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Bit a slow week, not too much to report. But here we go anyhow. Gentlemen may wish to turn away. -.-
I Care Not.
SC: “Are you guys still open?”
Me: “This is actually our afterhours line-“
SC: “Oh, I’m sorry. I just wanted to know if you were 24 hours.”
Me: "A few locations are, but I wouln't be able to tell you which since this is our emergency line."
SC: “Oh, well, I couldn’t sleep. I’m trying to quit smoking but I couldn’t sleep so I figured I’d give in and grab some smokes.”
Me: “Ah.”
SC: “But if you guys are closed than I guess that’s for the best.”
Yes, I’m glad you could not only share your small personal crisis with me but give me a chance to resolve it for you despite my complete and total lack of interest. Truly, I am blessed for having the opportunity to in some way touch your life. Why, my life has literally been enriched by our nocturnal correspondence and I now have a vested interest in your well being. Please, you must keep me up to date on your personal struggles. Do you have some sort of news letter or mailing list full of “clever” joke laden forwarded emails with excessive cute animal pictures and talking emoticons ( Omigawd! No way! ) I could sign up for to choke my email box with? Or at the very least some sort of Facebook or MySpace page where I can follow along your proclamations of how much the world sucks ( in poetry form ) and be spammed repeated Youtube links to that video of balloon animals having a threesome that everyone has sent me at least 5 times in the last week.
Whoa! Back up.
Me: “Alright. Is this a server or client system?”
SC: "We have two servers."
Me: “Ok.”
SC: “The left one and the right one.”
Whoa, back up there Sparky. Your method of network server identification is rather complex. I’m not sure I was able to follow that. You’ll have to explain to me again to make sure I have it. So you say there’s a “left” one and a “right” one? And that the “left” one is to the left of the “Right” one? Which is than to the right of the “Left” one? This….this is all so complicated.
I’m going to have to get you to draw me a diagram. Crayon is fine. I like crayon.
The Woe of Public Transit: The Mist
That fog is rather persistent isn’t it? Its been out there day and night for weeks. This is bad. I need groceries but I have this unsettling feeling I’m going to end up holed up in the IGA with a ragtag group of survivors, desperately trying to shovel a nightmare appendage off the stock boy.
Really makes waiting for the bus exciting though. They don’t even have half a block worth of visibility at night. So they don’t see you at the stop till the last moment. Than they veer directly at you and slam the brakes in the hopes their hurdling steel death tube will manage to stop before the curb and tragedy. But that’s the rule in Vancouver. You drive full speed regardless of the weather conditions or the threat of imminent death you present to yourself or anyone outside of your vehicle. Especially if you’re a bus driver. I mean, hey, it’s a bus. So what if you hit something. It’ll just kill them, not you.
A Strange Inquiry
Me: “Ok, and which credit card would you like to use?”
SC: “VISA.”
Me: “Alright, and the nu-“
SC: “Here comes the number. ARE. YOU. READY?!”
To rumble? No. For the credit card number? Yes.
A Hint
( Lottery ticket line.... )
SC: “I tried calling before and I got the wrong number. It went through to some gambling crisis line.”
Me: "Heh."
SC: "So we chatted for a few minutes."
Yet here you are anyhow? Not only did the universe drop a not so subtle hint on you, but you actually chatted with the gambling crisis line for several minutes and still ended up calling us? I'm not sure how much bigger of a hint you want here. Maybe if the guy in front of you at 7/11 bought a Lotto 649 ticket, slipped and in a complete fluke managed to paper cut himself across the jugular? Than slowly collapsed like a crimson lawn sprinkler while clutching your coat tails screaming "Why, God?! Why?! I just wanted one more bonus draw!?"
WE MEET AGAIN
Me: “"Good evening, <company>, how may I help you?"
SC: “…uh….”
( …wait a sec, that sound of rum marinated neural failure is oddly familiar… )
Me: “Hello?”
SC: “umm…so….”
Me: “Can I help you with something?”
SC: “Uh….”
< Someone snatches the phone, and on comes the familiar voice of Cohort #2 >
SC2: “No you may not!”
