Yes, I am back. Also, arrrrrggggh. >.>
SC: “Are you hiring?”
…Really? You’re calling around 2am asking about employment?
That doesn’t strike you as just a tad odd or inappropriate? Because, honestly, the only people normally seeking employment at this hour are wearing fishnet stockings and submitting their application in a poorly lit urban area. Which probably isn’t the sort of first impression you want to make on a potential employer. Well….ok maybe it is depending on what sort of job you’re looking for. But I should stress, yet again, that we're not that
kind of call centre.
If this evening is any indication, <client>'s tenants spend their lives locked in a constant struggle with natural selection. The fire alarm went off at one of their buildings this evening which resulted in 9 tenants calling in to ask about the alarm. Not fleeing a possibly burning building. Not grabbing the kids and the cat and getting the heck out of Dodge. But calling to either ask about the alarm or report that the alarm was going off ( But not making any attempt to vacate the building or even check the hallway for a raging inferno they may need to flee from ).
Two callers even asked me if a fire alarm means they should evacuate the building or not. Yes, there are people in this building who are unsure if a fire alarm means if they should flee the fire, or remain within the potentially flaming death trap and hope for the best. Which is a question I can’t even wrap my head around. I thought it was established at a rather young age that “Fire = bad” for most people. But I guess there’s still a few stragglers out there that are still trying to work their way through “Water = wet” and haven’t had a chance to tackle fire yet.
You know, there is a reason it’s called a fire “alarm” and not a fire “suggestion”.
The questionable denizens of the night in this city apparently missed me rather sorely during my absence. For they sent out their foremost ambassador to greet me and welcome me back this evening. A rather peculiar man whom I shall refer to simply as Helmet. As that is his most defining feature: A silver bike helmet, despite not actually having a bike. I encountered Helmet at the store whilst waiting in line. As he was directly ahead of me. Helmet’s list of personality quirks is perhaps a tad too extensive to document in a single report. Perhaps the easiest way of picturing him is to simply picture Shaggy from Scooby Doo then combine it with a check list of meth abuse symptoms. Oh, and then add a silver bike helmet.
So what does a skittish helmet wearing meth head buy at 10pm? Why 12 litres of butterscotch ice cream of course. However, his absurd amount of delectable frozen treats proved to be his undoing as the apparently overwhelming cold of a bunch of buckets of ice cream quickly defeated him. Which led to a comical cycle where he’d put the ice cream down due to it being too cold for him to hold. Then immediately pick it up again a few moments later after releasing he couldn’t live without clutching his delicious frozen treasures to his chest.
After hurriedly completing his purchase he dashed out onto the streets with his prizes risking life and limb in traffic. Not to a bike of course. There was no visible bike anywhere to be seen. Unless he was hiding it in an alley somewhere. But its far more likely that he is, even as I speak, hunkered down in an alley somewhere eating butterscotch ice cream with his hands and arguing with himself like Gollum.
Prank calls work much better when you can overcome your own laughter at your comedic brilliance long enough to actually deliver said comedic brilliance. When you just call and get out half a syllable before totally breaking down into hyena like convulsions it makes me feel left out. Obviously you must be a comedic genius of unparalleled wit and hilarity to have such an effect on yourself. Yet you’re not even letting me in on the joke. You’re just sitting there. Hogging it all to yourself. Whilst I sit here envious and totally mirthless. Wishing that I too had some manner of comedic merriment to make me giggle so.
Alternatively, you may simply have been huffing gas and were trying to order pizza.
SC: “I just came from a concert-”
-and what better way to rock out ( <Devil horns> ) then buying lottery tickets?
Fuck yeah! There’s nothing more metal than playing the lottery. Except maybe Bingo. Bingo is fucking metal.
Why, I remember being dragged to the bingo hall by my grandmother when I was a kid. I never really liked it because we always had to dress up like KISS and she’d do that Gene Simmons tongue thing whenever she got a Bingo while my aunt starting throwing chairs. It was seriously awkward.
It is 4am and there are two guys making out on the stairs in front of our security camera. Because hey, who can possibly resist the romantic allure of an unmarked office building? I know it sets my heart a flutter just thinking about it.
Me: “And what would you like to order?”
SC: “Uh….did I come up in the system? Did you find my file?”
Me: “I’m afraid this is just the afterhours order desk. I can place a order for you, but I don't have access to any previous information. Only customer service can do that and they're not in till the morning."
In any sane world, this would be the end of the call right there. But sanity and sobriety are rare commodities when you get that far north. I would also like to point out that I am asking her what she would like to order. In other words, I already
have all of her information because she has already
given it to me previous to this point. There is absolutely nothing in a mystical "file" left for me to retrieve. I have all of her shipping and billing information already.
SC: “Because um, uh, is my file showing up?"
Me: “I’m sorry, but there is no file to bring up. We don't retain customer accounts. If its something regarding a previous order, you will have to call back during the day when the warehouse is open. I can only place new orders.”
I believe I already explained this concept with my initial negative response to your request. My abilities have, oddly enough, not changed in the 5 seconds since the first time you asked. Now, I realize that you and callers like you do have quite a bit of trouble grasping simple concepts such as basic math, economics, sentence structure and responsible drinking. But at the very least you should be able to grasp positive and negative responses. If not, allow me to be the first to introduce you: This was a negative response.
SC: “What if I gave you a different number? Cus it might pop up then.”
Me: “I cannot
pull up anything like that. If you're calling to check on the status of a previous order, you'll have to call back during business hours."
