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Wherein I Once Again Drink From the Font of Ire
If you're ever wondering how I write while under the influence of heavy meds, here you go!
But First, A Recap
Yes! It is I! I have returned. I’m sure you’ve been wondering where I’ve been. Perhaps you’ve been languishing around the office thinking “Wow, my whole life is drab and colourless since Gravekeeper left! How can I possibly fill the void in my heart?!”. Well, perhaps not. It was probably more like “Hey, I haven’t seen what’s his face in a while. You know…that guy….what the heck was his name? With the sunken eyes and despairing, broken expression that’s here in the morning. He kind of scares me.”
Well, according to the doctor, the correct term for the suffering I endured is called an “acute lumbar sprain”. In my case there’s two ligaments on either side of your lower back that attach your spine to your pelvis. I sprained one and tore the other a little bit. I discovered that when this happens you fall to the floor like a gut shot elk and…..well, actually that’s pretty much where you stay. Then you spent the next 3 days utterly immobile. Then you live your entire life from a couch for the next 2 weeks because, well, you can’t actually do anything else. Then they start making you do things, painful things. All the while claiming that it’s suppose to help “rehabilitation” or something. They’re lying.
It was during this time that I discovered something else. Something insidious and horrifying. Daytime television. There’s only so much of this a sane man can endure and I have reached that point and gone beyond it. How does anyone watch it? And it goes on for hours! All day! It never ends! But you can’t get away from it because you can barely walk! <sob>
Ok, so it’s not all that bad. I’m just not entirely sure how I feel about the fact I became quite fond of TLC’s What Not to Wear.
Ah, F*ck
Me: “and your phone number, please?”
SC: “867-“
…wait……something’s coming back to me…..what was-……oh God. Oh sweet butternut chocolate Cthulu. I’d forgotten. I’d been gone so long I *forgot* about you people. All the pain and suffering I endured and I didn’t even realize how good I truly had it the whole time being unburdened by the knowledge of your existence. Now I’m back here….and I remember. I remember it all. I remember the ever present crushing weight that was the abject, constant failure of humanity pressing down on my shoulders every night.
If you need me I’ll be in the break room having a good cry.
867
SC: “I wanna order glasses!”
Me: “Ok, what’s the id number on them?”
SC: “Uh…..der on page 35.”
Me: “Ok. Can you tell me the number next to them in the catalogue?”
SC: “I’m jus trynna order GLASSES~#!!"
( HULK SMISH! )
Me: “Yes, but I need the ID number next to them.”
SC: “Uh….oh, you mean these numbers here next to them?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “It’s uh….xxxx-xx”
Me: “Alright and would like Plasma or X Metal lens?”
SC: “I want them in ORANGE!~”
Me: "....."
You know what? In my current back injury inspired mood if I ever somehow managed to run into you on the street ( Unlikely, I know. As I wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere near the border to Nunanvut and you will live out the rest of your pitiful alcoholic life in the same tiny village you were born in. ) I’d probably just head butt you in the face upon recognizing your voice. Then I would pee in your hat. No, it’s not creative, but then I’m on painkillers so this is the best I’d be able to come up with off the top of my head ( or rather, off the top of yours ) on the sidewalk.
But it’s ok, I’m sure you have more hats. I know you have more hats. Perhaps specifically because of these types of incidents.
It's Always My Fault
Me: "Minimum call out for this time at night to fix a window would be $xxx"
SC: “It’s that much for a call out?!”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “Well I guess I just have to stay up all night with a baseball bat then!”
You sound as if you think this is my fault. I assure you it’s not. I had no part in throwing a “boulder” through your basement window. You did specifically refer to it as a boulder if I recall correctly. You also expressed concern that your felines might seek freedom through the opening that was freshly bored through the side of your house by said granite missile. This too is my fault somehow I’m sure.
You’re also worried that whomever it was that rolled the trebuchet onto your lawn and laid siege to your home would return to invade your basement and convert you and/or your cats to Islam. At no point did you consider simply taping the window up and/or closing the basement door to prevent the escape of your felines. As these options would show a glimmer of common sense and/or practicality.
Instead you’ve chosen to proclaim yourself a basement sentinel and sacrifice sleep in exchange for baseball bat duty. Because this is what criminal’s do you know. Break a window and run away to make sure they have the attention of at least one police cruiser in area first before they come back to rob the place.
867
Me: “Ok, and your last name please?”
SC: “Lameboy”
Do I really need to say anything?
Dangerous Assumptions
Me: “Do you have a customer ID number?”
SC: “I sure do!”
Me: “Great, what is it?”
SC: “Oh, I don’t know and I have no idea where it is.”
Then why even mention it? Why ev….oh, wait. I see what you did there. Your mind isn’t capable of thinking more than one or two moves ahead so you naively and honestly answered my question. Without realizing where I was going with the line of questioning. Silly me. Our script wasn’t designed with the lowest common mental denominator in mind. No really. Our script actually assumes the caller has a glimmer of the precious fairy dust known as common sense at their disposal. I think over the years I’ve already established that making this assumption about our callers is a mistake. A horrible, tragic mistake.