Me: “….pardon?”
SC2: “YOU MAY NOT! <click>”
I’ll get you next time, Tim Coshem. NEXT TIME. <pets cat>
Identifiers
Me: “Good morning, <company>”
SC: “Hi.”
Me: “Hello.”
SC: “Oh, is this really a person talking to me!?”
I have been identified by that term before, yes. Though I have also been identified by the terms “pal”, “guy”, “bro”, “boss”, “honey”, "candy ass", “Jesus”, “Magnificent Bastard” and once, in high school, as the root cause of both World War 1 and 2. So take your pick really.
Though personally I'm partial to "candy ass", myself.
Heads Up
Me: “It should arrive in about 2 weeks-“
SC: “So, it’ll come to the postal office?”
…yes. That’s typically how COD works. A few years back Canada Post use to bring it directly to your door. Like pizza. But while convenient, the mail carriers had a bad habit of breaking your thumbs if you didn’t have the cash on you right that moment. So they had to change their delivery policies somewhat. Now you have to go down to the post office itself to pick it up and pay for it.
Though they still break your thumbs if you don’t have exact change. This is Canada Post after all. Just a heads up.
...and?
Me: “Ok, and your phone number please?”
SC: “Oh, I have a cell phone.”
Me: “……….?”
SC: “………”
….yeah, and? Maybe they didn’t explain this very well at the Telus Store but weirdly enough a cell phone is still a phone. Hence the term “cell phone” instead of “pocket sized obnoxious song clip recorder”.
The Woe of Public Transit: The Loach
( You've probably seen this creature in retail establishments as well. )
So I was waiting for the bus again…you’d think I’d just walk by now and spare myself the company of others. But oh no, I lazy and must ride the fail chariot with everything else that crawls on it late at night on the weekend. Those of you familiar with public transit are probably aware that out the various denizens that lurk upon it there is one that is far more annoying than most, if not all others. The Loach.
The Loach randomly selects one individual on the bus or subway and for no apparent reason initiates conversation with this perfect stranger. The more inane, pointless and repetitive this conversation the more persistent this lonely, lonely soul will be. They usually select a topic you care absolutely nothing about, such as their marital problems or their problems with their kids and begin to tell you about it for utterly no reason what so ever. Any attempt to act disinterested is completely and utterly lost on them. You could literally not say a single word back or even pretend to be or go to sleep and they will not be discouraged. In some causes they begin talking to you even if you are asleep. The only possible way to free yourself is if they see a more desirable target than you.
There was a Loach at the bus stop with me this evening. But I saw him for what he was. Mainly because he arrived with 3 other people 1/3rd his age who would not normally be caught dead anywhere near him but he had latched onto them as they were walking down the street and followed them, rambling on, until reaching the bus stop. At which point two fled, and the third found himself caught. Like a deer. I was safe for a few minutes as he rambled on mindlessly to this kid that couldn’t have been more than 17 or 18, about how he’s like 45 years old and just moving out of his dad’s place. But he has a wicked plasma TV and what not. He than proceeded to invite the kid to move into his new house with him ( Because that’s not creepy ). But than began detailing just how horrible a roommate he would be by declaring when he wants to listen to music or watch a hockey game or something he wants it up LOUD and fark anyone that says otherwise.
Finally, utterly creeped out, the kid fled. With the Loach calling out “You ungrateful little sh*t!” behind him. Which left the Loach alone with me. In the dark. On an empty street. With no bus in sight yet. But I knew what he was and was going to have no part in it. Leading to this “conversation”:
L: “So how’s it going?”
Me: “………not bad”
L: “……..”
Me: “……..”
L: “That's it? Not bad? So you just one of those people that don’t talk to others? Does everyone have some sort of *&@#ing plague that you can’t talk to them?!”
Yes, actually. It’s called stupid.
L: “So everyone’s just *&@$ing diseased? Is that it?”
In all blunt honesty you’re teetering into “raving sociopath” territory anyway. I’m surprised that kid didn’t just take off at full sprint. Actually, maybe he did. I wasn't really watching and I don't see him anywhere now.
