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Wherein I am asked to perform a rather delicate task
Kinda slow this week, not many SCs ( Well, comparatively anyway. ). Big fireworks shows in Vancouver and what not. ;p
Blind Date
Me: “and your number please?”
SC: “It’s xxx-xxxx”
Me: “Ok-“
SC: “Let me give you my daughter’s number as well.”
Me: “…ok?”
…thanks? You know, there has to be easier ways to find her a date. Well…actually, there has to be a reason you’ve resorted to offering her number randomly to anything male. What’s the problem exactly? Tusks? I guess I can sort of work around tusks...but if I lose an eye I'm bailing.
867
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “Uh….xxxx-xxx”
Me: “Ok, what size?”
SC: “34.”
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “xxxx-xxx”
Me: “What size?”
SC: “34.”
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “Uh…how many pants is that so far?”
Me: “…..two.”
…oh come on. Don’t give out on me that early. Two? Two? Seriously? Your mental ceiling gave out at two? Come on now. Even Elmo can count past two, and he’s made out of felt. So what you’re saying is that you somehow possess high enough cognitive function to maintain self awareness, read a catalogue and operate a phone, but when it comes to even the most basic of mathematical tasks you’re actually lower on the intellectual scale then a felt covered sock with some guy’s hand up its ass?
Not This Again...
Me: “and what city are you in?”
SC: “Foenix.”
Didn’t we go over this once already? It’s Phoenix. As in the mythical bird that can rise from the ashes of its own demise. Not Foenix. As in….er..whatever the hell a Foenix is. Could be some form of toilet bowl cleaner. Could be something you’re hooked on. Could be a lightly scented spray that wards off potential foes. Could be one of those vague prescription drugs that doesn’t exactly tell you what it does but according to the commercial will make you happily run down a beach while a narrator quickly rattles off some sort of some horrible list of side effects like “acute sexual dysfunction” and “anal seepage”. Probably at the same time.
I don’t know. But it’s not a city.
Intro
Me: “Good evening, <company>.”
SC: “Hi, this is……this is….er….what is this?”
The prelude to an exercise in futility.
Yes.
SC: “So what am I suppose to do? Wait here in jail?!”
Well, yes. That’s kind of the natural outcome of getting arrested. Perhaps the next time you attempt to ingest half your body weight in hard liqueur you’ll retain enough foresight to stumble towards a taxi rather than your own vehicle. As it stands, if you get pulled over, roll down the window and your breath makes the officer’s eyes physically water, chances are you’re going to end up in a cold, lonely cell. Unfortunately, since you’re probably just in the drunk tank it’s unlikely you have a larger, hairier cell mate to keep you warm through the long night.
But don’t worry, I’m sure if you play your cards right you’ll end up with in a more permanent facility and in a more permanent….relationship. The kind of relationship that'll have you reflexively bending over and spreading your atlantic ocean to sink the Titanic whenever someone calls you "Rose".
Natural Selection
Ok, so there’s an fire alarm going off and the intercom system in the hallway is playing a message that says to please evacuate the building immediately, there’s an emergency. Now, the average person with some semblance of self preservation would leave the building immediately. But you? Nah. You called me to demand to know what the emergency was and why you have to leave the building. You know, because potentially lifesaving action is too big of an inconvenience for you.
Just a heads up, you're the kind of person that ends up being identified by their dental records.
<twitch>
Me: “Good evening, Gravekeeper speaking, how may I help you?”
SC: “Yo, what’s up, n*gga?”
Wow, that was actually kind of impressive how fast you completely evaporated any desire I had to assist you. Normally my burn from “helpful” to “trying to give you cancer with my mind.” is rather slow. Rarely do I plummet completely from cheerful to violently hostile this swiftly.
So, you sir, can go get your dangly tender boy bits slowly pulled into some sort of industrial landscaping machine while a school bus full of 3rd graders nearby points and laughs at your desperate pleas for help.
OH NOEZ
SC: “I’m on your website and it says there’s a limited time sale that’s 20-50% all items.”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “So what would the sale price be on the pure cashmere robe?”
Me: “The sale price should on the website there in red.”
( You know, right where it says "ON SALE PRICE" in bright red text right under the original price?)
SC: “Oh, that’s the sale price? It’s not on top of that?”
Me: “No.”
SC: “Oh, well, I’m not interested then.”
Oh noez, because I won’t sell him a $500 pure cashmere robe for $125 I’ve lost a sale and a customer! Whatever will I do? Hey, here’s a suggestion: Try Wal-Mart. I’m sure they have something more around the price range you’re looking for. Maybe something in a classy baby blue terrycloth.
Ah, the would be prankers...
Me: “Good evening, Gravekeeper speaking, how my I help you?”
SC: “Circumcision!”
Me: “I’m sorry, that’s not a service we provide.”
SC: “…..uh…you don’t?”
Me: “No, sorry.”
SC: “Umm….er….ok. Uh, bye.”
Well, we don’t. I mean, I could give it a shot if you really want me too. But all I can find around here is this dull butter knife from the break room. Oh, and I have quite a bit of caffeine in my system right now so I can’t promise I have the steadiest hands. Honestly, I’m not too high on staring at some random guy’s…er….you know….sock monkey…either so I’ll be keeping my eyes averted as best I can.
