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A Love Letter To Piglet ( Epic Length )
Apologies for my hiatus, it was not intentional. Our email server at work choked so everything I emailed home to post last week never came through. So I couldn't get at it again till I came back to work.
Thus I have a backlog of misery here I must get too that will hopefully fit into a single post. -.-
867
Me: “Ok, that comes to $284 and should take about 2 weeks to arrive.”
SC: “Where does it go?”
Me: “….I’m sorry?”
SC: “Does it come in the mail?”
Me: “..yes.”
I’m not precisely sure how you expected it to arrive. I mean, I know a few years back we shipped everything by loading it into a Styrofoam beer cooler from Walmart, duct taping it closed, leashing it to a husky and just shoving him out a door that faced north. But those days are long gone my friend. These days we’ve upgraded our shipping to your service area to “Shoved out of a plane at low altitude”. Though in honour of our company’s history we still leash it to a husky. But we’re trying to phase that out as it’s not really economically viable. Why do you think shipping costs so much to Nunavut? Huskies aren’t like cats you know, they don’t really land on their feet that often. Especially when they’re coming in at terminal velocity towards the broadside of a mobile home.
867
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: “….gwaaarrrrgggyyyaaa….”
Oh oh, wait, I learned a bit of your language last week. How do you say it again…..oh right! PWAH!
Priorities
SC: “The element in my oven broke off, I’m worried it might be a fire risk!”
Me: “Ok, well it’ll have to wait till morning. I would just turn it off for this evening and maintenance can help you in the morning.”
SC: “I’m not finished cooking yet! How am I suppose to feed my kids!?!”
Me: “Unfortunately we can’t send someone to fix it this late at night.”
SC: “So how am I suppose to feed my kids!? I have 7 kids!!!”
( 7!? In an 2 bedroom apartment!? Holy maple shitsticks, woman. )
Me: “Well, unfortunately the maintenance guy is only on call for emergencies this late at night. For a broken appliance it will have to wait till morning.”
SC: “How I suppose to feed my kids then!?!?!”
( How are your children my responsibility? )
Me: “Unfortunately there’s not much else I can do for you. If you’re worried it’s a fire hazard then I’d turn it off to be on the safe side.”
SC: “You’d let your kids starve?!!?”
( No, I’d make something else. Or order out. But hell, my kids wouldn’t be up at 11pm on a weekday anyway. Oh, and I wouldn’t have *7* of them. )
Me: “…….ok, we-“
SC: “I’ll just keep using it and call you when it catches on fire.”
Your priorities intrigue me. So you’re saying that having your kids go hungry for half an hour waiting for Domino's outweighs burning down your entire apartment building and potentially killing or maiming your children and/or neighbours?
Still...7 kids in a 2 bedroom apartment.....Christ. I should send the maintenance guy to tie your legs together.
867
Me: “I only have that item in XL”
SC: “You don’t have it in medium?”
That’s what “only” implied. I know, I know, “only” is on the list of words that there doesn’t seem to be an equivalent for in your dialect. Right alongside “No”, “address”, “phone”, “number”, “alcoholism” and “literacy”.
Cardboard Liaisons
On my way in this evening, at 29th Avenue Station, I bore witness to a man. A man holding an empty cardboard box. He was….serenading the box….in a rather intoxicated fashion. “All my love is for you” or some such. I’m not entirely sure why he was serenading a box or where he found the box. He did have a small audience watching his performance as he confessed his throbbing feelings for the box. But he was definitely rather enamored with his cardboard lover. S
till, it’s never wise to confess your feelings in the midst of a drunken episode. Because you know he’s going to wake up this morning in bed, naked and hung over with an arm around a badly crumpled heap of slightly damp cardboard. That’s when the regret….and the, er, chafing….will start to sink in.
Damned if you do, damned if you don't...
Me: “and your last name please?”
SC: “It’s Blazgergin.”
Me: “and how do you spell that, please?”
SC: “B-L-A-<mumble gibber> G-E-<mumble>”
Me: “B-L-A-Z-E-R-G-I-N?”
SC: “No no no no no NO, <dramatic sigh>. Its B-L-A-Z-GGGGGG-E-RRRRR-G-I-N”
Me: “Ok, so B-L-A-Z-G-E-R-G-I-N?”
