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Wherein I Return To Form
Figuratively and literally. Back to work, injury healed up ( as best they do anyhow ) and time to clear out the backlog. Both this week and the stuff I was too mangled to post last week. So today's a double feature. ;p
That Which We Covet
$20 beanie. $52 shipping. I guess when you want a beanie, you really want a beanie. Money is no object when it comes to beanies. Would you cheap out on your children? Your car? Your house? No, of course not! So why would you cheap out on a head sock? You can’t cheap out on a beanie! You’re going to spent 98% of your life in it ( if the popularity of it up there is any indication ) after all. So you can’t just have some old ratty thing on everywhere. I mean, what would the neighbours say? ( All 3 of them? 1 of which is probably a bear? ).
It’d be positively scandalous. ( Especially with bears, bears are total gossip whores ).
Magic!
I realize that to you, the wondrous and colourful pages of the catalog may indeed seem magical. However, I assure you they are but mundane objects and possess no such power. Thus, if you give me a product number, and it’s not in stock then it’s not in stock. Giving me the exact same product number but telling me it’s from a different catalog this time will in no way magically change the contents of the warehouse. I fear that all of the catalogs share the same reality, and are not all separate worlds onto themselves.
Still, I will commend your attempt at problem solving if nothing else.
The Foresaken Corner
I take back everything, well, most of the things….okay, some of the things I said about the regular street performers downtown here. Please come back. Whilst most of you don't have a shred of talent. Its still better than when was out there tonight. This evening there was…some sort of hitchhiking yeti there on the corner. Playing the harmonica with one hand and making a terrifying puppet dance on the top of his backpack with the other. A puppet that looked like he had either found it in a dumpster or recovered it from the wreckage of a house fire.
I’m guessing from the size of the backpack he was hitchhiking cross country. I’m also guessing from his performance he was hitchhiking cross country because he’s wanted for at least 3 murders somewhere else in the country.
Sorrow
Me: “Are you 19 or older?”
SC: “<sigh> …I wish I was 19 or younger…….<sigh>”
Me: “…….”
SC: “Sorry.”
….That’s okay, sir. If anything, I’m sorry for having inadvertently triggered your sudden midlife crisis.
Introductions
Me: “Anything else?”
SC: “Hold on, I’m trynna check……what’s yer name again?”
Me: “Gravekeeper.”
SC: “Ah, Frank here! Wait, I already told you that earlier…..huhuhuh.”
You know, sometimes a single sentence tells you everything you need to know about a person. Gives you a sudden, clear insight into their personality. A glimpse into the inner workings of their very mind. Revealing a single, universal statement that sums up the whole of their being.
And that statement is: “I write my name on my underwear”.
Simple Questions
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
Right. Tell you what: Just give it a wild guess. It’s a multiple choice question after all. You have a 50/50 shot at this. Then, 3 or 4 days from now, when you come back down off that bender, if you realize you made the wrong choice you can always call back and let us know. You’ve got nothing to lose, really!
The Foresaken Corner II
Sooo.....as I was walking towards the foresaken corner this evening where talent goes to die, I bore witness to a certain unmentionable would be street rapper waddle up to a girl that was passing by and rap a colourful verse pertaining to the fantastical size of certain regions of his body. Which he assured was so large that he sells advertising space on it to companies. Seriously. He said this. Into a mic. On the street. In public. To a passing stranger. Who, to her credit, covered her head in panic and scurried away from him immediately.
That’s how you know you’re charming, fellas. When a girl has the same reaction to your pick up lines as she would to a swarm of bats.
Teehee!
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “I guess?”
Well, let me know when you make up your mind. I'll be over here silently willing you herpes.
Putting On A Show
( Every. Last. One of them does this. )
SC: “<groan> yes good morning <cough cough hack> I cannot <groan> come to work”
Alright, this has been going on for quite a while now and I feel compelled to let you guys in on the secret here: I don’t actually work for <client>. Nor do I in any way communicate what you sound like to your supervisor when I call them in the morning to pass along messages. So there’s really no reason for every last one of you to call and act like a gut shot elk when you’re calling in sick. Half the time you call you act like you’re dictating your last will and testament to me from your death bed.
I mean, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your acting talents, I’m just really not your target audience.
Why Do You Do This?
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yep, if I can stay awake long enough that is.”
