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Let Me Tell You How I Really Feel
I am officially on vacation now, so my tales will come to an end for the next few weeks. As I plan to do little else except lay around the house, making an odd noise. This will be my first vacation in over a year in a half, and thats only if I include the medical leave I had to take last year. So as you can imagine, I am pretty much at the limits of physical exhaustion what with night shift and all. The list of symptoms for long term stress reads like a checklist for me, presently. >.>
As we've been down a graveyard man at work, I've been unable to book off or even take sick days for the last several months ( and I have been damn sick at a few points ). So I've pretty much just been grinding down to a halt. Hence I have not been around on the boards much beyond a weekly check in lately. For which I apologize.
But I am free now, however briefly. Yet they did not let me go without a fight. Brace thyselves.
Curse You, Internet
Me: "Good evening, <company> tech support, how may I help you?"
SC: “Is this the <some random hotel>?”
I believe I have already answered this question.
Me: “No, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “Oh, can you tell me how to drive to the <some random hotel> from the airport?”
Gah! Th…wha….what happened? Why is my nose bleeding? The last thing I remember was….right, that’s it. You said something so amazingly stupid I think trying to comprehend it actually caused me to black out momentarily. I must have burst a blood vessel in my head. I mean, wow, that was a stupid question. You know that right? Now that you’ve had a moment to think you realize that was really one of the stupidest things you could have said in this situation?
I mean, I’ve gotten a lot of stupid questions with wrong numbers, but that one takes the cake. You didn’t ask me what the right number is, you asked me where the right number is. Where. Where. You’re betting on a completely unrelated random stranger knowing physically where the place you’re trying to call is and being able to guide you there via motorvehicle. How could you possibly expect me to know that? I know I said “<company> tech support” when I picked up the phone. Not “Professor Xavier” or “Madame Cleo”. On top of that you called a 1-800 number. So you don’t even have an area code with which you might at least ascertain my country and state/province and perhaps surmise I might know.
SC: “Because I got this number from their website.”
Oh, well then. If the Internet said so it must be true. Stupid me, thinking I worked in a call centre this whole time when in fact I’m sitting at the front desk of a hotel. It’s such an easy mistake to make. The two are so similar, after all.
Time Out
Me: “And your name please?”
SC: “Uh…..Lis…Mary.”
Me: “M-a-r-y?”
SC: “Marie”
Me: “M-a-r-i-e?”
SC: “M-a-r-r-e-e…..uh….M-a-r-i-e? ...M-A....wait....um”
Tell you what. Why don’t you take a time out, go back to the bench and huddle with your team. Once you’ve managed to figure out what your own name is and how to spell it, we’ll resume play. Fair enough?
Klaatu Barada Nikto
Me: "Good evening, <web host>"
SC: “Yeah, I’m looking for a book called the Necronomicon.”
….Well that was absolutely the last thing I expected you to say. But seriously though…the Necronomicon? Like….Elder Gods, Cthulu Necronomicon? Entities so powerful and terrible that their very existence is beyond our comprehension and to look upon them is to know true madness? That Necronomicon? I wasn’t aware you could just, you know, phone around for something like that.
Me: “You’ve got the wrong number.”
SC: “You sure, because I looked it up on a website.”
Oh, well, I mean if there’s any place to find a legitimate ancient grimoire full of dark secrets and rituals about summoning vast ancient evils it’s on the Internet via a Google search. I mean, let’s be realistic here, this isn’t really the sort of book that you could just walk into a Chapters fo-ok scratch that, Chapters has it in stock. 34% off too.
Hmph.
Hot Tips: Thelma & Louise
SC: “I would like to know helpful things from your phone number.”
Oh, hello there! I don't think I've spoken with you before. You must be a new! Please, come in. Make yourself at home. The club is always looking for new members, despite my desperate objections.
SC: “And that is, stopping someone from using my mind without my consent.”
Your...mind? Like...another of your personalities? I don’t think I can really help you there. That’s probably a job for severe medication and arm restraints. But hey, the more you call, the closer you'll get to them. So by all means.
SC: "You helped her niece take advantage of me and I don’t want you to ever do that again.”
“You” as in me personally? Because I don’t recall assisting "her" relatives in any way. But if it’ll make you feel better: Sure, I’ll never do it again. Happy? Cross my heart. Honest.
SC: “And I want to know how to stop them from using tazer weapons.”
…Alright? I mean, its not that I don’t believe somebody wouldn’t have a cause to tazer you. In fact I imagine it occurs with some frequency. But that’s not exactly something I can assist you with.
SC: “or experimental meds”
In its defence, Thorazine technically isn’t experimental.
SC: “Or words that make Louise happy.”
T…wait, what? Louise? Whose Louise? Is that the other personality?
SC: “Or her husband happy.”
Your other personality is married too? Man, his life must be….interesting.
STOP
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “*BEEEEP* Yes.”
Me: “What is your name please?”
SC: “Yeah, I gonna order dis. Do I just give you the number?”
Me: “Can I have your name first, please?”
SC: “*BEEEP* Z *BEEP BEEP*”
Stop DIALING. You don’t need to dial anymore. The call has been completed. You are successful. Take your greasy fingers off the keypad. It is no longer required. You need only speak now and answer the questions I put forth to you. Regardless of how entertaining you may find them, the buttons on the phone are no longer required. Please, restrain yourself.