SC: “Yes!”
Me: “Ok, and can I have your postal code please?”
SC: “It’s XXX-XXX”
Me: “Alright, an-“
SC: “Do you have my name right!?!?”
Me: “….B-L-A-Z-G-E-R-G-I-N?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Ok, two things for you to consider, Skippyfuck McDrama:
Number 1)
Repeating and verifying everything is one of the golden rules of being a CSR. It helps me avoid having incorrect information. Because of it I just avoided incorrectly spelling your name on your order. Which would have ultimately resulted in a problem with the credit card company and the delay or abject failure if your order.
Number 2)
It is not my fault you were named after some sort of ancient Sumerian goat demon whose name is somewhat difficult to spell after being painstakingly translated to English. This is why I tried to verify the name with you. In fact, it was rather foolish of you to demand that I verify it not once, but twice. Because for all we know the key to summoning him from beyond and visiting his darkness upon the defenseless lives of our fragile world is saying his name 3 times out loud.
867
Why? That’s all I can ask at this point. Why? Why is a hat so important to you that you’ll gladly pay $40 shipping on a $45 hat? Are hats really that critical to society up there? It’s all you guys order. Hats and pants. Now, pants aren’t really optional ( Despite some of your unsettling demonstrations to the contrary ), but hats are. So why? Why is it so vital? Does Nunavut have some sort of caste system that’s determined entirely by the size and value of your hat? How exactly do you calculate your worth in society based on the hat anyhow? Are extra points given for certain colours or patterns?
Its reassuring to know that should I ever lose my mind and travel to Nunavut I need only pack a pink camo cap to be considered part of the ruling elite. On the surface the prospect of being able to rule over an entire territory might sound rather impressive. But when you get right down to it, even under my cunning guidance there’s not much you can accomplish with a huddled group barely a few hundred strong that would require several days worth of one on one tutoring to overcome any task more complex then getting the straw into a juice box.
Good Stuff
You know, you were nowhere near as interesting or as entertaining as the conversation occurring in the background behind you. Which went as follows:
“Hey, get the cherry Nyquil!”
“Yeah, that’s the GOOD STUFF!”
Damn straight, Nyquil’s what? 10% proof? That’s like vodka. Red, syrupy vodka. Red vodka that provides a taste sensation similar to picking up a gerbil, flipping it over and slowly licking it from sack to snout. But then that’s not much different from vodka anyhow.
Press Start To Play
Me: “Good evening, <company>, how may I help you?”
SC: “Hello?”
Me: “Hi.”
SC: “Hello?”
Me: “Hi, can I help you?”
SC: “It’sa me!”
…Mario?
867
( All the mail is delivered to boxes up there, hence we ask. )
Me: “Ok, and your box number please?”
SC: “Box? Like my mail?”
Me: “…yes.”
SC: “Box #8.”
What other box would I be speaking of? I know you have many in your life such as the magic box that brings you moving pictures of Danger Bay or the magic box that keeps your beer cold. But seeing as we’re talking about shipping an item to you then yes, I’m referring to mail or as you may know it better: The magic box in which the <company> catalogue first appeared in one fateful day that led to our tragic meeting.
867
Me: “Alright, that comes to $434 and should take about two weeks to arrive.”
SC: “That’s it? That’s all I have to do?”
Me: “….yes.”
SC: “Just phone?”
Me: “…yes.”
Yes, just phone. That’s all you have to do. Just phone then two weeks later it will just magically arrive. Because I am a goddamn Houdini.
867
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “Wait!”
Me: “Ok.”
SC: “I hafta turn the page……”
Me: “…..ok”
SC: “……”
Me: “……”
Hey, do you mind if I take a break and run down to Subway? It seems like this will take a while and I don’t want to rush you or anything. Just keep at it for 15 minutes or so there, I’ll be rooting for you, ok? Great, be right back.
A Love Letter to Piglet
Dear Piglet,
When I attempted to enter 7/11 this evening…..you were blocking the doorway. Why? Because you were taking to your friend/boyfriend/man creature/thing you let in your vagina. I’m not sure exactly, he was scruffy, vacant eyed and had hiking gear. Sort of like Shaggy from Scooby Doo but without a driver’s license. Anyway, annoyed, I maneuvered around you and your man shaped chew toy and began my harvesting.
