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I know, I know, I haven't posted in a while. I'm lazy. We got snowed in so I was wallowing my time away in WoW and forcing pizza delivery men to endure the frozen tundra so I wouldn't have too. ;p
I shall attempt to apologize in the form of an epic length post:
Hot Tips for America
Alright, you generously presented a couple of plans which you felt would be of great assistance to the conflict in Iraq and Afghanistan. Allow me to go over these plans with you and help you address some of the more glaring issues present in them:
Plan A)
Attempt to “break their spirit” by “burning down their mosques and temples”. Because Islamic extremists react so well when you directly attack their religion or anything even remotely related to their religion. It really bums them out alright.
PS. I have a teddy bear for you.
Plan B)
This was my favourite. You suggested that we attempt to “get God on our side” by killing as many sinners as possible. Not only is this rather disturbing and delusional but it implies God works off of some sort of point reward system like Save On or Air Miles. I assume you could just rack up sinner points then cash them in for a natural disaster upon your enemies of your choosing. Say maybe 5000 for locusts, 10,000 for an earthquake, 50,000 for a Spice Girl’s reunion concert?
867
Me: “Ok, I only have that item in olive.”
SC: “Olive? Wha the hell is olive!?”
Me: “..the colour.”
SC: “uh…..oh, I see.”
Ah, right. Forgive me. You probably don’t have the faintest idea what olives are. Let alone anything foodstuff more exotic then Cool Ranch Doritos.
Butthole
SC: “Is anyone in the office yet?”
Me: “No, sorry.”
SC: “Are you in the office yet?”
Me: “…no.”
I do believe I said no one was in the office yet. A statement which rules out me as being at the office as well. Unless you consider me to be a thing rather than a person in which case the possibility would still exist. But in that case I would have to declare you a butthole. Which would lead to you being added to the National Butthole Registry which we use to identify and track buttholes and notify businesses in the community should a Butthole move into the neighbourhood. Then they can take the appropriate precautions to avoid being aggravated or offended by the Butthole in question.
You’re not a Butthole, are you?
Geography Lessons
SC: “So where’s Vancouver in relation to Michigan?”
Me: “We’re way over on the west coast right on the pacific.”
SC: “Oh wow, really? Like above California?”
Me: “Yes, we’re above Washington state.”
SC: “I didn’t know Canada stretched that far!”
…..<twitch>
SC: “So what’s it like up there? Is it…..cold?”
Me: “Actually it’s not too bad. We don’t usually get much snow in Vancouver over the winter.”
SC: “Really?! I always thought Canada was like….well, you know.”
Me: “Freezing?”
SC: “Yeah!”
It may be best if you just stop talking. Then take whatever measures are necessary to ensure you never have to communicate with anyone from outside your own country ever again.
867
Another night, another $120 worth of hats. Seriously, how many hats do you people need? There’s not that many of you up there. What are you doing with them all? Are you cutting them up and using them to craft other goods? Like low cost roofing material, housing insulation or underwear or something? Is wearing multiple hats some sort of fashion statement or mark of manhood?
I tried checking Google Maps to see if you were trying to spell out "SEND HELP" out of hats on satellite view. But that wasn't it either. So what the hell is going on up there?
Money Shot
( Yes, this was a guy. )
Me: “Ok, ready?”
SC: “Fire away, big boy!”
…ok, that just went to a really weird place that’s far outside of my job description. I suppose you are calling from Vegas so it’s easy to mistake these things what with the wide variety of, er, services offered locally. But rest assured that’s not on our particular list of customer service options.
Isn't It Past Your Bedtime?
Me: “By Visa or Mastercard?”
SC: “Visa, coming at CHA, yo!”
Right, let me buckle down and brace myself for the funky phat beats of your Visa number.
Things I Didn't Need to Know
“Like, oh my god, When I was 6 I use to sh*t the bed because I was bored.”
Thank you for sharing, Group of Loud Yammering Teen Girls on the Skytrain. I knew more sordid and deeply personal details about your collective lives by the time I reached Granville then I do about my closet friends. Mostly because my friends have some sense of shame and / or class.
Hooch: Part 1
Me: “Ok, did you receive a VIP ID?”
SC: “Uh….where would I find dat?”
Me: “Did you receive a letter from us?”
SC: “um…ya”
Me: “It should be on the letter.”
SC: “Ok……uh…….”