Me: “Your name, please?”
SC: “Name?”
Me: “Yes”
SC: “An-BEEP”
Me: “Sorry, what was that?”
SC: “A-N-D *BEEP* BEEP BEEP BEEP”
Stop it. Stop dialing. Get your hand away from the phone.
SC: “S-P-A-N*BEEP* BEEP BEEP BEEP”
STOP. DIALING.
Me: “What is yo*BEEP* your phone number please?”
SC: “xxx-xxx-xxxx”
Me: “So xxx-BEEPx BEEP BEEP”
Why do you do this?!
Me: “Is there a box number?”
SC: “It’s b*BEEP* *BEEP*”
<SOB>
Me: "What was that again?"
SC: "BEEP Box xxBEEP"
Me: "I'm sorry, I can't hear you over that noise."
SC: "Oh...uh....sorry."
....."sorry"? You were doing that on purpose? Dude, what the hell? I...jus....what? Why? Why would you do that? What dark force is compelling you? Are the buttons shiny?
No, No We Don't
SC: "Ya'll have any sales goin' on?!"
Me: "We do have 20-40% off on most items on our website right now."
SC: "No no, thats your normal sale. I mean on top of that."
.....on...top of that? I think 20-40% off normally $300-400 jackets and coats is remarkably generous. And you want a sale on top of that?
SC: “C'mon man, it’s Black Friday, ya’ll GOTTA have a sale!”
....Ahhh, I see. Now the desperate stench of entitlement makes more sense. Right, two things here, Skippy. First of all, Black Friday is an American construct and its raging insanity does not apply to the rest of us.
Second of all, I have never heard a more compelling reason to not do something than “ya’ll gotta have”.
Alas, Poor Rocky
SC: “Our lights just went out. A squirrel got up in da thang”
First of all, you have the wrong number. Second of all, you lights are out because a squirrel got up in “da thang”? That’s rather ambiguous. I assume “da thang” is something to do with a utility pole and “got up” means the squirrel has performed heinous damage to the equipment.
SC: "He's smokin' on the driveway now."
...I'm not entirely sure what to say to that. Breakfast?
My Penis Betrays Me
( also, yay for bizzarre reverse sexism! )
SC: “Usually when I get a woman she knows more about these things.”
Let me be the first to offer my sincere apologies for having testicles. Clearly they are inferring with my capability to tell you what “kind of grey” the colour “Dove” is. It is grey. If you notice, we have 6 shades and hues of grey. Dove is our default grey. The neutral grey. It is not a kind of grey, it is grey. It has merely been given a fancy name to impress morons such as yourself. The other 5 shades are variants of grey ranging from light grey to dark grey to blue grey to brown grey to charcoal. If "Grey" truly bothers you, I can consult a Thesaurus to find a term more to your liking. But I should point out that they already did something like this by calling it Dove.
I must also apologize for my inability to tell you whether or not it would be “pretty” with your dress. I always thought whether or not something is “pretty” was a subjective judgment. And to answer such a question I foolishly believed I might actually need to see the dress in question. But as you have pointed out, my gender must have rendered my Fashion Clairvoyance inert.
Also, I must apologize as it seems my gender is preventing me from being able to tell you if it “shimmers” in the light. Unfortunately, being born with the cruel, dull yoke of masculinity has caused me to not have the foresight to keep fabric samples of every single colour on our colour chart right here on my desk in front of me. So that I may examine their inherent prettiness and light refracting properties. Considering the weather and my gender, I also neglected to wear a dress to work with which I could compare the fabric in order to gauge prettiness. Truly, my lack of crossdressing and ownership of a velvety sack of boy marbles has failed you and for that I am sorry.
Though if I may offer a small rebuttal: You fully admit you are looking at the same colour chart I am with the dress in hand…..and yet are unable to answer any of these questions either. So perhaps these are truly mysteries of the world and not meant to answered by mortals such as ourselves.
Also, it’s grey.
BEAR HUNTER RANGERS
They’re out there again. Those…people. On public transit. I witnessed a spectacle this evening that is difficult to comprehend let alone describe. But I shall valiantly try none the less. This evenings oddness began when a group of…let us say marinated individuals boarded the train. Destination: Granville! ( Gah. ). I much prefer Broadway bound lunatics as at least I can get rid of them faster. Granville bound means putting up with their idiocy the entire way downtown.
I’m not entirely sure how to describe them aside from the fact the only difference between them and a group of starving primates on the Discovery channel is that primates do not speak English. Other than that the behavior, gestures and dialogue were largely identical. Over the course of this painfully long trip downtown I bore witness to several events:
1. At one point, for no reason I can ascertain, one of them began sniffing another’s armpits. Deeply.
2. 4 separate attempts were made over the course of the trip to pry the Skytrain doors open while the train was moving. This blatant, feverish attempt to essentially kill himself was cheered on by the rest of the group.
3. Pole dancing. Hairy, drunk, frat boy pole dancing. In motion.
4. At one point one of the most bizarre things I have ever seen on public transit occurred as the lot of them suddenly began some sort of….game? Ritual? Obviously the rules had been hashed out in advance as they all seemed to know exactly how to take part and what constituted a win or a loss. From what I gathered based on my horrified observations: Everyone gets in a circle, with their backs to each other. Then bends over and everyone sticks their butts together. At this point everyone involved must scream, at the top of their lungs “BEAR HUNTER RANGERS GO!”. When everyone gets to “GO!” then they all have to jump and spin around to face each other. Whomever can jump up and spin around the fastest is the “winner”. Of what exactly I’m not sure. But he seemed quite ecstatic and declared himself the “Bear Hunter Ranger Champion” and screamed in triumph at the top of his lungs….for some time.