At this point the bus was spotted and I was saved. Or at least, had witnesses that could quickly dial 911. I stepped on first and quickly fled deep within the confines of the vehicle in the hopes of escape. But than the Loach, sensing more desirable prey, disengaged his pursuit……and affixed himself to the bus driver. The poor, poor bus driver. He can’t escape. Plus this is exactly what you want when there’s fog and ice: Someone distracting the bus driver. I mean, the only way he knows where the road is to begin with is by the street lamps and you know he’s not going to slow down. This is Vancouver. He’s not going to slow down till he’s dead. Or we’re dead. Or we find a building large enough to stop us. Or any combination of the three.
The Loach beguiled the poor driver with tales of his mid-life crisis and his struggle with raging alcoholism all the while standing RIGHT next to the poor guy with about a foot of personal space left. No lead in mind you. Just basically “Hey, how ya doing? Ya, I use to drink all the time man-“ all the way to the Skytrain station. At which point the Loach was forced to get off and board another bus. Where I assume he likewise affixed himself to the bus driver to discuss his ongoing battle with erectile dysfunction.
Hey, wait a sec...
Me: “Good evening, <real estate company>, how may I help you?”
SC: “Uh, hat? Oh, wait. I think I have the wrong number.”
And I think I know who you are, what you want and who you were really trying to call....
A Cunning Plan
( a few minutes later... )
Me: “Good evening, <company>, are you calling to place an order?"
SC: “Uh, yeah, I’d like to order a hat?”
There you go. Now you’ve got it right.
Me: “Ok, can I have your first name please?”
SC: “…..um….”
Me: “…….?”
SC: “...uhhhh.....<click>”
Awww, too bad. Wiped out on the very first hurdle. Ok, look, I am nothing if not helpful so let me see if I can give you a hand here. You want a hat and I, well…I don’t really want to sell you one but I am contractually obligated so let’s see if we can’t work something out. So put on some pants, grab the catalog and listen to me very carefully. Here’s what you need to do:
First up, I need you to go outside. Take the catalog with you. You should find yourself amongst a dark, huddled collection of buildings with an ever present miasma of misery hanging about the air like a fog. Now I need you to start looking around for other people. But not just anyone. You want to look around until you find someone that’s actually walking upright. This may take you a while. You may even have to wait till one of the great iron sky birds comes down and lands on your outdoor curling rink. When one of the Pants Givers emerges, go up to him and speak with him. Ask him to place the order for you.
Now, he may say a lot of things you don’t understand at first like “Who are you?”, “What do you want?!”, “Please, don’t hurt me! Here, take my wallet!” or “Oh God, did you just pee on my leg?!”. But you’ll have to keep trying till you get through to him. Show him the catalog. Point at the hat. Make a little phone receiver with your thumb and pinkie and pretend to talk into it. Threaten to hit him in the face over and over with a rock until he agrees to help you.
If none of that works than hit him in the face over and over with a rock and take his wallet. Than wait for the next iron sky bird to arrive. Repeat this process as many times as need be or until you either get your hat or one of them begins to spit fire at you. In which case attempt to throw rocks at it.
Eventually you’ll either obtain a hat or no longer require it. Either way your problem will be solved.
Moo.
Me: “Ok, and your last name please?”
SC: “McDonald!”
Me: “McDonald?”
SC: “MCDONALD!”
Me: "With an Mc or an Mac-"
SC: "MCDONALD!@#!?@$!@$!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Easy, Bessie! I’m just trying to confirm your last name to ensure accuracy. I am not trying to rouse your bovine temper into a bubbling milky froth. All I want to do is ensure I have your name correct. Please do not bring your rage driven hooves down about my soft, breakable body. Or I will be forced to throw a salt lick and make a desperate run for the fence.
Just in case you have missed any of the references so far I am strongly implying that you are a cow. A complete and total cow. Not even the good kind of cow that provides delicious milk and pasture based country scenery during road trips. The evil kind of cow that gets out of its pen all the time, eats your lawn, takes a dump on your dog and bites little children.
In closing: Moo.