I believe I have pointed this out before, but the products will still be here in the morning. There is literally no reason for you to have to order them at 2am on a Sunday morning. There’s no sales deadline looming. Nothing's sold out. There’s nothing at all that would in any way make this purchase time sensitive.
So go to bed.
Comrades In Arms
Me: “Do you have your account number handy?”
SC: “Yep, it’s-GET OFF THERE CAT!!!”
Normally I would poke fun at you, but in this case I understand perfectly.
You....What?
SC: “I accidently entered a $20,000 sale into the computer went I meant to enter $200. Can you get a tech to fix it for me?”
That’s actually quite impressive. I mean I could see accidently entering 20 or 2000 maybe. But 20,000? You work at a gas station. So that actually had to bypass the part of your brain that should have went “Well there’s no way anyone bought $20,000 of gas”. It even got passed the part that should have went “Did someone just fill up a jetliner?” and prompted you to look outside for some form of passenger aircraft.
Really?
I fully admit that I did not grow up in the big city, nor on the street, nor in any particular dense urban sprawl really. Thus I do not profess to having any particular level of “street sense”. But I’m pretty sure that you’re ruining the image of a down on his luck panhandler that needs change by checking your iPhone while complaining about your roommate’s lack of dishwashing.
The Return
Oh, Vancouver. I have not been downtown for quite some time. I’d almost forgotten what it was like. It’s a good thing you welcomed me back with an….er….”Escalator Rave” ( As it was so named by its participants ), followed by a creepy homeless guy holding open the door while singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” and topped off, of course, by a dude with an acoustic guitar covering Metallic songs at the corner.
Seriously though, if you’re fishing for spare change, the best approach is not to open a door in front of someone, make eye contact and start singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” to them. That doesn’t say “Oh, this man is being nice and holding the door for me, I should give him some change” it says “This man wants to turn me into a lampshade”.
Problem Solving
SC: “Umm….just wait, I’ll turn on my light here.”
Well, I suppose that does explain why it’s taken you several minutes to locate the only item you wanted to order in the catalog. Although I must admit I’m rather alarmed at how long it took you to put two and two together here to realize what the problem was. You’ve been furiously flipping pages this whole time too. Which would seem to indicate that your thought process was along the lines of “Dammit! Why can’t I see anything? Maybe if I try looking at another page!”.
Injustice
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “………”
Me: “…..Hello?”
SC: “Oh! I thought you were a recording!”
And yet, you still ignored the question completely. Had I been an actual recording, you would have deeply offended me if not hurt my feelings by ignoring me. Recordings are people too you know! …..Sort of. Still! It’s shocking that in this day and age this kind of….er…recordism….is still alive and well. Why, good sir, you should be ashamed of yourself.
Matt The Wanderer
Tonight I witnessed the sad tale of Matt the Wanderer and the Last Beer of Broadway. A tragic yarn that played out before me without a single word of dialogue. So powerful were the emotions conveyed that not a word needed to be spoken. For poor Matt wandered onto the Skytrain at Broadway, clutching a dented can of Budweiser as if it was his last friend in the world. For the next little while, he only stared at it wistfully. A myriad of emotions flashing dimly across his glassy eyed face as he pondered the paradox he faced: He wanted a beer, but the beer he held was the last beer he had and if he drank it. He would no longer have beer. Which, I assume, was actually a tragedy larger than having beer but not being able to drink it.
But then misfortune struck, and the beer slipped from his hand. Landing on the floor of the Skytrain. He stared at it for a moment. Perhaps pondering whether or not he would at any point in the future seriously want to put his mouth on anything that had actually touched the floor of a Skytrain. But more likely because he had the reflexes of a bear with three tranquilizer darts in its rear end. Eventually, he reached down and picked up his fallen friend. But by this time, the decision had cruelly been made for him. For if he opened it now, it would surely just spray everywhere and some of its precious contents would be lost.
Come Main Street, he wandered off of the train with his beer and stopped in the middle of the platform. There, he looked up at the night sky, held up his beer and just stared at it. He remained frozen in that pose as the Skytrain pulled away. Truly, I don’t think I’ll ever forget that tragic image for the rest of my life. The image of Matt the Wanderer, staring forlornly at his unopenable beer against the backdrop of the night sky as the Skytrain slowly pulled away till finally he faded from view.
Godspeed, Matt, Godspeed.
Funny You Should Say That!
SC: “Yes, I’m trying to get a hold of a technician.”