But after I got my precious Coke Zero from the cooler…I turned around and there you were again, blocking my way, talking to Shaggy. Again, I slipped around your rotund form and went about my shopping. All was well until I went for my chips…..which you, and Shaggy, were standing in front of. I’m not sure what sort of muffin topped stumpy raver wannabe human roadblock you are endeavoring to become, but you tire me, little piglet. But I persevered and was able to obtained my chips.
Shortly thereafter I moved to pay for my purchases….and yes, there you were again, with Shaggy, blocking my way. You weren’t in line, no, that would make sense. You just felt the need to block the entire space from the register to the coffee machines thus forcing everyone in the store to walk the long way around.
I don’t know if this is your purpose in life or if you believe you’ve been directed by some sort of pot induced divine messenger that communicates with you via your Rice Crispies, but you are in my way and you are annoying me. My patience is vast when on the clock, but limited when operating on my own free time as I must save it up during the day, much like a camel storing moisture, before I make the long desert trek across my shift.
What’s my point you ask? I have none really. But if you do so insist on making getting in the way your life’s work, then may I suggest, and fervently hope, that you attempt to heed this calling in front of a bus at your earliest convenience.
Love,
- Gravekeeper
Mental Imagery
SC: “Ok, and one more name.”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “Riiiinnnnngoooooo~”
I’m torn between making a Beatles reference and making a “Riiiicoooolaaaa~” reference. Thus I shall merely sit here and picture a Swiss guy in suspenders with a bowl cut yelling obscenities from the bridge of a yellow submersible of some sort.
867
Me: “and what colour would you like?”
SC: “Grey Camu”
Ahh…camu again is it. I assume that its CAMU PWAH! ( See? I’m learning the language. ) that allows you to elude the polar bears, sea lions and whatever other 500+ lb arctic killing machines roam the streets at night up there. Of course, considering the scenery of your local community grey probably isn’t the past choice for camouflage if you’re really trying to blend into your surroundings. Let me see if we have any shirts or jackets that look like an old truck engine up on cinderblocks with empty beer cans on the sleeves.
I Hate You and Your Kind
Me: “Alright, you should receive the lottery tickets in about 2-3 weeks.”
SC: “Along with the money?”
Me: “….pardon?”
SC: “I’m just being silly!”
You seem to have “silly” mixed up with “asshat that thinks he’s funny”. It’s a common mistake.
SAY MY NAME!
SC: “What’s your name?”
Me: “Gravekeeper."
SC: “What’s your name?!”
Me: “It’s Gravekeeper.”
SC: “I'M ASKING FOR YOUR NAME! WHAT’S YOUR NAME?!”
Me: “My name is Gravekeeper.”
SC: “Gravekeeper?”
Me: “Yes.”
That’s right, Gravekeeper. G-R-A-V-E-K-E-E-P-E-R. Not to be confused with “Na na! I’m not telling, kiss my ass peckerstump!” as you seem to be doing.
Service Area
Me: “Main dispatch gets in at 8am pacific.”
SC: “8am pacific? Ok, so that’s around 1pm eastern…ok, I’ll call back.”
….well, no. Not quite. That would actually put you somewhere around….let’s see here…..Ammassalik, Greenland. In which case I’m afraid we don’t do support for Greenland. Better luck next time.
Unimportant
Me: “and your postal code please?”
SC: “Postal code…..we just moved here so I don’t know it…..do you really need it?”
No, not really. I can successfully deliver mail using little more than hopes and wishes alone. A postal code is just a formality. Don’t worry about it.
Riddle me This
Me: “Ok, and what is your name, please?”
SC: “It’s xxx-xxx-“
Me: “Ok, but what is your name, please?”
SC: “Oh…..uh…….um……..<click>”
For truly I am a master of riddles.
Cruelty
You know, every night when I come to work, there’s a homeless guy right in front of London Drugs sitting against the pole. Well, tonight…..they opened a hot dog stand *right* next to the guy. Literally 2 feet away. That’s a level of evil that even I can’t quite aspire too. Yet, anyway. Perhaps someday I too can attain that level of malice, but not just yet. I still have a few shreds of empathy left. It’ll take a few more years in this industry to get rid of the pesky things. Until then, I can only look on in awe and envy.