5. 2 separate attempts were made to hold the Skytrain doors shut as it stopped at a station. This was met with physical violence by other passengers. This did not deter their attempts at the following station.
6. After arriving at Granville, where I had to physically shoulder them out of the way to stop them from holding the doors closed….again, they proceeded to have a lengthy argument over whether or not this was even their stop. This argument was conducted while holding the doors open and thus holding the entire train at Granville. While I did not remain on the scene long, I’m sure the transit police found this situation quite entertaining.
Though, I must admit I was amused by one small bit of irony. There was a single female in this group who, after taking quite willing part in all of the above stupidity, actually told the rest of them to “grow up” when one of them tickled her. So, tickling is childish. Yet Butt Bear Rangers is a game for mature, sophisticated adults.
Curse You, Internet. Again.
Me: “Good morning, <web host>, how may I help you?”
SC: “I’m hoping that you can help me.”
I'm honestly hoping I can't just so I can inject further dissappoint into your life.
SC: “I ordered a pair of Ugg boots online.”
There seems to be a rather large disconnect between what I actually said and what you apparently think I said. Unless there’s a clothing outlet somewhere that hosts websites on the side.
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “Well, you charged my credit card.”
It seems I must once again make a very important distinction. We did not charge your card. You know you have the wrong number, therefore we are not the culprit in this tragic crime. To accuse us of such despite being informed flat out you are speaking with the wrong person and have made an error is not just silly, it is possibly a symptom of dementia. We did not charge your card. However, we do recommend a consultation with your personal health practitioner for possible treatments.
Please Dial Correctly
Me: “Good evening, <real estate office>, how may I help you?”
SC: “Hi…..um….taxi?”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “uhhh….38865?”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “Huh?”
Me: “You’ve called the wrong number.”
SC: “Wrong number?”
Me: “Yes”
SC: “Uh….”
Why is dialing the wrong number the hardest thing in the world for some people to accept? Just a plain, simple wrong number. Hardest thing in the world. Screw opposing political views, different religions and human rights. The hardest thing in the world for anyone to accept is, apparently, the fact that they have made an error while touching a telephone.
Where this amazing overconfidence comes from I’m not entirely sure. I’ve classically found that people holding phones make many, many grievous errors on a regular basis. It’s not like there’s any sort of track record to inspire such confidence.
Please Dial Correctly II
Me: “Good evening, <real estate office>, how may I help you?”
SC: “Hi……one taxi please?”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “Wrong number?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “Can I get one to <address>?”
Me: “You’re calling the wrong number.”
SC: “Uhh…..”
You’re moving from the realm of overconfidence to dangerous self delusion. I’m not sure why this is so difficult for you to wrap your mind around. You’re calling the wrong number. You have made an error. Yes, you. Even you can make a mistake once in a while in what I am sure is otherwise a life wrought with unparallelled perfection and glory.
Please Dial Correctly III
Me: “Good evening, <real estate office>, how may I help you?”
SC: “Is this a taxi?”
Me: “No.”
SC: “Oh, no? Ok, sorry about that, wrong number.”
At first you might think “Hallelujah! Even a blind pig finds a truffle once in a while!”. Except this is a different guy who is obviously a friend of the first guy. He probably wandered over after wondering what the heck was taking so long to get a cab. Only to discover the sad, confused tragedy that is friend. Clinging to the phone and the sobbing.
...Why?
SC: “Yeah, can you cancel the order I just placed? I don’t know what my son wants.”
Then…why….did you place the order? I do not understand. You have placed the cart before the mule and are expecting the mule to push it. Uphill. I do not know if you know this but carts are meant to be pulled and mules become displeased when instructed to push things. They become displeased when instructed to pull things too but they can’t run away without pulling the cart with them so it works out anyhow.
Story Time!
SC: “I’m up you know because I always watch a program. Try to watch a program at 1 on Saturday night. And so I had dozed off in my chair. Then I thought boy, it’s really cold. There must be something wrong with me. So I just felt the heaters and the heat had gone off.”
A simple “The heat isn’t working” would have sufficed. I did not require nor request Story Time.
Make Sense?
You’re going to have to be a tad more descriptive than the “toilet puller broke”. Now, logically, or at least desperately you might arrive at the conclusion that our confused caller is referring to the toilet handle. You would be mistaken. She is referring to the toilet’s swirling suction. As in, literally, the “pull” of the toilet water has “broken”. Hence the “toilet puller” has failed her.
Got it?
A Well Trodden Path
SC: “What do you do?”
Me: “We sell domain names on the Internet.”
SC: “…uh….what does that mean?”
It means you have the wrong number. Like many who have come before you.
Story.....Time?
SC: “Yeah, I phoned a little while ago and no heat. And there’s still no heat."
Oh, hello again. Is it Story Time again? Oh boy! Wait wait, lemme get my popcorn and my Snuggie.
SC: “We had quite a good run of luck with the boiler. It lasted us years. But when they spent all that money on that stupid environmental footprint thing. Which I think is a lot of BS.”