I guess what I’m trying to say is it might sting a little.
Listen. To. Me.
Me: “Good evening, <real estate company>“
SC: “Yeah, can I get a cab?”
Me: “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “To xxx whatever street”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “…..”
Me: “…..”
Me: “Hello?”
SC: “Yeah?”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “Oh."
You know, I really can’t figure this out. This happens all the time. Some lush bucket shed weasel calls, I say the greeting which blatantly and obviously identifies me as anything but a cab, and they ask me for a cab. Why? Aren’t you listening? I mean if I call, say, my phone company, and someone picks up and says “Good afternoon, Bob’s Happy House of Latex” I immediately assume I have made a critical error and excuse myself before Bob begins to elaborate on his product line and the Daily Doublefisting Deal. But not you, no. You just keep plowing on through regardless of who or what you’ve reached. Has this method ever actually been successful? Have you ever accidentally called say, a Subway, and managed to convince them to send you a cab?
If so, bravo.
Another one...
SC: “Yeah, I’m getting f**ked over once again.”
Me: “…ok, what are you in custody for?”
SC: “DUI, once again.”
The way you say “Once again” implies that this is becoming a fairly regular occurrence for you. Perhaps if you stopped weaving your Honda death chariot in and out of traffic the cops would stop, er, *$&@ing you over? Was that how you put it? Yes, clearly it has nothing to do with the drinking and driving thing. The police are just out to mess with you. I mean, it’s not like they pulled over any of the other people straddling the meridian and threatening to swerve into oncoming traffic, right? Clearly they singled you out just because. Its just The Man(tm) trying to keep you down.
So?
Me: “The office here gets in at 8am pacific time.”
SC: “In my country it IS morning!”
That’s very nice. But until France conquers the world and forces us to be subservient to their time zone, cheese, deliciously dense bread and abundance of armpit hair the time there will be largely irrelevant to those of us on the west coast of North America.
What?
Me: “Good morning, <company> afterhours.”
SC: “Afterhours? Oh! You know what, I just realized I’m in Halifax. Sorry.”
You just noticed? You know, I’ve been to Halifax. It’s not precisely easy to forget you’re there. I’m not sure it could even be accomplished without heavy alcohol consumption. It’s like Chilliwack. You know when you’re in Chilliwack. You could be blindfolded and still know you were in Chilliwack. I guess you could try breathing through your mouth but you’d probably still be able to taste that you were in Chilliwack.
( I guess you have to have been to Chilliwack before...lets just say it has an...aroma. )
and so ends my week...
Blind Date
Me: “and your number please?”
SC: “It’s xxx-xxxx”
Me: “Ok-“
SC: “Let me give you my daughter’s number as well.”
Me: “…ok?”
…thanks? You know, there has to be easier ways to find her a date. Well…actually, there has to be a reason you’ve resorted to offering her number randomly to anything male. What’s the problem exactly? Tusks? I guess I can sort of work around tusks...but if I lose an eye I'm bailing.
867
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “Uh….xxxx-xxx”
Me: “Ok, what size?”
SC: “34.”
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “xxxx-xxx”
Me: “What size?”
SC: “34.”
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “Uh…how many pants is that so far?”
Me: “…..two.”
…oh come on. Don’t give out on me that early. Two? Two? Seriously? Your mental ceiling gave out at two? Come on now. Even Elmo can count past two, and he’s made out of felt. So what you’re saying is that you somehow possess high enough cognitive function to maintain self awareness, read a catalogue and operate a phone, but when it comes to even the most basic of mathematical tasks you’re actually lower on the intellectual scale then a felt covered sock with some guy’s hand up its ass?
Not This Again...
Me: “and what city are you in?”
SC: “Foenix.”
Didn’t we go over this once already? It’s Phoenix. As in the mythical bird that can rise from the ashes of its own demise. Not Foenix. As in….er..whatever the hell a Foenix is. Could be some form of toilet bowl cleaner. Could be something you’re hooked on. Could be a lightly scented spray that wards off potential foes. Could be one of those vague prescription drugs that doesn’t exactly tell you what it does but according to the commercial will make you happily run down a beach while a narrator quickly rattles off some sort of some horrible list of side effects like “acute sexual dysfunction” and “anal seepage”. Probably at the same time.
I don’t know. But it’s not a city.
Intro
Me: “Good evening, <company>.”
SC: “Hi, this is……this is….er….what is this?”
The prelude to an exercise in futility.
Yes.
SC: “So what am I suppose to do? Wait here in jail?!”
Well, yes. That’s kind of the natural outcome of getting arrested. Perhaps the next time you attempt to ingest half your body weight in hard liqueur you’ll retain enough foresight to stumble towards a taxi rather than your own vehicle. As it stands, if you get pulled over, roll down the window and your breath makes the officer’s eyes physically water, chances are you’re going to end up in a cold, lonely cell. Unfortunately, since you’re probably just in the drunk tank it’s unlikely you have a larger, hairier cell mate to keep you warm through the long night.