Yes! Oddly enough, I’m well aware of this. Because you called exactly, let’s see, 2 minutes and 35 seconds ago. It then took me exactly 1 minute and 19 seconds to pass your message to a tech. As I kindly informed you I would do. So you’ve allowed approximately 1 minute and 16 seconds for the on call technician to return your call. Most impressive! I think that’s actually set a new record for caller impatience on my shift! So, congratulations!
I must say, after working here for 10 years it’s very rare that anyone can actually break any of the established records for caller tomfoolery. I’ve had a long time to find only the best of the best after all. So it is with great pleasure that I induct you into the graveyard Hall of Fame and award you the highly coveted prize of my puzzled frown as I try to figure out what the heck is wrong with you. You should enjoy this moment while you can, my friend. After this long in this industry, I’d really given up on wondering about callers anymore.
I Never Would Have Guessed
Me: “And your number please, sir?”
SC: “xxx.”
Me: “…..?”
SC: “That’s the area code.”
Yes, thank you. I unraveled that particular mystery myself actually. Please, continue. Don’t worry about explaining anything. I’m quite confident I can decipher these cryptic riddles on my own. If I get stumped anywhere, I’ll let you know.
The Foresaken Corner III
Another performer of equally questionable talent has joined the usual suspects this evening. A sort of lumpy, hairless, neckless….alright so he looked sort of like Playdough in a t-shirt. After listening to him for a few verses, I have elected to call him DJ Indecent Exposure. Seeing as he spent a full 3 verses rapping about whipping out and touching his penis in public. It was literally all he rapped about the entire time I was within earshot.
I must have missed the first part of the song that started with "Yo, I am legally required to inform you I am a sex offender. IN THE HOUSE!"
That's a New One
Me: “Alright, and which credit card would you like to use?”
SC: “It’s a-oops”.
An Oops? Hm, don’t think I’ve heard of that one. Is that a lower end Visa for people with poor impulse control? Visa Platinum, Visa Gold, Visa Silver, Visa Oops? Is Oops as low as it goes, or can you apply for a Visa Dammit?
The Foresaken Corner IV
A poet once said, well, grunted tonelessly into a mic on a street corner that smells vaguely like urine:
"I changed up my recipe, got rid of caffeine and Pepsi cus they were blockin’ my telepathy an-HEY YOU GIRLS ARE CUTE YOU SHOULD HULA HOOP!"
( At this point the girl behind me waiting for the crosswalk started muttering “Oh god please don’t rap about me please don’t rap about me please don’t rap about me” to her friend ).
Another, more honest poet then shuffled up and said:
“All the girls hate me, ain’t none of em will date me.”. He then handed the mic bitterly back to the first foresaken street poet and shuffled back to his previous spot. Having used his turn at the mic to proclaim to everyone for 2 blocks nothing except how lonely and unloved he is.
But hey, at least he's honest.
Truly, This Is An Emergency
SC: “I’ve got a problem with the tenant that lives next door to me.”
Ah, that is unfortunate. What can I do for you?
SC: “She snores very very loudly.”
…She….snores….too loudly? You’re calling your property management company at midnight on a Saturday to complain that your neighbour snores? I’m not even sure what to say to that to be honest. That’s a level of absurdity I was not fully prepared for. Though it does beg that question what exactly to you want me to do about it? Go over there and tell her not to sleep because you can’t sleep? Gag her with a sock? While I’m sure the on call maintenance guy has fantasized about shoving a sock in a tenant’s mouth hole before, I doubt he’d actually get out of bed in the middle of the night for the opportunity.
Just Go With It
Me: “And your name please, sir?”
SC: “…Um…..ummmm……..uh….”
Whoa there, take it easy. It’ll come to you. Just give it a chance. I know those who dwell in your tiny arctic village generally spend their time desperately awash on a sea of confusion. But you need to learn how to tread the water, not flail around wildly. You’re just wasting energy and gasping for air. Don’t fight the current. Go with the current. Eventually you might drift closer to the rest of the wreckage and manage to cling to a piece of driftwood that has some measure of relevant information on it. Maybe your name. Maybe your address. Something that’ll be useful here. You don’t have to find all the pieces in order, you just have to find them. If the rotting driftwood that is your name is too far away, try swimming for something closer.