Oh, here we go! Story Time!
SC: “This so called environmental bit. Different light bulbs and stuff for people that worship the environment instead of the Lord God Almighty that they should worship. If you know what I mean and the real meaning of Christmas and the Lord and that.”
I….ye…ok, I don’t think I like this story. I was expecting something a bit more warm and fuzzy.
SC: “We’re all victims of Al Gore!”
…Alrighty then. I don’t suppose we could change the channel could we? I mean, this movie is getting kinda creepy.
SC: “Can’t buy a nice red light bulb to make it look warm and cozy.”
…..red light bulb? You sit there at 1am bathed in red light to watch your “program”? What were you watching? Saw 4?
SC: “They’ve all been brainwashed into that!”
By Al Gore? I think you’re vastly overestimating his power. If he was truly as powerful as you surmise, he wouldn’t have been the just vice president. We would all be living under his dark, cruel yoke. And Man Bear Pig would have been safetly secured years ago.
SC: “You must have heard about it. That’s what happening to everybody. Just like the light bulbs in 2012. You can’t buy the regular light bulbs anymore. If you want a nice soft red one to make a warm glow. We’re having to change everything to less energy! That’s what it’s all about! They’re renovating the building that way. Then they put a big sign out that says we're enviromentally friendly and that makes it a ghetto!”
Energy efficient = Ghetto. Right, got it. Only crack heads live around windmills and meth goes hand in hand with hybrid vehicles. See those Smart Cars around town? All crack dealers. Peddling their wares with Energy Star certifications. I mean, lemme tell you man, you have not tripped the good shit till you've sorted it off a lithium-ion battery array.
Me: “Excuse me?”
SC: “All the neighbours know we live in a ghetto!”
Me: “Excuse me?”
SC “I told the manager I didn’t like it. She said it was no disgrace to live in an energy effecient building!”
Me: “Excuse me?”
SC: “But to me I said why don’t YOU try it!”
Alllllright, I think it’s about time we wrap this story up and back away slowly without making eye contact.
An Open Letter To The Far Reaches
I must get something off my chest. Desperately. For the many, many years I have endured suffering at the hands of those who would have pants. I must vent if I am to truly achieve the nirvana of vacation.
I know it comes off as humourous, my many trials and tribulations with this particular line, but what you likely don't realise is that I'm typically writing up at least half the calls I get on it. And at least 80% of them are at frustrating as all hell. Only a tiny portion of calls on this line are actually acceptable within the confines of common sense and human decency. The rest, not so much. Even if they are not worthy of being documented in my trials.
And I grow weary of it.
So first of all, to all of you who over the years have badgered me for clothes at godforesaken hours of the night: &@$^ you. No seriously, (@$& you running. My God, you people are by far, consistently the worst group of customers I deal with on a nightly basis. Without peer. It is amazing.
It's not just the raw, unbridled stupidity either. I could deal with that, if it was that alone. But the constant total lack of common sense. The complete and total lack of any sort of preperation. Never knowing what you want to order. Never knowing what size or colour you want it in. And consistently being surprised when I ask you.
The constant uphill struggle to just retrieve basic information from you that you should know. That I knew when I was 5. How do you not know where you are and who you are? Why must I constantly argue with you over how many digits there are in a phone number? Why do you respond to a request for a postal code like I just asked you to calculate PI to final decimal?
Heck, why are you even calling at this hour? I mean, seriously. I know the order line is 24 hours. I accept that. That's fine. I know "Hey I'm awake, I guess I'll get this done" does occur. But you consistently call at godforesaken hours all night every night. You don't even call during the day. I know, I've checked. My shift is the busiest shift.
And why are your kids awake? I don't mean like bigger kids either. There's always 3-5 children from the age of 4-7 rampaging in the background at 3-4am screeching and the top of their lungs. On school nights. Consistently. At least half my calls have this enjoyable background ambience.
And how is ordering clothes a family ritual? You literally seem to get together then pass the catalog around with everyone taking a turn calling to order. Half my calls come in groups with the same last name sometimes all to the same address. It wouldn't be so silly if every one of you didn't insist on placing a seperate order racking up an extra $400 in shipping fees amongst the lot of you. The shipping rate is a flat fee you know. You could get *everything* for $50 in shipping. Or everyone could just pay an extra $50 themselves instead of an extra $5. But I guess a single large order would require you to do math.
And for Christ sakes, at least make sure you're sober before you call. I also don't know how getting drunk/high and ordering pants became a form of entertainment for you. At least 40% of you are calling me drunk and/or high.
But finally, finally, the one thing above all else. I could deal with the stupidity, the intoxication and all of that if not for this one singular thing: You have no fucking manners to speak of. None. At all. Period. Not even the most basic, common deceny. You never say please, you never, ever, ever fucking say thank you. EVER. I wish I was exagerrating but I average one thank you a month from you people. There is never the slightest shred of manners from you. You don't acknowledge I'm a human being at the end of the call. You literally just hang up once I confirm your fscking pants are on their way. You hang up on me. No "Great, thanks" or "Thank you" or even an "Ok, great". Just <click>.
So in closing, one again, I would like to say: Fuck. You. Running.
<deep breath> Ok, I'm a bit better now.
Not Anymore
SC: “Are you real?”