But don’t worry, I’m sure if you play your cards right you’ll end up with in a more permanent facility and in a more permanent….relationship. The kind of relationship that'll have you reflexively bending over and spreading your atlantic ocean to sink the Titanic whenever someone calls you "Rose".
Natural Selection
Ok, so there’s an fire alarm going off and the intercom system in the hallway is playing a message that says to please evacuate the building immediately, there’s an emergency. Now, the average person with some semblance of self preservation would leave the building immediately. But you? Nah. You called me to demand to know what the emergency was and why you have to leave the building. You know, because potentially lifesaving action is too big of an inconvenience for you.
Just a heads up, you're the kind of person that ends up being identified by their dental records.
<twitch>
Me: “Good evening, Gravekeeper speaking, how may I help you?”
SC: “Yo, what’s up, n*gga?”
Wow, that was actually kind of impressive how fast you completely evaporated any desire I had to assist you. Normally my burn from “helpful” to “trying to give you cancer with my mind.” is rather slow. Rarely do I plummet completely from cheerful to violently hostile this swiftly.
So, you sir, can go get your dangly tender boy bits slowly pulled into some sort of industrial landscaping machine while a school bus full of 3rd graders nearby points and laughs at your desperate pleas for help.
OH NOEZ
SC: “I’m on your website and it says there’s a limited time sale that’s 20-50% all items.”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “So what would the sale price be on the pure cashmere robe?”
Me: “The sale price should on the website there in red.”
( You know, right where it says "ON SALE PRICE" in bright red text right under the original price?)
SC: “Oh, that’s the sale price? It’s not on top of that?”
Me: “No.”
SC: “Oh, well, I’m not interested then.”
Oh noez, because I won’t sell him a $500 pure cashmere robe for $125 I’ve lost a sale and a customer! Whatever will I do? Hey, here’s a suggestion: Try Wal-Mart. I’m sure they have something more around the price range you’re looking for. Maybe something in a classy baby blue terrycloth.
Ah, the would be prankers...
Me: “Good evening, Gravekeeper speaking, how my I help you?”
SC: “Circumcision!”
Me: “I’m sorry, that’s not a service we provide.”
SC: “…..uh…you don’t?”
Me: “No, sorry.”
SC: “Umm….er….ok. Uh, bye.”
Well, we don’t. I mean, I could give it a shot if you really want me too. But all I can find around here is this dull butter knife from the break room. Oh, and I have quite a bit of caffeine in my system right now so I can’t promise I have the steadiest hands. Honestly, I’m not too high on staring at some random guy’s…er….you know….sock monkey…either so I’ll be keeping my eyes averted as best I can.
I guess what I’m trying to say is it might sting a little.
Listen. To. Me.
Me: “Good evening, <real estate company>“
SC: “Yeah, can I get a cab?”
Me: “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “To xxx whatever street”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “…..”
Me: “…..”
Me: “Hello?”
SC: “Yeah?”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “Oh."
You know, I really can’t figure this out. This happens all the time. Some lush bucket shed weasel calls, I say the greeting which blatantly and obviously identifies me as anything but a cab, and they ask me for a cab. Why? Aren’t you listening? I mean if I call, say, my phone company, and someone picks up and says “Good afternoon, Bob’s Happy House of Latex” I immediately assume I have made a critical error and excuse myself before Bob begins to elaborate on his product line and the Daily Doublefisting Deal. But not you, no. You just keep plowing on through regardless of who or what you’ve reached. Has this method ever actually been successful? Have you ever accidentally called say, a Subway, and managed to convince them to send you a cab?
If so, bravo.
Another one...
SC: “Yeah, I’m getting f**ked over once again.”
Me: “…ok, what are you in custody for?”
SC: “DUI, once again.”
The way you say “Once again” implies that this is becoming a fairly regular occurrence for you. Perhaps if you stopped weaving your Honda death chariot in and out of traffic the cops would stop, er, *$&@ing you over? Was that how you put it? Yes, clearly it has nothing to do with the drinking and driving thing. The police are just out to mess with you. I mean, it’s not like they pulled over any of the other people straddling the meridian and threatening to swerve into oncoming traffic, right? Clearly they singled you out just because. Its just The Man(tm) trying to keep you down.
So?
Me: “The office here gets in at 8am pacific time.”
SC: “In my country it IS morning!”
That’s very nice. But until France conquers the world and forces us to be subservient to their time zone, cheese, deliciously dense bread and abundance of armpit hair the time there will be largely irrelevant to those of us on the west coast of North America.
What?
Me: “Good morning, <company> afterhours.”
SC: “Afterhours? Oh! You know what, I just realized I’m in Halifax. Sorry.”
You just noticed? You know, I’ve been to Halifax. It’s not precisely easy to forget you’re there. I’m not sure it could even be accomplished without heavy alcohol consumption. It’s like Chilliwack. You know when you’re in Chilliwack. You could be blindfolded and still know you were in Chilliwack. I guess you could try breathing through your mouth but you’d probably still be able to taste that you were in Chilliwack.
( I guess you have to have been to Chilliwack before...lets just say it has an...aroma. )
and so ends my week...
Eric the Grey
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