Me: “…..”
SC: “….I don’t see it…where?”
Me: “Try looking below your name on the letter.”
SC: “Oh, uh, xxx xxx?”
Me: “…no, that’s the postal code.”
SC: “Oh…um….”
I have a sinking feeling this is going to get worse before it gets better….if only because I can almost smell the Jack Daniels over the phone.
Me: “Alright, which credit card would you like to use?”
SC: “CIBI!”
Me: “….CIBI….?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “…Visa or Mastercard?”
SC: “Visa.”
Me: “Ok, and the card number please?”
SC: “xxxx-xxxxx-xxxx-xxxx”
Me: “…..”
SC: “…..”
Me: “That was one too many numbers…”
Also, I’m not sure if the second part: “58 one hundreds” is suppose to be “5800” or “58100”. I attribute my inability to tell the difference to the fact that, unlike yourself, I am sober, fully clothed and not clutching the hind quarters of a nervous farm animal.
SC: “Huh?”
Me: “That was one too many numbers.”
SC: “I don’t blame ya.”
Me: “…pardon?”
SC: “I understand, I understand.”
Me: “….right, that was one too many numbers-“
SC: “Wha? It’s xxxx-xxxx-xxxx-xxxx”
Me: “…..alright, that’s not a valid Visa number.”
SC: “Ok, that’s fine.”
Me: “….pardon? Ok, was it xxxx-xxxx-xxxx-xxxx?”
SC: “Huh? It’s <gives me a somewhat different one>”
Me: “xxxx-xxxx-xxxx-xxxx?”
SC: “No, <repeats exactly what I just said.>”
Me: “….right.”
Is this some sort of weird drinking game I’m not aware of? Do you have to take a shot every time I’m forced to repeat myself?
Me: “Alright, and what’s your postal code please?”
SC: “…..uh…”
Me: “…..”
SC: “…I forgot.”
You just gave it to me at the first of the call you floundering hooch ape. Just read it off the letter you’re holding in front of you.
SC: “Uh…I dunno, jus fergit it. I don’t know what it is.”
Me: “Ok.”
SC: “Ok, bye.”
….but…its RIGHT THERE. You have it front of you! Argh. I will was willing to endure your dribbling idiocy for the sake of the children, but now you’ve robbed me of even that. You’ve rendered the last few minutes of acute frustration completely pointless. My suffering was bleak and meaningless much like your daily life and all prospects for your future.
Hooch: Part 2
( Some 15 minutes later. )
SC: “Oh hey, it’s me again~!”
Me: “…..”
SC: “I found it!”
Me: "....yay"
Good for you! I hope you get trapped in a house fire moments after I complete your order.
The Concept of Time
( This is a lottery line. )
No, I don’t know if you won anything last year. I don’t know who did win last year. You know why? Because it was last year. However, common sense would dictate ( Or in your case, scream itself hoarse trying to get your attention. ) that if you haven’t heard from them by now then no, you didn’t win anything. Still, it didn’t stop you from pissing and moaning to me at length about how it wasn’t published in the Province and how we don’t publish the winners in the Province. When I pointed out that we do in fact publish winners in the Province you wanted to know when they were published last year. A question I could not answer because, as previously mentioned in bold text, it was last year.
Hot Tips for American #2
Apparently I’m agent “007” and Satan got married. Yes, that’s right, the Dark Prince got hitched. I didn’t quite catch who the bride was but apparently the offspring was Prince Charles.
You know, just fyi.
In closing: last year.
867
SC: “Yeah, I’d like to cancel an order.”
Me: “Ok, how long ago did you place the order?”
SC: “2 weeks ago.”
…I’m afraid you may have missed the boat so to speak. However, 2 weeks is still better then, oh, say last year.
No.
SC: “Are you a doctor?”
Me: “No, sorry.”
SC: “I’m having trouble urinating.”
Gah. I just told you I’m not a doctor. Which means you’re happy to share these fun facts about your bowels with anyone that will listen regardless of profession and whether or not they even asked. So please just give me your name and number and get off the line before I hear about any other…irregularities…you may be suffering from.
How Not To Win A Debate With The Cops:
( Ah, the Skytrain.. )
“I din’ do nothin’ wrong!”
“Then why did you run?”
“If ya chase me imma’ gonna run!”
“We wouldn’t chase you if you didn’t run.”
