You “Browse” it. You also do not “start up” a search engine. You “use” it. And at no point should “Internet”, “Facebook” or “Twitter” ever be used as a plural.
If Only You Were Honest
SC: “Yeah, it’s Frank again. The pain in the ass.”
Hello, Frank again. I sincerely wish you had been as up front as my previous caller there. It took you what? 6 hours and 15 calls to finally admit you were a pain in the ass? If I had known you were going to be a pain in the ass from the get go I could have braced myself and worked more feverishly to ensure you became someone else’s problem. But no, you had to try and hide this fact and let me discover it on my own. This is why you need to be honest and upfront right from the get go. The faster you can make me not want to deal with you anymore, the faster I’m likely to try and find someone else to deal with you. It would be a win/win scenario.
But alas, acceptance is always the first and most difficult step.
Alas, I Cannot
Me: “And the credit card number please?”
SC: “Before that, can you explain why I’m buying these lottery tickets?”
Believe me, I've been trying to explain that for farkin' years and frankly I am no where closer to an answer now than I was back then. So I think you’re out of luck on this particular philosophical inquiry. I have several theories, mind you. However, most of them involve addiction problems, substance abuse or Leprechauns. Or any combination of the three.
Oh.....Canada
Ah, yes. Canada Day. A day when we as a nation gather to revel it our nation’s anniversary. Apparently, we do this by piling onto the Skytrain drunk, stoned and stupid. Though I am willing to accept the smarter amongst us wisely chose to drive or are already at home. And I am merely a victim of circumstance in that I must use public transit to reach the office at this most unfortunate hour.
On that note, I would like to make a few recommendations to my fellow transit riders this evening:
To the girl in the acutely hideous florescent blue sweatshirt whining “Omigawd there’s no seats, I need a seat, I’m pregnant!” then wondering why no one is giving you a seat. Two things really: First of all, it’s Canada Day, so everyone is heading downtown. There hasn’t been a free seat since Royal Oak. You got on at Broadway. You’re lucky there’s breathing room, never mind a seat. Second of all, being Canadian, most of us would love to politely give our seat to you in your supposedly current condition. However, the fact you’re clutching a beer in your free hand undermines your claims.
To the two guys at the end of the car: I know this is BC and all, but could you please stop trying to hotbox the Skytrain?
To the idiot that sat in front of me, and his miscellaneous barnacle like cohorts: Please stop using "nigger" as a comma. Its not cool to begin with, and it is certainly not cool when delivered with a thick Punjabi accent. Also, if your friend reaches over me to mess around with the window and shoves his armpit in my face again. I may break him, and then you simply by proxy. Do not doubt me, I work in customer service. My heart has long since dulled to cries for mercy.
Again, to blue sweatshirt supposedly pregnant beer girl: Nice attempt at flirting with armpit guy. I assume your plan was to use a Skytrain lurch to fall delicately into his arms by “accident”. Unfortunately, you spilled your beer on him when you did this and his laughably tasteless shirt probably cost half a month’s rent. He does not appear to like you. Granted, he has 4 friends with him. If you turn slightly to the right, you can take another shot at it.
To whomever triggered the intrusion alarm at Royal Oak: You sir, are a jackass of the utmost caliber and I fervently wish the Skytrain attendants were actually in good enough shape to get up the stairs in time to catch you. But alas, they sent the Michelin Man to check the track and he required a rest break at the top of the steps before beginning to inspect the track.
Blue Beer Girl: Congratulations on turning slightly to the right and just hitting on the next guy in the group. He seems thrilled. But worry not, should this fail there’s a few left yet. Surely one of them has low enough standards!
To absolutely everyone on the Skytrain that thought “I’ll be smart! Granville will be really busy so I’ll get off at Burrard instead!”. I, and everyone else actually getting off at Granville, now officially hate you without compromise. Not because you think you’re smart, but because you seem remarkably confused when people started shouldering you out of the way after the 4th “Excuse me” did not lodge you and your bison like herd from directly in front of every Skytrain door. The absolute obliviousness you displayed caused me some surprise that no one simply shoved you out the Skytrain door entirely while you were busy looking bewildered as to why people behind you seemed to want to get to the door.
