Don't ask the question if you can't handle the answer.

[RealUnimportant]

I'm stood with my arms deep in the guts of one of our ticket machines, when Shortarse McDerpson comes up behind me and asks "will you be long?"

"Yes sir."

"Good, I need a ticket to..."

"Actually sir, I did just tell you I will be a long time fixing this; there's another machine 3 meters behind you."

... And as it happened, unlike the usual 3-5 minutes, I was another 40 minutes due to a major technical failure. GAH!

Goes to show how much asking & answering such questions is considered little more than a social convention, rather than an open exchange of useful information!

[Crossbow]

Sorry, this was your fault. You expected a customer to LISTEN! (j/k)

[AmbrosiaWriter]

How I picture it in my mental eye in a different universe:

Customer: Are you going to be long?

You: Yes.

Customer: Bladdidity serve-me-i-am-your-master bladdity nananfrou-frou

You: *tinker tinker with the machine*

Customer: HAY! I AM TALKNI' TO YOU! LOOK! LISTEN TO ME!

You: Oh I'm sorry sir, I thought you were talking to your friend Harvey since I distinctly recall telling you that I would be busy with this machine for quite some time.

[Missyanthrope]

I'm stood with my arms deep in the guts of one of our ticket machines, when Shortarse McDerpson comes up behind me and asks "will you be long?"

I know I read a whole lot more than I post since I am now doing the SAHM thing for a bit, but may I just say....

Best. SC. Nickname. EVER.

[RealUnimportant]

It was a whole thing, this guy just stood out (well, I think he was standing; he didn't get that nickname for no good reason - I'm only 5'8 & he barely reached my armpit!)

Another classic was someone muttering to himself about nothing at all, then interjecting "I'm talking to you - ar you the ticket guy?!" in the same low tone. I was stood on the other side of a bustling thoroughfare, waiting to continue trying to fix the machine as I'd had to step away for <s>my sanity</s> further instructions... This same guy then bitched about a half-hour wait (10 minutes max) and how I should be happy & smiling, and then how maybe if my BOYfriend (I'm a heavily bearded bloke) had/hadn't (both options were voiced) "shit on {my} chest" maybe I'd be having a better day... All in front of a family with small children.

A real bingo-winning SC.

[AmbrosiaWriter]

...I think that SC broke me... trying to process his actions and attitude generates only a very loud white noise in my head. @_@

[raudf]

Oh, this brings back memories for my hubby, when he worked at the arcade! One of the ticket games had decided to fail, probably the "Spin to Win," since it spent most of it's time belly up or yelling that it was belly up.

Either way, it was not an easy fix and he was elbows and head deep in the machine trying to duct-tape fix it to get it up and running long enough to get through the rush. Customer, impatience herself, wanted to know if the game would take long to fix. He pulled out of the machine with so many scratches (it was winning the battle against being repaired) that it looked like his hands had been sliced open by lots of little paper cuts.

"Yes, ma'am it will be. Is there anything I can help you with?"
"Umm... *blanch* no, thank you...."

Custy wandered off, looking for a working ticket game (there were plenty, I know, I was playing on one) and hubby went to the employee's hovel.. errr, office to wash off, having given up on the fiendish Spin to Win. After unplugging the stupidly loud machine and duct-taping the "Out of service" over the coin and ticket slots.

[XCashier]

having given up on the fiendish Spin to Win. After unplugging the stupidly loud machine and duct-taping the "Out of service" over the coin and ticket slots.

Then, of course, the next customers removed the tape, inserted money into the non-functioning machine and then complained about lost money and no tickets.

[Argabarga]

You want the truth?

You can't handle the truth!

The spin to win is out of order, the ticket machine is out of order, this whole darn concourse is out of order!!!!

[Jester]

RU: You want tickets?

SC: I think I'm entitled to them. How long will it be?

RU: You want tickets?

SC: I want the truth! How long?

RU: You can't handle the truth!

[pauses]

RU: Lady, we're in a casino that has machines, and those machines have to be fixed by men with tools. Who's gonna do it? You? You, your fat husband? I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for your inconvenience, and you curse the repairmen. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That your inconvenience, while tragic to you, probably has saved you thousands of dollars. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves this casino thousands. You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me fixing that machine, you need me fixing that machine. We use tools like screwdrivers, pliers, wrenches. We use these tools as the backbone of a life spent fixing something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a woman who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very convenience that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said thank you, and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a toolbox, and get to work. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to.

[Argabarga]

Did you give that work order to Santiago?

YER DARN RIGHT I DID!!!!!!!

[RealUnimportant]

Jester, I think I love you.

[PatchO'Black]

Be sure to see A Few Good Bartenders, starring Jester. Coming to a bar near you!*

* As long as the bar happens to be in Key West!

[Jester]

Be sure to see A Few Good Bartenders, starring Jester. Coming to a bar near you!

Here's a snippet from the trailer....

JESTER: You want cocktails?

SC: I think I'm entitled to them.

JESTER: You want cocktails?

SC: I want the cocktails!

JESTER: You can't handle the cocktails!

[pauses]

RU: Lady, we're in a bar that offers cocktails, and those cocktails need to be mixed by bartenders with knowledge and skill. Who's gonna do it? You? You, your fat husband? I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep because you have to wait a few minutes, and you curse the bartenders. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not dealing with what I deal with. That your wait, while tragic to you, probably has saved you thousands of dollars and kept you from being arrested. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves this bar its liquor license. You don't want to wait because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me mixing those cocktails, you need me mixing those cocktails. We pour things like rum, beer, vodka. We pour these as the backbone of a bar that inebriates people. You pour them down your throat or spill them on the floor. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a woman who rises and passes out under the influence of the very concoctions that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide them. I would rather you just said thank you, and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pay your tab, and get out. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to.

[RealUnimportant]

This could run & run...