Career Milestones
I can now officially say that I have been told to “Shut my fucking mouth” by a 5 year old girl. I really should get some sort of award or certificate for this particular milestone.
annnd rest
That Which We Covet
$20 beanie. $52 shipping. I guess when you want a beanie, you really want a beanie. Money is no object when it comes to beanies. Would you cheap out on your children? Your car? Your house? No, of course not! So why would you cheap out on a head sock? You can’t cheap out on a beanie! You’re going to spent 98% of your life in it ( if the popularity of it up there is any indication ) after all. So you can’t just have some old ratty thing on everywhere. I mean, what would the neighbours say? ( All 3 of them? 1 of which is probably a bear? ).
It’d be positively scandalous. ( Especially with bears, bears are total gossip whores ).
Magic!
I realize that to you, the wondrous and colourful pages of the catalog may indeed seem magical. However, I assure you they are but mundane objects and possess no such power. Thus, if you give me a product number, and it’s not in stock then it’s not in stock. Giving me the exact same product number but telling me it’s from a different catalog this time will in no way magically change the contents of the warehouse. I fear that all of the catalogs share the same reality, and are not all separate worlds onto themselves.
Still, I will commend your attempt at problem solving if nothing else.
The Foresaken Corner
I take back everything, well, most of the things….okay, some of the things I said about the regular street performers downtown here. Please come back. Whilst most of you don't have a shred of talent. Its still better than when was out there tonight. This evening there was…some sort of hitchhiking yeti there on the corner. Playing the harmonica with one hand and making a terrifying puppet dance on the top of his backpack with the other. A puppet that looked like he had either found it in a dumpster or recovered it from the wreckage of a house fire.
I’m guessing from the size of the backpack he was hitchhiking cross country. I’m also guessing from his performance he was hitchhiking cross country because he’s wanted for at least 3 murders somewhere else in the country.
Sorrow
Me: “Are you 19 or older?”
SC: “<sigh> …I wish I was 19 or younger…….<sigh>”
Me: “…….”
SC: “Sorry.”
….That’s okay, sir. If anything, I’m sorry for having inadvertently triggered your sudden midlife crisis.
Introductions
Me: “Anything else?”
SC: “Hold on, I’m trynna check……what’s yer name again?”
Me: “Gravekeeper.”
SC: “Ah, Frank here! Wait, I already told you that earlier…..huhuhuh.”
You know, sometimes a single sentence tells you everything you need to know about a person. Gives you a sudden, clear insight into their personality. A glimpse into the inner workings of their very mind. Revealing a single, universal statement that sums up the whole of their being.
And that statement is: “I write my name on my underwear”.
Simple Questions
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
Right. Tell you what: Just give it a wild guess. It’s a multiple choice question after all. You have a 50/50 shot at this. Then, 3 or 4 days from now, when you come back down off that bender, if you realize you made the wrong choice you can always call back and let us know. You’ve got nothing to lose, really!
The Foresaken Corner II
Sooo.....as I was walking towards the foresaken corner this evening where talent goes to die, I bore witness to a certain unmentionable would be street rapper waddle up to a girl that was passing by and rap a colourful verse pertaining to the fantastical size of certain regions of his body. Which he assured was so large that he sells advertising space on it to companies. Seriously. He said this. Into a mic. On the street. In public. To a passing stranger. Who, to her credit, covered her head in panic and scurried away from him immediately.
That’s how you know you’re charming, fellas. When a girl has the same reaction to your pick up lines as she would to a swarm of bats.
Teehee!
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “I guess?”
Well, let me know when you make up your mind. I'll be over here silently willing you herpes.
Putting On A Show
( Every. Last. One of them does this. )
SC: “<groan> yes good morning <cough cough hack> I cannot <groan> come to work”
Alright, this has been going on for quite a while now and I feel compelled to let you guys in on the secret here: I don’t actually work for <client>. Nor do I in any way communicate what you sound like to your supervisor when I call them in the morning to pass along messages. So there’s really no reason for every last one of you to call and act like a gut shot elk when you’re calling in sick. Half the time you call you act like you’re dictating your last will and testament to me from your death bed.
I mean, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your acting talents, I’m just really not your target audience.
Why Do You Do This?
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yep, if I can stay awake long enough that is.”
I believe I have pointed this out before, but the products will still be here in the morning. There is literally no reason for you to have to order them at 2am on a Sunday morning. There’s no sales deadline looming. Nothing's sold out. There’s nothing at all that would in any way make this purchase time sensitive.