Asshattery
Me: “Good evening, <company>.”
SC: “…….”
Me: “Hello?”
SC: “…….”
Me: “Hello?”
SC: “snaer…wha?”
Me: “Hi.”
SC: “Oh, you woke me up! Sorry, I've been on hold for so long!”
I fervently hope your penis falls off and the dog finds it before you do.
867
Me: “and what would you like to order?”
SC: “Uh, I dunno.”
Wait, I recognize you. You’re captain “I want them in ORANGE!@~” from yesterday. You know I meant to ask you this yesterday but isn’t it way too early in the morning to be drinking? I mean it was 8am your time when you called yesterday and 9am today. By the sound of you, you can’t be sober. At least I hope you’re not sober. If this is what you’re like sober then I fear for the future of the human race as a whole.
But Gravekeeper, you ask, surely someone with the IQ of a moist lint brush would never be given an opportunity to pass their genes on to the next generation! What about natural selection? Well you see, Sherman, in today’s age of warning labels, helmets and first aid even the most mentally flawed troglodyte can and will survive into maturity. At which point there’s a very real danger that they may find a mate around the same mental level of themselves that will consent to whatever horrific courtship ritual they take part in. Either that or they’ll at least find one that’s ingested enough alcohol to not outright decline courtship or spray them with mace.
One way or another the chance of his accursed seed taking hold in someone or thing's oily womb and spawning the next generation of unholy crotch fruit is very real.
Therefore I fear.
You Aren't Funny
SC: “Make sure you send me the lucky ticket!”
Mmhmm. Very original. I haven’t heard that or anything remotely like it before in all my years of taking lottery ticket orders. Truly, you have graced me with original material. If the ticket selection was actually up to me I’d send you a set of tickets I’d personally kept between my butt cheeks for 2 hours while running laps.
Well, ok, maybe 20-30 minutes. I am a computer geek after all. Endurance training isn’t exactly my forte.
867
Ah, Captain Orange again....
SC: “So…uh…how do they work?”
Me: “You mean the MP3 sunglasses?”
SC: “yeah”
Me: “Well, you’d need a computer first.”
SC: “A campooter?”
The absolute worst part about the discussion that ensued beyond this point was that in the end I was unable to prevent the sale.
That was a mere two nights......two nights! I have two more to go. <whimper>
But First, A Recap
Yes! It is I! I have returned. I’m sure you’ve been wondering where I’ve been. Perhaps you’ve been languishing around the office thinking “Wow, my whole life is drab and colourless since Gravekeeper left! How can I possibly fill the void in my heart?!”. Well, perhaps not. It was probably more like “Hey, I haven’t seen what’s his face in a while. You know…that guy….what the heck was his name? With the sunken eyes and despairing, broken expression that’s here in the morning. He kind of scares me.”
Well, according to the doctor, the correct term for the suffering I endured is called an “acute lumbar sprain”. In my case there’s two ligaments on either side of your lower back that attach your spine to your pelvis. I sprained one and tore the other a little bit. I discovered that when this happens you fall to the floor like a gut shot elk and…..well, actually that’s pretty much where you stay. Then you spent the next 3 days utterly immobile. Then you live your entire life from a couch for the next 2 weeks because, well, you can’t actually do anything else. Then they start making you do things, painful things. All the while claiming that it’s suppose to help “rehabilitation” or something. They’re lying.
It was during this time that I discovered something else. Something insidious and horrifying. Daytime television. There’s only so much of this a sane man can endure and I have reached that point and gone beyond it. How does anyone watch it? And it goes on for hours! All day! It never ends! But you can’t get away from it because you can barely walk! <sob>
Ok, so it’s not all that bad. I’m just not entirely sure how I feel about the fact I became quite fond of TLC’s What Not to Wear.
Ah, F*ck
Me: “and your phone number, please?”
SC: “867-“
…wait……something’s coming back to me…..what was-……oh God. Oh sweet butternut chocolate Cthulu. I’d forgotten. I’d been gone so long I *forgot* about you people. All the pain and suffering I endured and I didn’t even realize how good I truly had it the whole time being unburdened by the knowledge of your existence. Now I’m back here….and I remember. I remember it all. I remember the ever present crushing weight that was the abject, constant failure of humanity pressing down on my shoulders every night.
If you need me I’ll be in the break room having a good cry.
867
SC: “I wanna order glasses!”
Me: “Ok, what’s the id number on them?”
SC: “Uh…..der on page 35.”
Me: “Ok. Can you tell me the number next to them in the catalogue?”
SC: “I’m jus trynna order GLASSES~#!!"
( HULK SMISH! )
Me: “Yes, but I need the ID number next to them.”