On the upside, it did give me an excuse to shove armpit guy out of my way.
No.
SC: “Do you know how this system works?”
Me: “I’m afraid not no, I’m only the afterhours operator.”
SC: “Oh….well, do you know how the sales work in the system?”
Did I not just answer that question? No, I do not. Stop asking me the same question. You are not trying to bypass some sort of technicality here. There isn’t a “correct” way to make this inquiry. Rewording the question does not mean you will suddenly be granted to some sort of knowledge trove I possess. The reason I am denying you is because I possess no such trove.
I Smell Gritty Reboot
Me: “Will this be by credit card or COD?”
SC: “My parents have my card. Can you just like, hold it? And I’ll call back later with it?”
No, no I cannot. We already grant considerable leeway with the “Hey you have 2 weeks to save up the money you’d normal use to buy beer before your order arrives” approach. However, we do not grant telephone layaway. I realize the raging desire for tasteless clothing and ridiculous t-shirts writhes through your blood like fire. But you’re going to have to wrest control of this demon within you. At least until you actually have some means with which to pay for your fix.
The path you walk is a dangerous and difficult one. But I warn you. Do not give in to it. Should we hear of a string of unexplained, grisly murders in the north lands where all of the victims have been liberated of their pants. We will send Buffy. Not the slayer, mind you. She’s actually a shipping clerk. But do not underestimate her.
Protip
Hello, Mr Granville Street Busker! You seem rather depressed? Why is that? Oh, I see, there is no change in your guitar case yet. Well, perhaps I can help you out there! No, silly, not by actually giving you money. But just by giving you a little pointer: See, I think I know why your case is empty. While you have gone all out with speakers and an amp for your guitar. The inherent problem here is that when you stopped playing your guitar to take a drink of water, the guitar music kept playing.
I’m sure if you just fix this tiny little flaw in your otherwise damn fine plan, you might actually get some change in that case.
Adorable Pests
C: “Hi, I called a little while ago about rats!”
Me: “Alright?”
C: “Well they’re not rats….THEY’RE KITTENS!”
Me: “………”
C: “<whisper> They’re in the couch.”
….o….kay…..you.....think you have……..kittens in the house….? You’ll excuse me if I back away slowly and try not to make any sudden movements.
C: “They’re all in this couch. So I’m going to get rid of this couch. Because I missing running board and tile pieces. That’s how they’re getting around the house without being seen.”
Me: "........"
C: "They're eating my computer."
You seriously believe you have a kitten infestation? And that they’re somehow scurrying through your walls unseen? Tell me something…is there some sort of daily medication you’re supposed to be taking that might have forgotten about this morning? Or conversely, perhaps have taken the entire bottle of?
I asked the building's maintenance guy about this tenant and his…..kitten problems, and the maintenance guy assured me a “mental health van” was already on the way to address the situation. Thus confirming the only possible explanation for this entire scenario.
Argh!
Me: “Alright, what size?”
SC: “uh.....I don’t know.”
…I didn’t really hear that. You did not just say that. It was merely my brain thinking it heard it.
Me: “er…sorry, what size?”
SC: “uummm....how do I find out?”
Right, that’s it. I have had enough of your desperate intellectual wheezing! You are not qualified to buy a T-SHIRT. Seriously. Shut up, take a moment, sit there and think about that for a few minutes. You are not smart enough to purchase a fscking t-shirt. How is that even possible!? I have had it! No more! If your postal code starts with “X” you are now officially disqualified from ever attempting to purchase clothing from me ever again.
Its painfully obvious you simply cannot handle the complexity or responsibility involved in clothing yourself. Which begs the desperate question how did you even survive this long if you can’t figure out clothes? Are you, as we speak, snuggly tucked into the still warm entrails of a walrus belly? Using the thick layers of blubber on your personal arctic Wampa to shield you from the cold and wind?
How have you survived this long? How?!
ARGH!
Me: “And which catalog would you like to order from?”
SC: “<mumbles product number>”
Me: “Alright, but which catalog is that in? Summer or spring for example?”
SC: “Summer.”
Me: “Summer? You have a summer catalog?”
SC: “No.”
Me: “er, which catalog do you have then?”