Save vs Stun
( Passing a call to an American tech )
Me: “Ok, the call is from at <company> in Toronto.”
SC: “Ok.”
Me: “The number is xxx-xxx-xxxx”
SC: “Great. Did you get a country code?”
Me: “……..pardon?”
SC: “Its in Toronto, did you get the country code for Canada?”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Me: “…….1?”
SC: “Great, thanks.”
………wow, that caught me completely out of left field. I thought I was pretty much immune to stupid questions by now. Apparently I grew lax and overconfident. Hell, I think that popped a blood vessel in my head. Great, now I have a nosebleed. I hope you’re happy.
New Rule
( The ID lets us bring up their name, address, etc and basically cuts call length down to a mere 30 seconds from 2-3 minutes. )
Ok, time out. You know what? New rule, you shouldn’t even be allowed to call for lottery tickets and speak with a live operator after 11pm if:
1) You don’t have a VIP ID, don’t know where it is, forgot it or simply don’t care to go get it.
2) You’re over 100 years old.
3) You have me on speaker phone.
4) You don’t know what your postal code is.
5) You’re not sure where you can find it.
6) You have leave the room for a few minutes to rummage around to locate it.
7) The entire time you’re going “Doo dee doo~”
8) You’re not even quite sure what your phone number is.
9) That too required a separate investigation.
If any of this sounds like you ( Or ALL of it, God help me that was a painful call ) then please, don’t call till after 7am. Spare me.
Options
Me: “Good evening, <company>“
SC: “Is this Surrey Memorial Hospital?”
Me: “No, sorry. You have the wrong number.”
SC: “Oh….do you know the right number?”
Me: “….no, sorry.”
Sorry you’re an idiot. I really am. But in my defense there’s very little I can do about that short of constructing a time machine, obtaining a teaching degree and loading it down with 12 grades worth of course material and giving you 12 years of my life in an effort to make the world a better place. An objective I could probably accomplish much easier by “accidentally” nudging you in front of a oncoming bus. It’d only cost me 4-6 years too if I get a decent lawyer.
Right.
SC: “I DUN TAKE DA DISK OUT!"
Well, that sentence tells me everything I need to know about exactly where the problem lies, thank you.
Damn, post too long....
Thus I have a backlog of misery here I must get too that will hopefully fit into a single post. -.-
867
Me: “Ok, that comes to $284 and should take about 2 weeks to arrive.”
SC: “Where does it go?”
Me: “….I’m sorry?”
SC: “Does it come in the mail?”
Me: “..yes.”
I’m not precisely sure how you expected it to arrive. I mean, I know a few years back we shipped everything by loading it into a Styrofoam beer cooler from Walmart, duct taping it closed, leashing it to a husky and just shoving him out a door that faced north. But those days are long gone my friend. These days we’ve upgraded our shipping to your service area to “Shoved out of a plane at low altitude”. Though in honour of our company’s history we still leash it to a husky. But we’re trying to phase that out as it’s not really economically viable. Why do you think shipping costs so much to Nunavut? Huskies aren’t like cats you know, they don’t really land on their feet that often. Especially when they’re coming in at terminal velocity towards the broadside of a mobile home.
867
Me: “Good evening, <company>-“
SC: “….gwaaarrrrgggyyyaaa….”
Oh oh, wait, I learned a bit of your language last week. How do you say it again…..oh right! PWAH!
Priorities
SC: “The element in my oven broke off, I’m worried it might be a fire risk!”
Me: “Ok, well it’ll have to wait till morning. I would just turn it off for this evening and maintenance can help you in the morning.”
SC: “I’m not finished cooking yet! How am I suppose to feed my kids!?!”
Me: “Unfortunately we can’t send someone to fix it this late at night.”
SC: “So how am I suppose to feed my kids!? I have 7 kids!!!”
( 7!? In an 2 bedroom apartment!? Holy maple shitsticks, woman. )
Me: “Well, unfortunately the maintenance guy is only on call for emergencies this late at night. For a broken appliance it will have to wait till morning.”
SC: “How I suppose to feed my kids then!?!?!”
( How are your children my responsibility? )
Me: “Unfortunately there’s not much else I can do for you. If you’re worried it’s a fire hazard then I’d turn it off to be on the safe side.”