“I din’ do nothin’!”
“Well, then what was the thing you threw into the bushes before you ran?”
“I dunno!”
“Well, you’re the one that had it. You don’t know what it was?”
“I had it, but I dunno what it was!”
“So you don’t know it was drugs? Even though you’re the one that had it?”
“I dunno!”
Something tells me you’re not going to win this debate. Actually, the handcuffs tell me you already lost. You just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.
Hot Tips for America #3
( Yes, this is all the same guy. He recently started calling in to update us periodically. )
Apparently, Prince Charles’s “Pedophile Cauldron” has infiltrated the police. I’m not entirely sure what a “Pedophile Cauldron” is but it sounds like a Harry Potter fan fiction gone terribly terribly wrong.
I'm Pretty Sure
SC: “Yeah, can I get a cab?”
Me: “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “How do you know that?”
…what the hell kind of question is that? I’ve fielded a lot of ridiculous, inane and downright idiotic questions in my time but that one broke into my house, took the cake, rubbed its arse on my blinds, stole my toothbrush and rearranged all of my furniture upside down in the backyard by colour, weight and whether or not it floats.
I suppose I could be wrong. I could be sitting at the desk of a taxi dispatch center in downtown Vancouver somewhere and not even know it. I mean, I thought I was sitting here, alone in the office, trying to kill time by slowly depleting the Dorito supply of the vending machine. When in actuality I may have been dispatching taxi cabs the entire time. Who knew?
Vancouverites...
( I can point and laugh because I'm not from here. )
Attention BC Transit and RCMP: Yes, we know the roads are slippery. The roads are slippery because it snowed. They were slippery last time it snowed. They’re slippery every time it snows. They were slippery when it happened last week. They were slippery when it happened last month. They were slippery when it happened ( wait for it ) last year. In fact if it’s snowing and/or raining with low temperatures, you can pretty much guarantee the roads will be slippery. Yet for some reason you seem surprised and appalled every time it happens and then feel the need to call me about it, repeatedly, all night, as if the salt trucks don’t know there’s ice and snow out there and are just driving around mindlessly listening to Rock 101 while warming their crotch with a large coffee from Tim Horton’s oblivious to the several hundred kilos of salt in the back of their vehicle.
I know its slippery. The district crews know its slippery. The municipal crews know its slippery. The only people who seem to be surprised by the fact there’s snow and ice in the winter, despite winter’s rather consistent record in this field, is you guys.
Failure
Things that make me sad:
1) I couldn’t reach you for 15 minutes because you forgot the On Call cell in your truck.
2) When you finally went out to get it…you locked yourself out of your own building.
3) Despite all this you probably still make more money than I do.
Late Night Munchies
SC: “Do you guys deliver?”
Me: “….I’m sorry, but this is our corporate line.”
SC: “Yeah, I know, but I figured you’d know.”
Me: “….I don't believe any of our locations offer delivery and even if they did I doubt you'd find one open at this hour."
SC: “It’s only 3am! There’s a <well known sub place> right near me. They could just walk it over!”
Novel idea: Why don’t you just walk over there and spend the rest of the night pressed up against the glass staring into a dark, empty restaurant? If you’re really hungry you could lick the glass where the posters of food are.
Sharing
Me: “Are you calling in sick?”
SC: “Yes, I’m having my period and have really bad cramps.”
Me: “…..ok”
SC: “TRIPLE cramps.”
Wow, hey, you know what? Thanks for sharing. Also, what the heck are triple cramps? I wasn’t aware there was some sort of Ovarian multiplier involved when gauging the severity.
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
I had the following conversation with a hobo up by 7/11 this evening:
“Hey sir, you got any change?”
“No, sorry.”
“FAK HOLE YOU DOWNER FISH!”
Oddly, he wasn’t even talking to me. He turned to his right slightly to berate some invisible tormentor and/or imaginary personal mascot. Either way I was able to slip away in the ensuing confusion. Thus saving myself from whatever fate the voices would have had him impose on me.
A Series of Unfortunate Events
1) You called to report your neighbor is locked out in the hallway.
2) You also report that he is drunk.
3) And completely buck ass naked.
4) AND spread eagle on the floor of the hallway.
5) Bonus: This is a retirement home.
The goggles. They do nothing.