So go to bed.
Comrades In Arms
Me: “Do you have your account number handy?”
SC: “Yep, it’s-GET OFF THERE CAT!!!”
Normally I would poke fun at you, but in this case I understand perfectly.
You....What?
SC: “I accidently entered a $20,000 sale into the computer went I meant to enter $200. Can you get a tech to fix it for me?”
That’s actually quite impressive. I mean I could see accidently entering 20 or 2000 maybe. But 20,000? You work at a gas station. So that actually had to bypass the part of your brain that should have went “Well there’s no way anyone bought $20,000 of gas”. It even got passed the part that should have went “Did someone just fill up a jetliner?” and prompted you to look outside for some form of passenger aircraft.
Really?
I fully admit that I did not grow up in the big city, nor on the street, nor in any particular dense urban sprawl really. Thus I do not profess to having any particular level of “street sense”. But I’m pretty sure that you’re ruining the image of a down on his luck panhandler that needs change by checking your iPhone while complaining about your roommate’s lack of dishwashing.
The Return
Oh, Vancouver. I have not been downtown for quite some time. I’d almost forgotten what it was like. It’s a good thing you welcomed me back with an….er….”Escalator Rave” ( As it was so named by its participants ), followed by a creepy homeless guy holding open the door while singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” and topped off, of course, by a dude with an acoustic guitar covering Metallic songs at the corner.
Seriously though, if you’re fishing for spare change, the best approach is not to open a door in front of someone, make eye contact and start singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” to them. That doesn’t say “Oh, this man is being nice and holding the door for me, I should give him some change” it says “This man wants to turn me into a lampshade”.
Problem Solving
SC: “Umm….just wait, I’ll turn on my light here.”
Well, I suppose that does explain why it’s taken you several minutes to locate the only item you wanted to order in the catalog. Although I must admit I’m rather alarmed at how long it took you to put two and two together here to realize what the problem was. You’ve been furiously flipping pages this whole time too. Which would seem to indicate that your thought process was along the lines of “Dammit! Why can’t I see anything? Maybe if I try looking at another page!”.
Injustice
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “………”
Me: “…..Hello?”
SC: “Oh! I thought you were a recording!”
And yet, you still ignored the question completely. Had I been an actual recording, you would have deeply offended me if not hurt my feelings by ignoring me. Recordings are people too you know! …..Sort of. Still! It’s shocking that in this day and age this kind of….er…recordism….is still alive and well. Why, good sir, you should be ashamed of yourself.
Matt The Wanderer
Tonight I witnessed the sad tale of Matt the Wanderer and the Last Beer of Broadway. A tragic yarn that played out before me without a single word of dialogue. So powerful were the emotions conveyed that not a word needed to be spoken. For poor Matt wandered onto the Skytrain at Broadway, clutching a dented can of Budweiser as if it was his last friend in the world. For the next little while, he only stared at it wistfully. A myriad of emotions flashing dimly across his glassy eyed face as he pondered the paradox he faced: He wanted a beer, but the beer he held was the last beer he had and if he drank it. He would no longer have beer. Which, I assume, was actually a tragedy larger than having beer but not being able to drink it.
But then misfortune struck, and the beer slipped from his hand. Landing on the floor of the Skytrain. He stared at it for a moment. Perhaps pondering whether or not he would at any point in the future seriously want to put his mouth on anything that had actually touched the floor of a Skytrain. But more likely because he had the reflexes of a bear with three tranquilizer darts in its rear end. Eventually, he reached down and picked up his fallen friend. But by this time, the decision had cruelly been made for him. For if he opened it now, it would surely just spray everywhere and some of its precious contents would be lost.
Come Main Street, he wandered off of the train with his beer and stopped in the middle of the platform. There, he looked up at the night sky, held up his beer and just stared at it. He remained frozen in that pose as the Skytrain pulled away. Truly, I don’t think I’ll ever forget that tragic image for the rest of my life. The image of Matt the Wanderer, staring forlornly at his unopenable beer against the backdrop of the night sky as the Skytrain slowly pulled away till finally he faded from view.
Godspeed, Matt, Godspeed.
Funny You Should Say That!
SC: “Yes, I’m trying to get a hold of a technician.”