SC: “Uh….oh, you mean these numbers here next to them?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “It’s uh….xxxx-xx”
Me: “Alright and would like Plasma or X Metal lens?”
SC: “I want them in ORANGE!~”
Me: "....."
You know what? In my current back injury inspired mood if I ever somehow managed to run into you on the street ( Unlikely, I know. As I wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere near the border to Nunanvut and you will live out the rest of your pitiful alcoholic life in the same tiny village you were born in. ) I’d probably just head butt you in the face upon recognizing your voice. Then I would pee in your hat. No, it’s not creative, but then I’m on painkillers so this is the best I’d be able to come up with off the top of my head ( or rather, off the top of yours ) on the sidewalk.
But it’s ok, I’m sure you have more hats. I know you have more hats. Perhaps specifically because of these types of incidents.
It's Always My Fault
Me: "Minimum call out for this time at night to fix a window would be $xxx"
SC: “It’s that much for a call out?!”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “Well I guess I just have to stay up all night with a baseball bat then!”
You sound as if you think this is my fault. I assure you it’s not. I had no part in throwing a “boulder” through your basement window. You did specifically refer to it as a boulder if I recall correctly. You also expressed concern that your felines might seek freedom through the opening that was freshly bored through the side of your house by said granite missile. This too is my fault somehow I’m sure.
You’re also worried that whomever it was that rolled the trebuchet onto your lawn and laid siege to your home would return to invade your basement and convert you and/or your cats to Islam. At no point did you consider simply taping the window up and/or closing the basement door to prevent the escape of your felines. As these options would show a glimmer of common sense and/or practicality.
Instead you’ve chosen to proclaim yourself a basement sentinel and sacrifice sleep in exchange for baseball bat duty. Because this is what criminal’s do you know. Break a window and run away to make sure they have the attention of at least one police cruiser in area first before they come back to rob the place.
867
Me: “Ok, and your last name please?”
SC: “Lameboy”
Do I really need to say anything?
Dangerous Assumptions
Me: “Do you have a customer ID number?”
SC: “I sure do!”
Me: “Great, what is it?”
SC: “Oh, I don’t know and I have no idea where it is.”
Then why even mention it? Why ev….oh, wait. I see what you did there. Your mind isn’t capable of thinking more than one or two moves ahead so you naively and honestly answered my question. Without realizing where I was going with the line of questioning. Silly me. Our script wasn’t designed with the lowest common mental denominator in mind. No really. Our script actually assumes the caller has a glimmer of the precious fairy dust known as common sense at their disposal. I think over the years I’ve already established that making this assumption about our callers is a mistake. A horrible, tragic mistake.
Asshattery
Me: “Good evening, <company>.”
SC: “…….”
Me: “Hello?”
SC: “…….”
Me: “Hello?”
SC: “snaer…wha?”
Me: “Hi.”
SC: “Oh, you woke me up! Sorry, I've been on hold for so long!”
I fervently hope your penis falls off and the dog finds it before you do.
867
Me: “and what would you like to order?”
SC: “Uh, I dunno.”
Wait, I recognize you. You’re captain “I want them in ORANGE!@~” from yesterday. You know I meant to ask you this yesterday but isn’t it way too early in the morning to be drinking? I mean it was 8am your time when you called yesterday and 9am today. By the sound of you, you can’t be sober. At least I hope you’re not sober. If this is what you’re like sober then I fear for the future of the human race as a whole.
But Gravekeeper, you ask, surely someone with the IQ of a moist lint brush would never be given an opportunity to pass their genes on to the next generation! What about natural selection? Well you see, Sherman, in today’s age of warning labels, helmets and first aid even the most mentally flawed troglodyte can and will survive into maturity. At which point there’s a very real danger that they may find a mate around the same mental level of themselves that will consent to whatever horrific courtship ritual they take part in. Either that or they’ll at least find one that’s ingested enough alcohol to not outright decline courtship or spray them with mace.
One way or another the chance of his accursed seed taking hold in someone or thing's oily womb and spawning the next generation of unholy crotch fruit is very real.
Therefore I fear.
You Aren't Funny
SC: “Make sure you send me the lucky ticket!”
Mmhmm. Very original. I haven’t heard that or anything remotely like it before in all my years of taking lottery ticket orders. Truly, you have graced me with original material. If the ticket selection was actually up to me I’d send you a set of tickets I’d personally kept between my butt cheeks for 2 hours while running laps.
Well, ok, maybe 20-30 minutes. I am a computer geek after all. Endurance training isn’t exactly my forte.
867
Ah, Captain Orange again....
SC: “So…uh…how do they work?”
Me: “You mean the MP3 sunglasses?”
SC: “yeah”
Me: “Well, you’d need a computer first.”
SC: “A campooter?”
The absolute worst part about the discussion that ensued beyond this point was that in the end I was unable to prevent the sale.
That was a mere two nights......two nights! I have two more to go. <whimper>
Welcome to your Return to Hell. We have punch!
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