Expanding One's Vocabulary
I was having a particularly difficult time with an ass of a caller leading to this exchange with a coworker...
Me: "Argh! That guy was such a...such a...cunt."
CW: "......."
Me: "I guess that doesn't quite work....man cunt?"
CW: "......."
Me: "MUNT! He was a total farking MUNT."
CW: "....did you....just call him a munt?"
Me: "YES."
CW: "Ok, just checking."
Explanations
( These all came in the span of about 5 minutes. )
Me: “Good morning, <travel agency>.”
SC: “Yeah, um, what time does the flight for <city> leave?”
Me: “Unfortunately, the reservations desk isn’t in yet so I do not have that information. They’ll be in at 6:30am.”
SC: “Oh, ok.”
Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?
Me: “Good morning, <travel agency>.”
SC: “Yeah, uh, I wanna find out what time a flight leaves.”
Me: “Our reservations desk is not in yet, so I do not have that information or you. They’ll be in at 6:30am and they’ll be able to tell you.”
SC: “Oh, ok.”
Ok, maybe it was. Hmmm…I’m not sure what you’re missing or where so far. Perhaps the words I am using are too large and intimidating for you to comprehend? Er, waiting, that’s a big word too. Sorry. This is going to take some effort on my part. It’s difficult to downshift my train of thought to “Big Wheels Tricycle” speed to get on the same wavelength as you. Not a brand new Big Wheels either. One you've had for a few years so you've worn a little hole in the front wheel and some gravel got in there and now it makes this horrific noise whenever you pedal.
Me: “Good morning, <travel agency>.”
SC: “Uh, yeah, what time does the flight leave for <city>?”
Me: “As I’ve said, our reservations desk is not in till 6:30am. I’m afraid I do not have that information. You need to speak with them.”
SC: “Oh, ok.”
Right, ok, here goes: LATER CALL. GET TELL WHEN IRON BIRD GO GO FLY, YAR?
A Flawed Inquiry
Me: “Ok, and what size would you like?”
SC: “Um, do you have 8?”
Me: “Unfortunately I only have 7, 7.5 and 10 in stock.”
SC: “Oh, umm….do you think a 10 would be too big?”
I have utterly no point of reference for the length, width, girth or hobbitness of your feet aside from what tiny morsel of information you have already revealed: That they are, in your belief, size 8. Therefore, armed with that information I can make the blatantly obvious deduction that you yourself apparently cannot: Yes.
Mirror, Mirror
Me: “Ok, and your last name please?”
SC: “Miska”
Me: “Alright, how do you spell that please?”
SC: “M-I-S-K-A”
Me: “M-I-S-K-A?”
SC: “No, Niska.”
Me: “N-I-S-K-A?”
SC: "Miska"
Me: “………ok, is it an M as in Mother or N as in Nancy?”
SC: “Huh?”
M or N. Oddly enough these are two separate letters even though they do sound somewhat similar. I need you differentiate between the two of them for me. Your name cannot start with both. That is not possible in the English language. They cannot both occupy the same position in a word. It may be possible for them to co-exist if we take into account the possibility of concurrent parallel universes where your evil twin existence, the goateed Ms Niska, may also dwell. However, all you’re doing is ordering shoes. You do not need to drag multi-dimensional existences into this. If you’re ordering shoes for yourself and Slave Queen Niska, it’s ok, I can just put two pair on one order and have it send to you. Alright?
A Clever Rouse
I’d just like to point out to my fellow operators that if “John Rambo” calls you and wants your help getting back to the US it’s probably a prank and you don’t really have to leave a message for him. The same goes for any would be Nigerian Princes that are having any travel or banking issues abroad they’d like your assistance with. Also, under no circumstances are we interested in a bridge.
A Tip
Tech Tip: If every time you try to turn your computer on it the power light just blinks and it starts to smell like it’s on fire and smoke than maybe you should stop trying to turn it on. I may not be an expert, but I do have a bit of know how in this field and generally speaking if something smells like fire you’ll want to turn it off and not turn it back on again. If this is too much to handle than at least flee the immediate vicinity and peer cautiously at the object in question from behind the couch or other sturdy piece of furniture until you can ascertain if it’s safe to emerge or are driven out by encroaching flames.