Yes! Oddly enough, I’m well aware of this. Because you called exactly, let’s see, 2 minutes and 35 seconds ago. It then took me exactly 1 minute and 19 seconds to pass your message to a tech. As I kindly informed you I would do. So you’ve allowed approximately 1 minute and 16 seconds for the on call technician to return your call. Most impressive! I think that’s actually set a new record for caller impatience on my shift! So, congratulations!
I must say, after working here for 10 years it’s very rare that anyone can actually break any of the established records for caller tomfoolery. I’ve had a long time to find only the best of the best after all. So it is with great pleasure that I induct you into the graveyard Hall of Fame and award you the highly coveted prize of my puzzled frown as I try to figure out what the heck is wrong with you. You should enjoy this moment while you can, my friend. After this long in this industry, I’d really given up on wondering about callers anymore.
I Never Would Have Guessed
Me: “And your number please, sir?”
SC: “xxx.”
Me: “…..?”
SC: “That’s the area code.”
Yes, thank you. I unraveled that particular mystery myself actually. Please, continue. Don’t worry about explaining anything. I’m quite confident I can decipher these cryptic riddles on my own. If I get stumped anywhere, I’ll let you know.
The Foresaken Corner III
Another performer of equally questionable talent has joined the usual suspects this evening. A sort of lumpy, hairless, neckless….alright so he looked sort of like Playdough in a t-shirt. After listening to him for a few verses, I have elected to call him DJ Indecent Exposure. Seeing as he spent a full 3 verses rapping about whipping out and touching his penis in public. It was literally all he rapped about the entire time I was within earshot.
I must have missed the first part of the song that started with "Yo, I am legally required to inform you I am a sex offender. IN THE HOUSE!"
That's a New One
Me: “Alright, and which credit card would you like to use?”
SC: “It’s a-oops”.
An Oops? Hm, don’t think I’ve heard of that one. Is that a lower end Visa for people with poor impulse control? Visa Platinum, Visa Gold, Visa Silver, Visa Oops? Is Oops as low as it goes, or can you apply for a Visa Dammit?
The Foresaken Corner IV
A poet once said, well, grunted tonelessly into a mic on a street corner that smells vaguely like urine:
"I changed up my recipe, got rid of caffeine and Pepsi cus they were blockin’ my telepathy an-HEY YOU GIRLS ARE CUTE YOU SHOULD HULA HOOP!"
( At this point the girl behind me waiting for the crosswalk started muttering “Oh god please don’t rap about me please don’t rap about me please don’t rap about me” to her friend ).
Another, more honest poet then shuffled up and said:
“All the girls hate me, ain’t none of em will date me.”. He then handed the mic bitterly back to the first foresaken street poet and shuffled back to his previous spot. Having used his turn at the mic to proclaim to everyone for 2 blocks nothing except how lonely and unloved he is.
But hey, at least he's honest.
Truly, This Is An Emergency
SC: “I’ve got a problem with the tenant that lives next door to me.”
Ah, that is unfortunate. What can I do for you?
SC: “She snores very very loudly.”
…She….snores….too loudly? You’re calling your property management company at midnight on a Saturday to complain that your neighbour snores? I’m not even sure what to say to that to be honest. That’s a level of absurdity I was not fully prepared for. Though it does beg that question what exactly to you want me to do about it? Go over there and tell her not to sleep because you can’t sleep? Gag her with a sock? While I’m sure the on call maintenance guy has fantasized about shoving a sock in a tenant’s mouth hole before, I doubt he’d actually get out of bed in the middle of the night for the opportunity.
Just Go With It
Me: “And your name please, sir?”
SC: “…Um…..ummmm……..uh….”
Whoa there, take it easy. It’ll come to you. Just give it a chance. I know those who dwell in your tiny arctic village generally spend their time desperately awash on a sea of confusion. But you need to learn how to tread the water, not flail around wildly. You’re just wasting energy and gasping for air. Don’t fight the current. Go with the current. Eventually you might drift closer to the rest of the wreckage and manage to cling to a piece of driftwood that has some measure of relevant information on it. Maybe your name. Maybe your address. Something that’ll be useful here. You don’t have to find all the pieces in order, you just have to find them. If the rotting driftwood that is your name is too far away, try swimming for something closer.
Career Milestones
I can now officially say that I have been told to “Shut my fucking mouth” by a 5 year old girl. I really should get some sort of award or certificate for this particular milestone.
annnd rest
Do. Not. Want. 
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