Yes, but only for…let’s see, 24 more minutes. Then I stop being a CSR and turn back into a pumpkin.
annnd rest. For quite some time. -.-
As we've been down a graveyard man at work, I've been unable to book off or even take sick days for the last several months ( and I have been damn sick at a few points ). So I've pretty much just been grinding down to a halt. Hence I have not been around on the boards much beyond a weekly check in lately. For which I apologize.
But I am free now, however briefly. Yet they did not let me go without a fight. Brace thyselves.
Curse You, Internet
Me: "Good evening, <company> tech support, how may I help you?"
SC: “Is this the <some random hotel>?”
I believe I have already answered this question.
Me: “No, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “Oh, can you tell me how to drive to the <some random hotel> from the airport?”
Gah! Th…wha….what happened? Why is my nose bleeding? The last thing I remember was….right, that’s it. You said something so amazingly stupid I think trying to comprehend it actually caused me to black out momentarily. I must have burst a blood vessel in my head. I mean, wow, that was a stupid question. You know that right? Now that you’ve had a moment to think you realize that was really one of the stupidest things you could have said in this situation?
I mean, I’ve gotten a lot of stupid questions with wrong numbers, but that one takes the cake. You didn’t ask me what the right number is, you asked me where the right number is. Where. Where. You’re betting on a completely unrelated random stranger knowing physically where the place you’re trying to call is and being able to guide you there via motorvehicle. How could you possibly expect me to know that? I know I said “<company> tech support” when I picked up the phone. Not “Professor Xavier” or “Madame Cleo”. On top of that you called a 1-800 number. So you don’t even have an area code with which you might at least ascertain my country and state/province and perhaps surmise I might know.
SC: “Because I got this number from their website.”
Oh, well then. If the Internet said so it must be true. Stupid me, thinking I worked in a call centre this whole time when in fact I’m sitting at the front desk of a hotel. It’s such an easy mistake to make. The two are so similar, after all.
Time Out
Me: “And your name please?”
SC: “Uh…..Lis…Mary.”
Me: “M-a-r-y?”
SC: “Marie”
Me: “M-a-r-i-e?”
SC: “M-a-r-r-e-e…..uh….M-a-r-i-e? ...M-A....wait....um”
Tell you what. Why don’t you take a time out, go back to the bench and huddle with your team. Once you’ve managed to figure out what your own name is and how to spell it, we’ll resume play. Fair enough?
Klaatu Barada Nikto
Me: "Good evening, <web host>"
SC: “Yeah, I’m looking for a book called the Necronomicon.”
….Well that was absolutely the last thing I expected you to say. But seriously though…the Necronomicon? Like….Elder Gods, Cthulu Necronomicon? Entities so powerful and terrible that their very existence is beyond our comprehension and to look upon them is to know true madness? That Necronomicon? I wasn’t aware you could just, you know, phone around for something like that.
Me: “You’ve got the wrong number.”
SC: “You sure, because I looked it up on a website.”
Oh, well, I mean if there’s any place to find a legitimate ancient grimoire full of dark secrets and rituals about summoning vast ancient evils it’s on the Internet via a Google search. I mean, let’s be realistic here, this isn’t really the sort of book that you could just walk into a Chapters fo-ok scratch that, Chapters has it in stock. 34% off too.
Hmph.
Hot Tips: Thelma & Louise
SC: “I would like to know helpful things from your phone number.”
Oh, hello there! I don't think I've spoken with you before. You must be a new! Please, come in. Make yourself at home. The club is always looking for new members, despite my desperate objections.
SC: “And that is, stopping someone from using my mind without my consent.”
Your...mind? Like...another of your personalities? I don’t think I can really help you there. That’s probably a job for severe medication and arm restraints. But hey, the more you call, the closer you'll get to them. So by all means.
SC: "You helped her niece take advantage of me and I don’t want you to ever do that again.”
“You” as in me personally? Because I don’t recall assisting "her" relatives in any way. But if it’ll make you feel better: Sure, I’ll never do it again. Happy? Cross my heart. Honest.
SC: “And I want to know how to stop them from using tazer weapons.”
…Alright? I mean, its not that I don’t believe somebody wouldn’t have a cause to tazer you. In fact I imagine it occurs with some frequency. But that’s not exactly something I can assist you with.
SC: “or experimental meds”
In its defence, Thorazine technically isn’t experimental.
SC: “Or words that make Louise happy.”
T…wait, what? Louise? Whose Louise? Is that the other personality?
SC: “Or her husband happy.”
Your other personality is married too? Man, his life must be….interesting.
STOP
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “*BEEEEP* Yes.”
Me: “What is your name please?”
SC: “Yeah, I gonna order dis. Do I just give you the number?”
Me: “Can I have your name first, please?”
SC: “*BEEEP* Z *BEEP BEEP*”
Stop DIALING. You don’t need to dial anymore. The call has been completed. You are successful. Take your greasy fingers off the keypad. It is no longer required. You need only speak now and answer the questions I put forth to you. Regardless of how entertaining you may find them, the buttons on the phone are no longer required. Please, restrain yourself.
Me: “Your name, please?”
SC: “Name?”
Me: “Yes”
SC: “An-BEEP”
Me: “Sorry, what was that?”
SC: “A-N-D *BEEP* BEEP BEEP BEEP”
Stop it. Stop dialing. Get your hand away from the phone.