Nice Try
I admit your elaborate semi-coherent sob story about failed friendships was fairly impressive. But I’m still not going to tell you how to remove and/or circumvent the anti-theft software your “friend” installed on the laptop before he “gave” it too you.
I’ll give you an A for effort though.
Yet More Skytrain
“Omigad, Mark, where’s my phone?!”
“I dunno.”
“Where’s my phone?!”
“I dunno.”
“WHERE’S MY PHONE!?!?”
“I dunno. Maybe it’s at TJ’s house.
“TJ! WHERE’S MY PHONE?!”
“I dunno."
“WHERE’S MY PHONE?!”
“I dunno, ask Amy.”
“Amy, where’s my phone!?”
“I think I saw it at TJ’s house.”
“Where’s my phone!?”
“In a jar at TJ’s house.”
“Oh, ok.”
….sooooo…I guess it’s ok as long as it’s in a jar?
867
Me: “and the area code?”
SC: “uh…general delivery”
Swing and a miss. Normally that’d only count as one strike. However, I’m pitching at home base and you’re swinging in the parking lot of a Walmart 3 blocks away wearing nothing but a pair of Spongebog boxers and flipflops while waving wildly at a confused elderly couple nearby and yelling “LOOK MA I’M ON TV!”.
So I’m afraid that’s going to have to count as 3 strikes.
Now get out.
False Hopes
Me: “Ok, and what’s the address?”
SC: “<name of building>.”
Me: “Yes, but what’s the address?”
SC: “<name of area>”
Me: “…ok, but what’s the address?”
SC: “……”
Me: “……”
SC: “I don’t know.”
You could have just admitted that up front instead of cruelly leading me on with false hope. Every shift with you people is full of enough disappoints as is without you heaping more on me. If you only knew of the arduous despair safari I undertake each night that leads me dangerously through the natural habitat of you and your weak minded brethren where I must precariously avoid close encounters at all costs. Lest they never find my remains come morning.
All they’d be left of me is a headset and tears.
Timezones
Me: “They won’t be in till 8am.”
SC: “What time is it now?”
Me: “6:30am”
SC: “Figures!”
Yeah, that time zone down in accounting is like a total bitch, right? It’s just like her!
Thus ends...well, actually it doesn't end since I'm at work right now and they're piling more idiocy on me as I speak. ;p
I shall attempt to apologize in the form of an epic length post:
Hot Tips for America
Alright, you generously presented a couple of plans which you felt would be of great assistance to the conflict in Iraq and Afghanistan. Allow me to go over these plans with you and help you address some of the more glaring issues present in them:
Plan A)
Attempt to “break their spirit” by “burning down their mosques and temples”. Because Islamic extremists react so well when you directly attack their religion or anything even remotely related to their religion. It really bums them out alright.
PS. I have a teddy bear for you.
Plan B)
This was my favourite. You suggested that we attempt to “get God on our side” by killing as many sinners as possible. Not only is this rather disturbing and delusional but it implies God works off of some sort of point reward system like Save On or Air Miles. I assume you could just rack up sinner points then cash them in for a natural disaster upon your enemies of your choosing. Say maybe 5000 for locusts, 10,000 for an earthquake, 50,000 for a Spice Girl’s reunion concert?
867
Me: “Ok, I only have that item in olive.”
SC: “Olive? Wha the hell is olive!?”
Me: “..the colour.”
SC: “uh…..oh, I see.”
Ah, right. Forgive me. You probably don’t have the faintest idea what olives are. Let alone anything foodstuff more exotic then Cool Ranch Doritos.
Butthole
SC: “Is anyone in the office yet?”
Me: “No, sorry.”
SC: “Are you in the office yet?”
Me: “…no.”
I do believe I said no one was in the office yet. A statement which rules out me as being at the office as well. Unless you consider me to be a thing rather than a person in which case the possibility would still exist. But in that case I would have to declare you a butthole. Which would lead to you being added to the National Butthole Registry which we use to identify and track buttholes and notify businesses in the community should a Butthole move into the neighbourhood. Then they can take the appropriate precautions to avoid being aggravated or offended by the Butthole in question.
You’re not a Butthole, are you?
Geography Lessons
SC: “So where’s Vancouver in relation to Michigan?”
Me: “We’re way over on the west coast right on the pacific.”
SC: “Oh wow, really? Like above California?”
Me: “Yes, we’re above Washington state.”
SC: “I didn’t know Canada stretched that far!”