SC: “You’d let your kids starve?!!?”
( No, I’d make something else. Or order out. But hell, my kids wouldn’t be up at 11pm on a weekday anyway. Oh, and I wouldn’t have *7* of them. )
Me: “…….ok, we-“
SC: “I’ll just keep using it and call you when it catches on fire.”
Your priorities intrigue me. So you’re saying that having your kids go hungry for half an hour waiting for Domino's outweighs burning down your entire apartment building and potentially killing or maiming your children and/or neighbours?
Still...7 kids in a 2 bedroom apartment.....Christ. I should send the maintenance guy to tie your legs together.
867
Me: “I only have that item in XL”
SC: “You don’t have it in medium?”
That’s what “only” implied. I know, I know, “only” is on the list of words that there doesn’t seem to be an equivalent for in your dialect. Right alongside “No”, “address”, “phone”, “number”, “alcoholism” and “literacy”.
Cardboard Liaisons
On my way in this evening, at 29th Avenue Station, I bore witness to a man. A man holding an empty cardboard box. He was….serenading the box….in a rather intoxicated fashion. “All my love is for you” or some such. I’m not entirely sure why he was serenading a box or where he found the box. He did have a small audience watching his performance as he confessed his throbbing feelings for the box. But he was definitely rather enamored with his cardboard lover. S
till, it’s never wise to confess your feelings in the midst of a drunken episode. Because you know he’s going to wake up this morning in bed, naked and hung over with an arm around a badly crumpled heap of slightly damp cardboard. That’s when the regret….and the, er, chafing….will start to sink in.
Damned if you do, damned if you don't...
Me: “and your last name please?”
SC: “It’s Blazgergin.”
Me: “and how do you spell that, please?”
SC: “B-L-A-<mumble gibber> G-E-<mumble>”
Me: “B-L-A-Z-E-R-G-I-N?”
SC: “No no no no no NO, <dramatic sigh>. Its B-L-A-Z-GGGGGG-E-RRRRR-G-I-N”
Me: “Ok, so B-L-A-Z-G-E-R-G-I-N?”
SC: “Yes!”
Me: “Ok, and can I have your postal code please?”
SC: “It’s XXX-XXX”
Me: “Alright, an-“
SC: “Do you have my name right!?!?”
Me: “….B-L-A-Z-G-E-R-G-I-N?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Ok, two things for you to consider, Skippyfuck McDrama:
Number 1)
Repeating and verifying everything is one of the golden rules of being a CSR. It helps me avoid having incorrect information. Because of it I just avoided incorrectly spelling your name on your order. Which would have ultimately resulted in a problem with the credit card company and the delay or abject failure if your order.
Number 2)
It is not my fault you were named after some sort of ancient Sumerian goat demon whose name is somewhat difficult to spell after being painstakingly translated to English. This is why I tried to verify the name with you. In fact, it was rather foolish of you to demand that I verify it not once, but twice. Because for all we know the key to summoning him from beyond and visiting his darkness upon the defenseless lives of our fragile world is saying his name 3 times out loud.
867
Why? That’s all I can ask at this point. Why? Why is a hat so important to you that you’ll gladly pay $40 shipping on a $45 hat? Are hats really that critical to society up there? It’s all you guys order. Hats and pants. Now, pants aren’t really optional ( Despite some of your unsettling demonstrations to the contrary ), but hats are. So why? Why is it so vital? Does Nunavut have some sort of caste system that’s determined entirely by the size and value of your hat? How exactly do you calculate your worth in society based on the hat anyhow? Are extra points given for certain colours or patterns?
Its reassuring to know that should I ever lose my mind and travel to Nunavut I need only pack a pink camo cap to be considered part of the ruling elite. On the surface the prospect of being able to rule over an entire territory might sound rather impressive. But when you get right down to it, even under my cunning guidance there’s not much you can accomplish with a huddled group barely a few hundred strong that would require several days worth of one on one tutoring to overcome any task more complex then getting the straw into a juice box.
Good Stuff
You know, you were nowhere near as interesting or as entertaining as the conversation occurring in the background behind you. Which went as follows:
“Hey, get the cherry Nyquil!”
“Yeah, that’s the GOOD STUFF!”