SC: “S-P-A-N*BEEP* BEEP BEEP BEEP”
STOP. DIALING.
Me: “What is yo*BEEP* your phone number please?”
SC: “xxx-xxx-xxxx”
Me: “So xxx-BEEPx BEEP BEEP”
Why do you do this?!
Me: “Is there a box number?”
SC: “It’s b*BEEP* *BEEP*”
<SOB>
Me: "What was that again?"
SC: "BEEP Box xxBEEP"
Me: "I'm sorry, I can't hear you over that noise."
SC: "Oh...uh....sorry."
....."sorry"? You were doing that on purpose? Dude, what the hell? I...jus....what? Why? Why would you do that? What dark force is compelling you? Are the buttons shiny?
No, No We Don't
SC: "Ya'll have any sales goin' on?!"
Me: "We do have 20-40% off on most items on our website right now."
SC: "No no, thats your normal sale. I mean on top of that."
.....on...top of that? I think 20-40% off normally $300-400 jackets and coats is remarkably generous. And you want a sale on top of that?
SC: “C'mon man, it’s Black Friday, ya’ll GOTTA have a sale!”
....Ahhh, I see. Now the desperate stench of entitlement makes more sense. Right, two things here, Skippy. First of all, Black Friday is an American construct and its raging insanity does not apply to the rest of us.
Second of all, I have never heard a more compelling reason to not do something than “ya’ll gotta have”.
Alas, Poor Rocky
SC: “Our lights just went out. A squirrel got up in da thang”
First of all, you have the wrong number. Second of all, you lights are out because a squirrel got up in “da thang”? That’s rather ambiguous. I assume “da thang” is something to do with a utility pole and “got up” means the squirrel has performed heinous damage to the equipment.
SC: "He's smokin' on the driveway now."
...I'm not entirely sure what to say to that. Breakfast?
My Penis Betrays Me
( also, yay for bizzarre reverse sexism! )
SC: “Usually when I get a woman she knows more about these things.”
Let me be the first to offer my sincere apologies for having testicles. Clearly they are inferring with my capability to tell you what “kind of grey” the colour “Dove” is. It is grey. If you notice, we have 6 shades and hues of grey. Dove is our default grey. The neutral grey. It is not a kind of grey, it is grey. It has merely been given a fancy name to impress morons such as yourself. The other 5 shades are variants of grey ranging from light grey to dark grey to blue grey to brown grey to charcoal. If "Grey" truly bothers you, I can consult a Thesaurus to find a term more to your liking. But I should point out that they already did something like this by calling it Dove.
I must also apologize for my inability to tell you whether or not it would be “pretty” with your dress. I always thought whether or not something is “pretty” was a subjective judgment. And to answer such a question I foolishly believed I might actually need to see the dress in question. But as you have pointed out, my gender must have rendered my Fashion Clairvoyance inert.
Also, I must apologize as it seems my gender is preventing me from being able to tell you if it “shimmers” in the light. Unfortunately, being born with the cruel, dull yoke of masculinity has caused me to not have the foresight to keep fabric samples of every single colour on our colour chart right here on my desk in front of me. So that I may examine their inherent prettiness and light refracting properties. Considering the weather and my gender, I also neglected to wear a dress to work with which I could compare the fabric in order to gauge prettiness. Truly, my lack of crossdressing and ownership of a velvety sack of boy marbles has failed you and for that I am sorry.
Though if I may offer a small rebuttal: You fully admit you are looking at the same colour chart I am with the dress in hand…..and yet are unable to answer any of these questions either. So perhaps these are truly mysteries of the world and not meant to answered by mortals such as ourselves.
Also, it’s grey.
BEAR HUNTER RANGERS
They’re out there again. Those…people. On public transit. I witnessed a spectacle this evening that is difficult to comprehend let alone describe. But I shall valiantly try none the less. This evenings oddness began when a group of…let us say marinated individuals boarded the train. Destination: Granville! ( Gah. ). I much prefer Broadway bound lunatics as at least I can get rid of them faster. Granville bound means putting up with their idiocy the entire way downtown.
I’m not entirely sure how to describe them aside from the fact the only difference between them and a group of starving primates on the Discovery channel is that primates do not speak English. Other than that the behavior, gestures and dialogue were largely identical. Over the course of this painfully long trip downtown I bore witness to several events:
1. At one point, for no reason I can ascertain, one of them began sniffing another’s armpits. Deeply.
2. 4 separate attempts were made over the course of the trip to pry the Skytrain doors open while the train was moving. This blatant, feverish attempt to essentially kill himself was cheered on by the rest of the group.
3. Pole dancing. Hairy, drunk, frat boy pole dancing. In motion.
4. At one point one of the most bizarre things I have ever seen on public transit occurred as the lot of them suddenly began some sort of….game? Ritual? Obviously the rules had been hashed out in advance as they all seemed to know exactly how to take part and what constituted a win or a loss. From what I gathered based on my horrified observations: Everyone gets in a circle, with their backs to each other. Then bends over and everyone sticks their butts together. At this point everyone involved must scream, at the top of their lungs “BEAR HUNTER RANGERS GO!”. When everyone gets to “GO!” then they all have to jump and spin around to face each other. Whomever can jump up and spin around the fastest is the “winner”. Of what exactly I’m not sure. But he seemed quite ecstatic and declared himself the “Bear Hunter Ranger Champion” and screamed in triumph at the top of his lungs….for some time.