SC: “No.”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “Which catalog are you looking in, please?”
SC: “<page number>.”
Me: “But in which catalog?”
SC: “<product number>”
Me: “Alright, can you please look at the back cover of the catalog and tell me the catalog number at the bottom?”
SC: “<product number>”
Me: “No no, can you please look at the back cover of the catalog and please tell me what the catalog number is at the bottom?”
SC: “<furious page flipping> <sniff>”
Me: “……..”
SC: “<sniff> <page flipping>”
Are you….are you crying? Oh, for fuck SAKES! First the shirt guy and now you’re crying over the catalog number? What the hell is wrong with you people?!
Me: “………”
SC: “<page flipping> <sniff> I can’t find it.”
It’s not that hard! ITS ON THE GOD DAMN BACK COVER! Stop sniffling! If anyone should be weeping here, it’s me.
.....sigh
SC: "Our system is down! Tell one of your techs to log-in and fix it ASAP!!!"
Me: "......"
Very well, your bleet is my command.
( 5 minutes later )
SC: "I can't log into the system! ONE OF YOUR TECHS IS LOGGED IN! TELL HIM TO GET OFF!"
Me: "........"
Fucking cause & effect, how do they work?
annnnd rest.....for the moment.
....wha?
SC: “Do you guys sell direct or only install yourself?”
Me: “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know, I’m their message desk for afterhours. You’ll have to speak with them during office hours.”
SC: “Ok. Thanks a lot, you FOB. <click>”
I…wait, what did you call me? I’ll admit I don’t tend to keep up to date on all the various derogatory terms. Let me Google that one and….wait, “Fresh Off the Boat”? ….seriously? I…I don’t even know what to say to that. I’ve been called many, many things over the years on shift but that’s a new one. Where exactly do you think I’m from? New Whitebread?
I fully admit in the past I have had both a Maritime and at one point even a bit of a French Canadien accent. However, both of those have long since been quelled. And even if either one was re-emerging somehow, they are both still parts of Canada you know and did not require a boat to travel to Vancouver from. Unless you think I somehow sailed here across the mighty Alberta Sea?
Besides, you're Chinese. ><
Honesty is the Best Policy
Me: “Are you calling to book a room?”
C: “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Thank you. Such breathless honesty is exquisitely rare on my shift. Bless you and your utterly confused little heart. If only more callers would just admit that straight up front instead of forcing me to figure it out on my own with ever increasing dread over the course of a call.
No, no you didn't
SC: “Yeah, I was walking around the Internets and-”
Hold that thought a moment. I would just like to make a quick point in the hopes of sparing you further embarrassment at the hands of your children and everyone else under the age of 35. You do not “walk around” the Internet. That statement tells me everything about your current level of technological expertise as well as what your children think of you. ( Hint: They think you’re lame and fear a future of having to program your holodisk player for you. ).
But I am nothing if not merciful. So I shall adept to help you here somewhat. To begin with, you do not “walk” the Internet. You “Browse” it. You also do not “start up” a search engine. You “use” it. And at no point should “Internet”, “Facebook” or “Twitter” ever be used as a plural.
If Only You Were Honest
SC: “Yeah, it’s Frank again. The pain in the ass.”
Hello, Frank again. I sincerely wish you had been as up front as my previous caller there. It took you what? 6 hours and 15 calls to finally admit you were a pain in the ass? If I had known you were going to be a pain in the ass from the get go I could have braced myself and worked more feverishly to ensure you became someone else’s problem. But no, you had to try and hide this fact and let me discover it on my own. This is why you need to be honest and upfront right from the get go. The faster you can make me not want to deal with you anymore, the faster I’m likely to try and find someone else to deal with you. It would be a win/win scenario.
But alas, acceptance is always the first and most difficult step.
Alas, I Cannot
Me: “And the credit card number please?”
SC: “Before that, can you explain why I’m buying these lottery tickets?”
Believe me, I've been trying to explain that for farkin' years and frankly I am no where closer to an answer now than I was back then. So I think you’re out of luck on this particular philosophical inquiry. I have several theories, mind you. However, most of them involve addiction problems, substance abuse or Leprechauns. Or any combination of the three.