Damn straight, Nyquil’s what? 10% proof? That’s like vodka. Red, syrupy vodka. Red vodka that provides a taste sensation similar to picking up a gerbil, flipping it over and slowly licking it from sack to snout. But then that’s not much different from vodka anyhow.
Press Start To Play
Me: “Good evening, <company>, how may I help you?”
SC: “Hello?”
Me: “Hi.”
SC: “Hello?”
Me: “Hi, can I help you?”
SC: “It’sa me!”
…Mario?
867
( All the mail is delivered to boxes up there, hence we ask. )
Me: “Ok, and your box number please?”
SC: “Box? Like my mail?”
Me: “…yes.”
SC: “Box #8.”
What other box would I be speaking of? I know you have many in your life such as the magic box that brings you moving pictures of Danger Bay or the magic box that keeps your beer cold. But seeing as we’re talking about shipping an item to you then yes, I’m referring to mail or as you may know it better: The magic box in which the <company> catalogue first appeared in one fateful day that led to our tragic meeting.
867
Me: “Alright, that comes to $434 and should take about two weeks to arrive.”
SC: “That’s it? That’s all I have to do?”
Me: “….yes.”
SC: “Just phone?”
Me: “…yes.”
Yes, just phone. That’s all you have to do. Just phone then two weeks later it will just magically arrive. Because I am a goddamn Houdini.
867
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “Wait!”
Me: “Ok.”
SC: “I hafta turn the page……”
Me: “…..ok”
SC: “……”
Me: “……”
Hey, do you mind if I take a break and run down to Subway? It seems like this will take a while and I don’t want to rush you or anything. Just keep at it for 15 minutes or so there, I’ll be rooting for you, ok? Great, be right back.
A Love Letter to Piglet
Dear Piglet,
When I attempted to enter 7/11 this evening…..you were blocking the doorway. Why? Because you were taking to your friend/boyfriend/man creature/thing you let in your vagina. I’m not sure exactly, he was scruffy, vacant eyed and had hiking gear. Sort of like Shaggy from Scooby Doo but without a driver’s license. Anyway, annoyed, I maneuvered around you and your man shaped chew toy and began my harvesting.
But after I got my precious Coke Zero from the cooler…I turned around and there you were again, blocking my way, talking to Shaggy. Again, I slipped around your rotund form and went about my shopping. All was well until I went for my chips…..which you, and Shaggy, were standing in front of. I’m not sure what sort of muffin topped stumpy raver wannabe human roadblock you are endeavoring to become, but you tire me, little piglet. But I persevered and was able to obtained my chips.
Shortly thereafter I moved to pay for my purchases….and yes, there you were again, with Shaggy, blocking my way. You weren’t in line, no, that would make sense. You just felt the need to block the entire space from the register to the coffee machines thus forcing everyone in the store to walk the long way around.
I don’t know if this is your purpose in life or if you believe you’ve been directed by some sort of pot induced divine messenger that communicates with you via your Rice Crispies, but you are in my way and you are annoying me. My patience is vast when on the clock, but limited when operating on my own free time as I must save it up during the day, much like a camel storing moisture, before I make the long desert trek across my shift.
What’s my point you ask? I have none really. But if you do so insist on making getting in the way your life’s work, then may I suggest, and fervently hope, that you attempt to heed this calling in front of a bus at your earliest convenience.
Love,
- Gravekeeper
Mental Imagery
SC: “Ok, and one more name.”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “Riiiinnnnngoooooo~”
I’m torn between making a Beatles reference and making a “Riiiicoooolaaaa~” reference. Thus I shall merely sit here and picture a Swiss guy in suspenders with a bowl cut yelling obscenities from the bridge of a yellow submersible of some sort.
867
Me: “and what colour would you like?”
SC: “Grey Camu”
Ahh…camu again is it. I assume that its CAMU PWAH! ( See? I’m learning the language. ) that allows you to elude the polar bears, sea lions and whatever other 500+ lb arctic killing machines roam the streets at night up there. Of course, considering the scenery of your local community grey probably isn’t the past choice for camouflage if you’re really trying to blend into your surroundings. Let me see if we have any shirts or jackets that look like an old truck engine up on cinderblocks with empty beer cans on the sleeves.
I Hate You and Your Kind
Me: “Alright, you should receive the lottery tickets in about 2-3 weeks.”