5. 2 separate attempts were made to hold the Skytrain doors shut as it stopped at a station. This was met with physical violence by other passengers. This did not deter their attempts at the following station.
6. After arriving at Granville, where I had to physically shoulder them out of the way to stop them from holding the doors closed….again, they proceeded to have a lengthy argument over whether or not this was even their stop. This argument was conducted while holding the doors open and thus holding the entire train at Granville. While I did not remain on the scene long, I’m sure the transit police found this situation quite entertaining.
Though, I must admit I was amused by one small bit of irony. There was a single female in this group who, after taking quite willing part in all of the above stupidity, actually told the rest of them to “grow up” when one of them tickled her. So, tickling is childish. Yet Butt Bear Rangers is a game for mature, sophisticated adults.
Curse You, Internet. Again.
Me: “Good morning, <web host>, how may I help you?”
SC: “I’m hoping that you can help me.”
I'm honestly hoping I can't just so I can inject further dissappoint into your life.
SC: “I ordered a pair of Ugg boots online.”
There seems to be a rather large disconnect between what I actually said and what you apparently think I said. Unless there’s a clothing outlet somewhere that hosts websites on the side.
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “Well, you charged my credit card.”
It seems I must once again make a very important distinction. We did not charge your card. You know you have the wrong number, therefore we are not the culprit in this tragic crime. To accuse us of such despite being informed flat out you are speaking with the wrong person and have made an error is not just silly, it is possibly a symptom of dementia. We did not charge your card. However, we do recommend a consultation with your personal health practitioner for possible treatments.
Please Dial Correctly
Me: “Good evening, <real estate office>, how may I help you?”
SC: “Hi…..um….taxi?”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “uhhh….38865?”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “Huh?”
Me: “You’ve called the wrong number.”
SC: “Wrong number?”
Me: “Yes”
SC: “Uh….”
Why is dialing the wrong number the hardest thing in the world for some people to accept? Just a plain, simple wrong number. Hardest thing in the world. Screw opposing political views, different religions and human rights. The hardest thing in the world for anyone to accept is, apparently, the fact that they have made an error while touching a telephone.
Where this amazing overconfidence comes from I’m not entirely sure. I’ve classically found that people holding phones make many, many grievous errors on a regular basis. It’s not like there’s any sort of track record to inspire such confidence.
Please Dial Correctly II
Me: “Good evening, <real estate office>, how may I help you?”
SC: “Hi……one taxi please?”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “Wrong number?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “Can I get one to <address>?”
Me: “You’re calling the wrong number.”
SC: “Uhh…..”
You’re moving from the realm of overconfidence to dangerous self delusion. I’m not sure why this is so difficult for you to wrap your mind around. You’re calling the wrong number. You have made an error. Yes, you. Even you can make a mistake once in a while in what I am sure is otherwise a life wrought with unparallelled perfection and glory.
Please Dial Correctly III
Me: “Good evening, <real estate office>, how may I help you?”
SC: “Is this a taxi?”
Me: “No.”
SC: “Oh, no? Ok, sorry about that, wrong number.”
At first you might think “Hallelujah! Even a blind pig finds a truffle once in a while!”. Except this is a different guy who is obviously a friend of the first guy. He probably wandered over after wondering what the heck was taking so long to get a cab. Only to discover the sad, confused tragedy that is friend. Clinging to the phone and the sobbing.
...Why?
SC: “Yeah, can you cancel the order I just placed? I don’t know what my son wants.”
Then…why….did you place the order? I do not understand. You have placed the cart before the mule and are expecting the mule to push it. Uphill. I do not know if you know this but carts are meant to be pulled and mules become displeased when instructed to push things. They become displeased when instructed to pull things too but they can’t run away without pulling the cart with them so it works out anyhow.
Story Time!
SC: “I’m up you know because I always watch a program. Try to watch a program at 1 on Saturday night. And so I had dozed off in my chair. Then I thought boy, it’s really cold. There must be something wrong with me. So I just felt the heaters and the heat had gone off.”
A simple “The heat isn’t working” would have sufficed. I did not require nor request Story Time.
Make Sense?
You’re going to have to be a tad more descriptive than the “toilet puller broke”. Now, logically, or at least desperately you might arrive at the conclusion that our confused caller is referring to the toilet handle. You would be mistaken. She is referring to the toilet’s swirling suction. As in, literally, the “pull” of the toilet water has “broken”. Hence the “toilet puller” has failed her.
Got it?
A Well Trodden Path
SC: “What do you do?”
Me: “We sell domain names on the Internet.”
SC: “…uh….what does that mean?”
It means you have the wrong number. Like many who have come before you.
Story.....Time?
SC: “Yeah, I phoned a little while ago and no heat. And there’s still no heat."
Oh, hello again. Is it Story Time again? Oh boy! Wait wait, lemme get my popcorn and my Snuggie.
SC: “We had quite a good run of luck with the boiler. It lasted us years. But when they spent all that money on that stupid environmental footprint thing. Which I think is a lot of BS.”
Oh, here we go! Story Time!
SC: “This so called environmental bit. Different light bulbs and stuff for people that worship the environment instead of the Lord God Almighty that they should worship. If you know what I mean and the real meaning of Christmas and the Lord and that.”