Oh.....Canada
Ah, yes. Canada Day. A day when we as a nation gather to revel it our nation’s anniversary. Apparently, we do this by piling onto the Skytrain drunk, stoned and stupid. Though I am willing to accept the smarter amongst us wisely chose to drive or are already at home. And I am merely a victim of circumstance in that I must use public transit to reach the office at this most unfortunate hour.
On that note, I would like to make a few recommendations to my fellow transit riders this evening:
To the girl in the acutely hideous florescent blue sweatshirt whining “Omigawd there’s no seats, I need a seat, I’m pregnant!” then wondering why no one is giving you a seat. Two things really: First of all, it’s Canada Day, so everyone is heading downtown. There hasn’t been a free seat since Royal Oak. You got on at Broadway. You’re lucky there’s breathing room, never mind a seat. Second of all, being Canadian, most of us would love to politely give our seat to you in your supposedly current condition. However, the fact you’re clutching a beer in your free hand undermines your claims.
To the two guys at the end of the car: I know this is BC and all, but could you please stop trying to hotbox the Skytrain?
To the idiot that sat in front of me, and his miscellaneous barnacle like cohorts: Please stop using "nigger" as a comma. Its not cool to begin with, and it is certainly not cool when delivered with a thick Punjabi accent. Also, if your friend reaches over me to mess around with the window and shoves his armpit in my face again. I may break him, and then you simply by proxy. Do not doubt me, I work in customer service. My heart has long since dulled to cries for mercy.
Again, to blue sweatshirt supposedly pregnant beer girl: Nice attempt at flirting with armpit guy. I assume your plan was to use a Skytrain lurch to fall delicately into his arms by “accident”. Unfortunately, you spilled your beer on him when you did this and his laughably tasteless shirt probably cost half a month’s rent. He does not appear to like you. Granted, he has 4 friends with him. If you turn slightly to the right, you can take another shot at it.
To whomever triggered the intrusion alarm at Royal Oak: You sir, are a jackass of the utmost caliber and I fervently wish the Skytrain attendants were actually in good enough shape to get up the stairs in time to catch you. But alas, they sent the Michelin Man to check the track and he required a rest break at the top of the steps before beginning to inspect the track.
Blue Beer Girl: Congratulations on turning slightly to the right and just hitting on the next guy in the group. He seems thrilled. But worry not, should this fail there’s a few left yet. Surely one of them has low enough standards!
To absolutely everyone on the Skytrain that thought “I’ll be smart! Granville will be really busy so I’ll get off at Burrard instead!”. I, and everyone else actually getting off at Granville, now officially hate you without compromise. Not because you think you’re smart, but because you seem remarkably confused when people started shouldering you out of the way after the 4th “Excuse me” did not lodge you and your bison like herd from directly in front of every Skytrain door. The absolute obliviousness you displayed caused me some surprise that no one simply shoved you out the Skytrain door entirely while you were busy looking bewildered as to why people behind you seemed to want to get to the door.
On the upside, it did give me an excuse to shove armpit guy out of my way.
No.
SC: “Do you know how this system works?”
Me: “I’m afraid not no, I’m only the afterhours operator.”
SC: “Oh….well, do you know how the sales work in the system?”
Did I not just answer that question? No, I do not. Stop asking me the same question. You are not trying to bypass some sort of technicality here. There isn’t a “correct” way to make this inquiry. Rewording the question does not mean you will suddenly be granted to some sort of knowledge trove I possess. The reason I am denying you is because I possess no such trove.
I Smell Gritty Reboot
Me: “Will this be by credit card or COD?”
SC: “My parents have my card. Can you just like, hold it? And I’ll call back later with it?”
No, no I cannot. We already grant considerable leeway with the “Hey you have 2 weeks to save up the money you’d normal use to buy beer before your order arrives” approach. However, we do not grant telephone layaway. I realize the raging desire for tasteless clothing and ridiculous t-shirts writhes through your blood like fire. But you’re going to have to wrest control of this demon within you. At least until you actually have some means with which to pay for your fix.
The path you walk is a dangerous and difficult one. But I warn you. Do not give in to it. Should we hear of a string of unexplained, grisly murders in the north lands where all of the victims have been liberated of their pants. We will send Buffy. Not the slayer, mind you. She’s actually a shipping clerk. But do not underestimate her.