…..<twitch>
SC: “So what’s it like up there? Is it…..cold?”
Me: “Actually it’s not too bad. We don’t usually get much snow in Vancouver over the winter.”
SC: “Really?! I always thought Canada was like….well, you know.”
Me: “Freezing?”
SC: “Yeah!”
It may be best if you just stop talking. Then take whatever measures are necessary to ensure you never have to communicate with anyone from outside your own country ever again.
867
Another night, another $120 worth of hats. Seriously, how many hats do you people need? There’s not that many of you up there. What are you doing with them all? Are you cutting them up and using them to craft other goods? Like low cost roofing material, housing insulation or underwear or something? Is wearing multiple hats some sort of fashion statement or mark of manhood?
I tried checking Google Maps to see if you were trying to spell out "SEND HELP" out of hats on satellite view. But that wasn't it either. So what the hell is going on up there?
Money Shot
( Yes, this was a guy. )
Me: “Ok, ready?”
SC: “Fire away, big boy!”
…ok, that just went to a really weird place that’s far outside of my job description. I suppose you are calling from Vegas so it’s easy to mistake these things what with the wide variety of, er, services offered locally. But rest assured that’s not on our particular list of customer service options.
Isn't It Past Your Bedtime?
Me: “By Visa or Mastercard?”
SC: “Visa, coming at CHA, yo!”
Right, let me buckle down and brace myself for the funky phat beats of your Visa number.
Things I Didn't Need to Know
“Like, oh my god, When I was 6 I use to sh*t the bed because I was bored.”
Thank you for sharing, Group of Loud Yammering Teen Girls on the Skytrain. I knew more sordid and deeply personal details about your collective lives by the time I reached Granville then I do about my closet friends. Mostly because my friends have some sense of shame and / or class.
Hooch: Part 1
Me: “Ok, did you receive a VIP ID?”
SC: “Uh….where would I find dat?”
Me: “Did you receive a letter from us?”
SC: “um…ya”
Me: “It should be on the letter.”
SC: “Ok……uh…….”
Me: “…..”
SC: “….I don’t see it…where?”
Me: “Try looking below your name on the letter.”
SC: “Oh, uh, xxx xxx?”
Me: “…no, that’s the postal code.”
SC: “Oh…um….”
I have a sinking feeling this is going to get worse before it gets better….if only because I can almost smell the Jack Daniels over the phone.
Me: “Alright, which credit card would you like to use?”
SC: “CIBI!”
Me: “….CIBI….?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “…Visa or Mastercard?”
SC: “Visa.”
Me: “Ok, and the card number please?”
SC: “xxxx-xxxxx-xxxx-xxxx”
Me: “…..”
SC: “…..”
Me: “That was one too many numbers…”
Also, I’m not sure if the second part: “58 one hundreds” is suppose to be “5800” or “58100”. I attribute my inability to tell the difference to the fact that, unlike yourself, I am sober, fully clothed and not clutching the hind quarters of a nervous farm animal.
SC: “Huh?”
Me: “That was one too many numbers.”
SC: “I don’t blame ya.”
Me: “…pardon?”
SC: “I understand, I understand.”
Me: “….right, that was one too many numbers-“
SC: “Wha? It’s xxxx-xxxx-xxxx-xxxx”
Me: “…..alright, that’s not a valid Visa number.”
SC: “Ok, that’s fine.”
Me: “….pardon? Ok, was it xxxx-xxxx-xxxx-xxxx?”
SC: “Huh? It’s <gives me a somewhat different one>”
Me: “xxxx-xxxx-xxxx-xxxx?”
SC: “No, <repeats exactly what I just said.>”
Me: “….right.”
Is this some sort of weird drinking game I’m not aware of? Do you have to take a shot every time I’m forced to repeat myself?
Me: “Alright, and what’s your postal code please?”
SC: “…..uh…”
Me: “…..”
SC: “…I forgot.”
You just gave it to me at the first of the call you floundering hooch ape. Just read it off the letter you’re holding in front of you.
SC: “Uh…I dunno, jus fergit it. I don’t know what it is.”
Me: “Ok.”
SC: “Ok, bye.”
….but…its RIGHT THERE. You have it front of you! Argh. I will was willing to endure your dribbling idiocy for the sake of the children, but now you’ve robbed me of even that. You’ve rendered the last few minutes of acute frustration completely pointless. My suffering was bleak and meaningless much like your daily life and all prospects for your future.