You appear to be operating in a slightly different parallel reality where a somewhat different conversation is taking place between you and one of my various dimensional twins. Who appears to be telling you that he can’t find your order. Which is somewhat different than my explanation where I’m telling you I can’t retrieve your "file" in any way shape or form. While I am impressed that your phone can somehow bridge realities, it does appear to have rather bad reception.
SC: “Then why do you even have a 24/7 number?!”
As blatantly indicated on the catalog where the number is presented with the tagline "To place an order 24/7 call"
.There is absolutely nothing preventing you from placing an order. The only problem here is your bizarre insistence that I retrieve your "file". Despite the fact you have already provided me with every last shred of information that would have been present in any such mythical file to begin with. There is absolutely nothing missing here. You have all of the pieces of the puzzle. This is it. All systems are go. You can just tell me what you want to order, and it will be ordered!
Holy shit! Isn't that amazing?!
I must be a fucking wizard!
SC: “I just wanted to say I lived in Vancouver for 10 years without a problem. Then I moved to <building> and what a sham! I’m just disgusted with the treatment. <click>”
Alright then. Congratulations. You have just passed along your opinion, without a shred of context or information, to a person who can do absolutely nothing with it and will promptly forget it within 24 hours. So, Bravo! Pat yourself on the back. You aren’t going to take it anymore and you’ve made your voice heard! Yes, truly you have stuck it to the Man™ and shown him he can’t just walk all over you anymore. Yep, from this point onward things are gonna change
Also, we don't even manage that building.
Me: “Alright, and your account number please?"
SC: “ARE. YOU. READY?!"
To what? Rumble? Oh HELL yeah. Ready and able. Come on, bring it. Lay it on me. I can take it. What is it? Like 10 numbers? I could kick 10 number’s ass any day of the week. Hell I take international calls at night sometimes. Those thing have like 12 numbers. 10 is nothing. I will wreck
10 and teabag it while I call it’s mother inappropriate names.
Then I will pocket it’s lunch money.
SC" “I know I’m not supposed to be calling for this-“
Yet, tragically, you have failed to heed your own warnings and gone ahead with this obvious mistake anyhow. If only you had had some sort of prior knowledge of what this line is and isn’t for that you could have drawn upon to avoid this embarrassing error.
SC: “I just phoned to see if anyone was up!”
..…Well, I trust now that your curiosity has be satiated I trust you’ll be departing at leaving me alone now? No? Too much to hope for isn’t it? Sigh, very well.
Me: “Well, we’re here 24/7.”
SC: “So am I!”
Wait, what? You…..are? …..are you in the office with me? Where are you?! Show yourself! Oh God, I’m in a direct to DVD horror movie aren’t I? Probably with some stupid tagline like “Shank You For Calling” and somehow involving Freddy Prince Jr.
SC: “Uh, can I look in the book for a t-shirt?”
Er…yes? You don’t need my permission you know. Nowhere on the catalog does it state that you must call and ask for permission before opening said catalog to begin your shopping experience. In fact quite the opposite. I would much prefer if you looked in the catalog and selected the articles you desire before you call. I find this whole scenario tends to operate much more efficiently that way.
Me: “Alright, so it's Mark, M-A-R-K?
SC: “Yep……..I think.”
My apologies for presuming you would have any sort of long term familiarity with your own name. Unless it is a recent invention that you are still becoming accustom too. In which case my apologies for momentarily exposing a weakness in the plans of the witness protection program.
I’m sure you’ll be fine.
Me: “And your email address please, sir?”
SC: “It’s <questionable email alluding to the oral applications of immense genitalia>….and that has nothing to do with porn!"
.....Alright then. If you say so. Though, I feel the need to point out that if that email isn't
related to porn it begs the question why do you have it in the first place? There's really only two possible professions that email might apply too: Porn star or an extremely
Although, either way, you seriously couldn't have given me a different email? One that perhaps can't
be summarized with the statement "I
COCK"? Hell, why did you give me an email at all? I told you it was optional
before I asked. You didn't have to give me one at all. Unless you wanted
too. In which case there's a host of other questions that need to be answered here. But they'll have to wait until after I finish crying in the shower while I desperately try to feel clean again.
You've Gotta Be Kidding Me
This isn't funny, it just managed to crush one of my few remaining shreds of faith in humanity. The ones I desperately clutch onto while I cower and hide in a storm drain to try and keep them safe.
We have a client that provides translator services ( for out of town tourists, diplomats, etc. ). They do not have afterhours services or emergency services of any type. They're just if you need some dude to help you land a business deal with a company from Japan or some such.
Anyway, this woman calls and asks for a sign language interpreter. Not a problem, they do that. But she wants one now.
That is a problem, as they don't do that. But here's the kicker: She needs one to talk to her own children, so that she can tell them their father passed away. Their father was also deaf. Now, think about that for a second. Her husband is deaf. Her children are deaf. But she has never bothered to learn a shred of sign language to speak with any of them. It's not that she isn't particularly good at it and needed help. It's not that there was anything preventing her from learning it. She just couldn't speak it at all
( and I guess never had any interest in doing so ) and on top of that, obviously, it was her husband that translated for her to her own children
while she, I don't know, texted him or something.
I mean.....How. The. Fuck? I can't even begin to grasp that. Well, I can begin
but what would follow from here on would just be a litany of profanity and disbelief.
Which I will spare you from. For now anyway. -.-