I….ye…ok, I don’t think I like this story. I was expecting something a bit more warm and fuzzy.
SC: “We’re all victims of Al Gore!”
…Alrighty then. I don’t suppose we could change the channel could we? I mean, this movie is getting kinda creepy.
SC: “Can’t buy a nice red light bulb to make it look warm and cozy.”
…..red light bulb? You sit there at 1am bathed in red light to watch your “program”? What were you watching? Saw 4?
SC: “They’ve all been brainwashed into that!”
By Al Gore? I think you’re vastly overestimating his power. If he was truly as powerful as you surmise, he wouldn’t have been the just vice president. We would all be living under his dark, cruel yoke. And Man Bear Pig would have been safetly secured years ago.
SC: “You must have heard about it. That’s what happening to everybody. Just like the light bulbs in 2012. You can’t buy the regular light bulbs anymore. If you want a nice soft red one to make a warm glow. We’re having to change everything to less energy! That’s what it’s all about! They’re renovating the building that way. Then they put a big sign out that says we're enviromentally friendly and that makes it a ghetto!”
Energy efficient = Ghetto. Right, got it. Only crack heads live around windmills and meth goes hand in hand with hybrid vehicles. See those Smart Cars around town? All crack dealers. Peddling their wares with Energy Star certifications. I mean, lemme tell you man, you have not tripped the good shit till you've sorted it off a lithium-ion battery array.
Me: “Excuse me?”
SC: “All the neighbours know we live in a ghetto!”
Me: “Excuse me?”
SC “I told the manager I didn’t like it. She said it was no disgrace to live in an energy effecient building!”
Me: “Excuse me?”
SC: “But to me I said why don’t YOU try it!”
Alllllright, I think it’s about time we wrap this story up and back away slowly without making eye contact.
An Open Letter To The Far Reaches
I must get something off my chest. Desperately. For the many, many years I have endured suffering at the hands of those who would have pants. I must vent if I am to truly achieve the nirvana of vacation.
I know it comes off as humourous, my many trials and tribulations with this particular line, but what you likely don't realise is that I'm typically writing up at least half the calls I get on it. And at least 80% of them are at frustrating as all hell. Only a tiny portion of calls on this line are actually acceptable within the confines of common sense and human decency. The rest, not so much. Even if they are not worthy of being documented in my trials.
And I grow weary of it.
So first of all, to all of you who over the years have badgered me for clothes at godforesaken hours of the night: &@$^ you. No seriously, (@$& you running. My God, you people are by far, consistently the worst group of customers I deal with on a nightly basis. Without peer. It is amazing.
It's not just the raw, unbridled stupidity either. I could deal with that, if it was that alone. But the constant total lack of common sense. The complete and total lack of any sort of preperation. Never knowing what you want to order. Never knowing what size or colour you want it in. And consistently being surprised when I ask you.
The constant uphill struggle to just retrieve basic information from you that you should know. That I knew when I was 5. How do you not know where you are and who you are? Why must I constantly argue with you over how many digits there are in a phone number? Why do you respond to a request for a postal code like I just asked you to calculate PI to final decimal?
Heck, why are you even calling at this hour? I mean, seriously. I know the order line is 24 hours. I accept that. That's fine. I know "Hey I'm awake, I guess I'll get this done" does occur. But you consistently call at godforesaken hours all night every night. You don't even call during the day. I know, I've checked. My shift is the busiest shift.
And why are your kids awake? I don't mean like bigger kids either. There's always 3-5 children from the age of 4-7 rampaging in the background at 3-4am screeching and the top of their lungs. On school nights. Consistently. At least half my calls have this enjoyable background ambience.
And how is ordering clothes a family ritual? You literally seem to get together then pass the catalog around with everyone taking a turn calling to order. Half my calls come in groups with the same last name sometimes all to the same address. It wouldn't be so silly if every one of you didn't insist on placing a seperate order racking up an extra $400 in shipping fees amongst the lot of you. The shipping rate is a flat fee you know. You could get *everything* for $50 in shipping. Or everyone could just pay an extra $50 themselves instead of an extra $5. But I guess a single large order would require you to do math.
And for Christ sakes, at least make sure you're sober before you call. I also don't know how getting drunk/high and ordering pants became a form of entertainment for you. At least 40% of you are calling me drunk and/or high.
But finally, finally, the one thing above all else. I could deal with the stupidity, the intoxication and all of that if not for this one singular thing: You have no fucking manners to speak of. None. At all. Period. Not even the most basic, common deceny. You never say please, you never, ever, ever fucking say thank you. EVER. I wish I was exagerrating but I average one thank you a month from you people. There is never the slightest shred of manners from you. You don't acknowledge I'm a human being at the end of the call. You literally just hang up once I confirm your fscking pants are on their way. You hang up on me. No "Great, thanks" or "Thank you" or even an "Ok, great". Just <click>.
So in closing, one again, I would like to say: Fuck. You. Running.
<deep breath> Ok, I'm a bit better now.
Not Anymore
SC: “Are you real?”
Yes, but only for…let’s see, 24 more minutes. Then I stop being a CSR and turn back into a pumpkin.
annnd rest. For quite some time. -.-
He is my Black Dragon (and yes, a good one) strong, protective, the guardian. I am his Silver Dragon, always by his side, shining for him, cherishing him.
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