Hooch: Part 2
( Some 15 minutes later. )
SC: “Oh hey, it’s me again~!”
Me: “…..”
SC: “I found it!”
Me: "....yay"
Good for you! I hope you get trapped in a house fire moments after I complete your order.
The Concept of Time
( This is a lottery line. )
No, I don’t know if you won anything last year. I don’t know who did win last year. You know why? Because it was last year. However, common sense would dictate ( Or in your case, scream itself hoarse trying to get your attention. ) that if you haven’t heard from them by now then no, you didn’t win anything. Still, it didn’t stop you from pissing and moaning to me at length about how it wasn’t published in the Province and how we don’t publish the winners in the Province. When I pointed out that we do in fact publish winners in the Province you wanted to know when they were published last year. A question I could not answer because, as previously mentioned in bold text, it was last year.
Hot Tips for American #2
Apparently I’m agent “007” and Satan got married. Yes, that’s right, the Dark Prince got hitched. I didn’t quite catch who the bride was but apparently the offspring was Prince Charles.
You know, just fyi.
In closing: last year.
867
SC: “Yeah, I’d like to cancel an order.”
Me: “Ok, how long ago did you place the order?”
SC: “2 weeks ago.”
…I’m afraid you may have missed the boat so to speak. However, 2 weeks is still better then, oh, say last year.
No.
SC: “Are you a doctor?”
Me: “No, sorry.”
SC: “I’m having trouble urinating.”
Gah. I just told you I’m not a doctor. Which means you’re happy to share these fun facts about your bowels with anyone that will listen regardless of profession and whether or not they even asked. So please just give me your name and number and get off the line before I hear about any other…irregularities…you may be suffering from.
How Not To Win A Debate With The Cops:
( Ah, the Skytrain.. )
“I din’ do nothin’ wrong!”
“Then why did you run?”
“If ya chase me imma’ gonna run!”
“We wouldn’t chase you if you didn’t run.”
“I din’ do nothin’!”
“Well, then what was the thing you threw into the bushes before you ran?”
“I dunno!”
“Well, you’re the one that had it. You don’t know what it was?”
“I had it, but I dunno what it was!”
“So you don’t know it was drugs? Even though you’re the one that had it?”
“I dunno!”
Something tells me you’re not going to win this debate. Actually, the handcuffs tell me you already lost. You just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.
Hot Tips for America #3
( Yes, this is all the same guy. He recently started calling in to update us periodically. )
Apparently, Prince Charles’s “Pedophile Cauldron” has infiltrated the police. I’m not entirely sure what a “Pedophile Cauldron” is but it sounds like a Harry Potter fan fiction gone terribly terribly wrong.
I'm Pretty Sure
SC: “Yeah, can I get a cab?”
Me: “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “How do you know that?”
…what the hell kind of question is that? I’ve fielded a lot of ridiculous, inane and downright idiotic questions in my time but that one broke into my house, took the cake, rubbed its arse on my blinds, stole my toothbrush and rearranged all of my furniture upside down in the backyard by colour, weight and whether or not it floats.
I suppose I could be wrong. I could be sitting at the desk of a taxi dispatch center in downtown Vancouver somewhere and not even know it. I mean, I thought I was sitting here, alone in the office, trying to kill time by slowly depleting the Dorito supply of the vending machine. When in actuality I may have been dispatching taxi cabs the entire time. Who knew?
Vancouverites...
( I can point and laugh because I'm not from here. )
Attention BC Transit and RCMP: Yes, we know the roads are slippery. The roads are slippery because it snowed. They were slippery last time it snowed. They’re slippery every time it snows. They were slippery when it happened last week. They were slippery when it happened last month. They were slippery when it happened ( wait for it ) last year. In fact if it’s snowing and/or raining with low temperatures, you can pretty much guarantee the roads will be slippery. Yet for some reason you seem surprised and appalled every time it happens and then feel the need to call me about it, repeatedly, all night, as if the salt trucks don’t know there’s ice and snow out there and are just driving around mindlessly listening to Rock 101 while warming their crotch with a large coffee from Tim Horton’s oblivious to the several hundred kilos of salt in the back of their vehicle.
I know its slippery. The district crews know its slippery. The municipal crews know its slippery. The only people who seem to be surprised by the fact there’s snow and ice in the winter, despite winter’s rather consistent record in this field, is you guys.