Protip
Hello, Mr Granville Street Busker! You seem rather depressed? Why is that? Oh, I see, there is no change in your guitar case yet. Well, perhaps I can help you out there! No, silly, not by actually giving you money. But just by giving you a little pointer: See, I think I know why your case is empty. While you have gone all out with speakers and an amp for your guitar. The inherent problem here is that when you stopped playing your guitar to take a drink of water, the guitar music kept playing.
I’m sure if you just fix this tiny little flaw in your otherwise damn fine plan, you might actually get some change in that case.
Adorable Pests
C: “Hi, I called a little while ago about rats!”
Me: “Alright?”
C: “Well they’re not rats….THEY’RE KITTENS!”
Me: “………”
C: “<whisper> They’re in the couch.”
….o….kay…..you.....think you have……..kittens in the house….? You’ll excuse me if I back away slowly and try not to make any sudden movements.
C: “They’re all in this couch. So I’m going to get rid of this couch. Because I missing running board and tile pieces. That’s how they’re getting around the house without being seen.”
Me: "........"
C: "They're eating my computer."
You seriously believe you have a kitten infestation? And that they’re somehow scurrying through your walls unseen? Tell me something…is there some sort of daily medication you’re supposed to be taking that might have forgotten about this morning? Or conversely, perhaps have taken the entire bottle of?
I asked the building's maintenance guy about this tenant and his…..kitten problems, and the maintenance guy assured me a “mental health van” was already on the way to address the situation. Thus confirming the only possible explanation for this entire scenario.
Argh!
Me: “Alright, what size?”
SC: “uh.....I don’t know.”
…I didn’t really hear that. You did not just say that. It was merely my brain thinking it heard it.
Me: “er…sorry, what size?”
SC: “uummm....how do I find out?”
Right, that’s it. I have had enough of your desperate intellectual wheezing! You are not qualified to buy a T-SHIRT. Seriously. Shut up, take a moment, sit there and think about that for a few minutes. You are not smart enough to purchase a fscking t-shirt. How is that even possible!? I have had it! No more! If your postal code starts with “X” you are now officially disqualified from ever attempting to purchase clothing from me ever again.
Its painfully obvious you simply cannot handle the complexity or responsibility involved in clothing yourself. Which begs the desperate question how did you even survive this long if you can’t figure out clothes? Are you, as we speak, snuggly tucked into the still warm entrails of a walrus belly? Using the thick layers of blubber on your personal arctic Wampa to shield you from the cold and wind?
How have you survived this long? How?!
ARGH!
Me: “And which catalog would you like to order from?”
SC: “<mumbles product number>”
Me: “Alright, but which catalog is that in? Summer or spring for example?”
SC: “Summer.”
Me: “Summer? You have a summer catalog?”
SC: “No.”
Me: “er, which catalog do you have then?”
SC: “No.”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “Which catalog are you looking in, please?”
SC: “<page number>.”
Me: “But in which catalog?”
SC: “<product number>”
Me: “Alright, can you please look at the back cover of the catalog and tell me the catalog number at the bottom?”
SC: “<product number>”
Me: “No no, can you please look at the back cover of the catalog and please tell me what the catalog number is at the bottom?”
SC: “<furious page flipping> <sniff>”
Me: “……..”
SC: “<sniff> <page flipping>”
Are you….are you crying? Oh, for fuck SAKES! First the shirt guy and now you’re crying over the catalog number? What the hell is wrong with you people?!
Me: “………”
SC: “<page flipping> <sniff> I can’t find it.”
It’s not that hard! ITS ON THE GOD DAMN BACK COVER! Stop sniffling! If anyone should be weeping here, it’s me.
.....sigh
SC: "Our system is down! Tell one of your techs to log-in and fix it ASAP!!!"
Me: "......"
Very well, your bleet is my command.
( 5 minutes later )
SC: "I can't log into the system! ONE OF YOUR TECHS IS LOGGED IN! TELL HIM TO GET OFF!"
Me: "........"
Fucking cause & effect, how do they work?
annnnd rest.....for the moment.
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