SC: “Along with the money?”
Me: “….pardon?”
SC: “I’m just being silly!”
You seem to have “silly” mixed up with “asshat that thinks he’s funny”. It’s a common mistake.
SAY MY NAME!
SC: “What’s your name?”
Me: “Gravekeeper."
SC: “What’s your name?!”
Me: “It’s Gravekeeper.”
SC: “I'M ASKING FOR YOUR NAME! WHAT’S YOUR NAME?!”
Me: “My name is Gravekeeper.”
SC: “Gravekeeper?”
Me: “Yes.”
That’s right, Gravekeeper. G-R-A-V-E-K-E-E-P-E-R. Not to be confused with “Na na! I’m not telling, kiss my ass peckerstump!” as you seem to be doing.
Service Area
Me: “Main dispatch gets in at 8am pacific.”
SC: “8am pacific? Ok, so that’s around 1pm eastern…ok, I’ll call back.”
….well, no. Not quite. That would actually put you somewhere around….let’s see here…..Ammassalik, Greenland. In which case I’m afraid we don’t do support for Greenland. Better luck next time.
Unimportant
Me: “and your postal code please?”
SC: “Postal code…..we just moved here so I don’t know it…..do you really need it?”
No, not really. I can successfully deliver mail using little more than hopes and wishes alone. A postal code is just a formality. Don’t worry about it.
Riddle me This
Me: “Ok, and what is your name, please?”
SC: “It’s xxx-xxx-“
Me: “Ok, but what is your name, please?”
SC: “Oh…..uh…….um……..<click>”
For truly I am a master of riddles.
Cruelty
You know, every night when I come to work, there’s a homeless guy right in front of London Drugs sitting against the pole. Well, tonight…..they opened a hot dog stand *right* next to the guy. Literally 2 feet away. That’s a level of evil that even I can’t quite aspire too. Yet, anyway. Perhaps someday I too can attain that level of malice, but not just yet. I still have a few shreds of empathy left. It’ll take a few more years in this industry to get rid of the pesky things. Until then, I can only look on in awe and envy.
Save vs Stun
( Passing a call to an American tech )
Me: “Ok, the call is from at <company> in Toronto.”
SC: “Ok.”
Me: “The number is xxx-xxx-xxxx”
SC: “Great. Did you get a country code?”
Me: “……..pardon?”
SC: “Its in Toronto, did you get the country code for Canada?”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Me: “…….1?”
SC: “Great, thanks.”
………wow, that caught me completely out of left field. I thought I was pretty much immune to stupid questions by now. Apparently I grew lax and overconfident. Hell, I think that popped a blood vessel in my head. Great, now I have a nosebleed. I hope you’re happy.
New Rule
( The ID lets us bring up their name, address, etc and basically cuts call length down to a mere 30 seconds from 2-3 minutes. )
Ok, time out. You know what? New rule, you shouldn’t even be allowed to call for lottery tickets and speak with a live operator after 11pm if:
1) You don’t have a VIP ID, don’t know where it is, forgot it or simply don’t care to go get it.
2) You’re over 100 years old.
3) You have me on speaker phone.
4) You don’t know what your postal code is.
5) You’re not sure where you can find it.
6) You have leave the room for a few minutes to rummage around to locate it.
7) The entire time you’re going “Doo dee doo~”
8) You’re not even quite sure what your phone number is.
9) That too required a separate investigation.
If any of this sounds like you ( Or ALL of it, God help me that was a painful call ) then please, don’t call till after 7am. Spare me.
Options
Me: “Good evening, <company>“
SC: “Is this Surrey Memorial Hospital?”
Me: “No, sorry. You have the wrong number.”
SC: “Oh….do you know the right number?”
Me: “….no, sorry.”
Sorry you’re an idiot. I really am. But in my defense there’s very little I can do about that short of constructing a time machine, obtaining a teaching degree and loading it down with 12 grades worth of course material and giving you 12 years of my life in an effort to make the world a better place. An objective I could probably accomplish much easier by “accidentally” nudging you in front of a oncoming bus. It’d only cost me 4-6 years too if I get a decent lawyer.
Right.
SC: “I DUN TAKE DA DISK OUT!"
Well, that sentence tells me everything I need to know about exactly where the problem lies, thank you.
Damn, post too long....
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