Failure
Things that make me sad:
1) I couldn’t reach you for 15 minutes because you forgot the On Call cell in your truck.
2) When you finally went out to get it…you locked yourself out of your own building.
3) Despite all this you probably still make more money than I do.
Late Night Munchies
SC: “Do you guys deliver?”
Me: “….I’m sorry, but this is our corporate line.”
SC: “Yeah, I know, but I figured you’d know.”
Me: “….I don't believe any of our locations offer delivery and even if they did I doubt you'd find one open at this hour."
SC: “It’s only 3am! There’s a <well known sub place> right near me. They could just walk it over!”
Novel idea: Why don’t you just walk over there and spend the rest of the night pressed up against the glass staring into a dark, empty restaurant? If you’re really hungry you could lick the glass where the posters of food are.
Sharing
Me: “Are you calling in sick?”
SC: “Yes, I’m having my period and have really bad cramps.”
Me: “…..ok”
SC: “TRIPLE cramps.”
Wow, hey, you know what? Thanks for sharing. Also, what the heck are triple cramps? I wasn’t aware there was some sort of Ovarian multiplier involved when gauging the severity.
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
I had the following conversation with a hobo up by 7/11 this evening:
“Hey sir, you got any change?”
“No, sorry.”
“FAK HOLE YOU DOWNER FISH!”
Oddly, he wasn’t even talking to me. He turned to his right slightly to berate some invisible tormentor and/or imaginary personal mascot. Either way I was able to slip away in the ensuing confusion. Thus saving myself from whatever fate the voices would have had him impose on me.
A Series of Unfortunate Events
1) You called to report your neighbor is locked out in the hallway.
2) You also report that he is drunk.
3) And completely buck ass naked.
4) AND spread eagle on the floor of the hallway.
5) Bonus: This is a retirement home.
The goggles. They do nothing.
Nice Try
I admit your elaborate semi-coherent sob story about failed friendships was fairly impressive. But I’m still not going to tell you how to remove and/or circumvent the anti-theft software your “friend” installed on the laptop before he “gave” it too you.
I’ll give you an A for effort though.
Yet More Skytrain
“Omigad, Mark, where’s my phone?!”
“I dunno.”
“Where’s my phone?!”
“I dunno.”
“WHERE’S MY PHONE!?!?”
“I dunno. Maybe it’s at TJ’s house.
“TJ! WHERE’S MY PHONE?!”
“I dunno."
“WHERE’S MY PHONE?!”
“I dunno, ask Amy.”
“Amy, where’s my phone!?”
“I think I saw it at TJ’s house.”
“Where’s my phone!?”
“In a jar at TJ’s house.”
“Oh, ok.”
….sooooo…I guess it’s ok as long as it’s in a jar?
867
Me: “and the area code?”
SC: “uh…general delivery”
Swing and a miss. Normally that’d only count as one strike. However, I’m pitching at home base and you’re swinging in the parking lot of a Walmart 3 blocks away wearing nothing but a pair of Spongebog boxers and flipflops while waving wildly at a confused elderly couple nearby and yelling “LOOK MA I’M ON TV!”.
So I’m afraid that’s going to have to count as 3 strikes.
Now get out.
False Hopes
Me: “Ok, and what’s the address?”
SC: “<name of building>.”
Me: “Yes, but what’s the address?”
SC: “<name of area>”
Me: “…ok, but what’s the address?”
SC: “……”
Me: “……”
SC: “I don’t know.”
You could have just admitted that up front instead of cruelly leading me on with false hope. Every shift with you people is full of enough disappoints as is without you heaping more on me. If you only knew of the arduous despair safari I undertake each night that leads me dangerously through the natural habitat of you and your weak minded brethren where I must precariously avoid close encounters at all costs. Lest they never find my remains come morning.
All they’d be left of me is a headset and tears.
Timezones
Me: “They won’t be in till 8am.”
SC: “What time is it now?”
Me: “6:30am”
SC: “Figures!”
Yeah, that time zone down in accounting is like a total bitch, right? It’s just like her!
Thus ends...well, actually it doesn't end since I'm at work right now and they're piling more idiocy on me as I speak. ;p
Dude, you must have a natural stupid magnet or something. I do not know how you deal with that kind of idiocy on a regular basis.
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