An Extreme Longing for Cake
Me: “Good evening, 24 Hour <company>.”
SC: “Yeah, hi. Are you guys open 24 hours?"
Yes. But not in a row.
The Woe of Public Transit: SGR
( God I hope a vid of this appears on Youtube. Come on Translink! I know you had at least 2 cameras on this. )
I know I shouldn’t laugh at the suffering of others, but well, sometimes it’s difficult. This morning as I was stepping off the Skytrain, there was this fine young lad making a desperate, desperate sprint for the Skytrain. A Skytrain diver. Now, I’ve never really understood Skytrain divers. Especially not first thing in the morning on a week day when there’s another Skytrain literally 20 seconds behind this one. But, well, to each his own.
Anyway, this would be triathlon was making a break for the doors. Coffee in one hand. Books in the other. I should point out that most the lower mainland was and still is a death rink. The only recent development has been fog. So running anywhere is taking your life into your own hands. Of which this poor lad did. Though in all honesty after what was about to transpire, he probably would have preferred death. See, just as he reached the door he also caught a section of wet, slippery platform…
One leg went straight up in the air, followed by the other. So he’s now horizontal in the air, but has full running speed forward momentum. Just as the doors are closing. So he slams into the half closed door groin first with his full body weight and perfectly scissors himself on them. Neigh instantly performing spontaneous gender reassignment surgery on himself. Before dropping unceremoniously on his ass.. It was such impeccably perfect timing that I almost looked around for a film crew.
He just sat there for a moment, stunned, while the door kept trying to close on his groin.
You know, there comes a time in every man’s life when the only thing he wants to do is get up, find a nice, quiet little corner somewhere, curl into a ball and just have a good long cry. This was that guy’s moment.
But I’ll give him credit. He didn’t spill his coffee. So it must have been Tim Horton’s.
Thus ends another week....
I Care Not.
SC: “Are you guys still open?”
Me: “This is actually our afterhours line-“
SC: “Oh, I’m sorry. I just wanted to know if you were 24 hours.”
Me: "A few locations are, but I wouln't be able to tell you which since this is our emergency line."
SC: “Oh, well, I couldn’t sleep. I’m trying to quit smoking but I couldn’t sleep so I figured I’d give in and grab some smokes.”
Me: “Ah.”
SC: “But if you guys are closed than I guess that’s for the best.”
Yes, I’m glad you could not only share your small personal crisis with me but give me a chance to resolve it for you despite my complete and total lack of interest. Truly, I am blessed for having the opportunity to in some way touch your life. Why, my life has literally been enriched by our nocturnal correspondence and I now have a vested interest in your well being. Please, you must keep me up to date on your personal struggles. Do you have some sort of news letter or mailing list full of “clever” joke laden forwarded emails with excessive cute animal pictures and talking emoticons ( Omigawd! No way! ) I could sign up for to choke my email box with? Or at the very least some sort of Facebook or MySpace page where I can follow along your proclamations of how much the world sucks ( in poetry form ) and be spammed repeated Youtube links to that video of balloon animals having a threesome that everyone has sent me at least 5 times in the last week.
Whoa! Back up.
Me: “Alright. Is this a server or client system?”
SC: "We have two servers."
Me: “Ok.”
SC: “The left one and the right one.”
Whoa, back up there Sparky. Your method of network server identification is rather complex. I’m not sure I was able to follow that. You’ll have to explain to me again to make sure I have it. So you say there’s a “left” one and a “right” one? And that the “left” one is to the left of the “Right” one? Which is than to the right of the “Left” one? This….this is all so complicated.
I’m going to have to get you to draw me a diagram. Crayon is fine. I like crayon.
The Woe of Public Transit: The Mist
That fog is rather persistent isn’t it? Its been out there day and night for weeks. This is bad. I need groceries but I have this unsettling feeling I’m going to end up holed up in the IGA with a ragtag group of survivors, desperately trying to shovel a nightmare appendage off the stock boy.
Really makes waiting for the bus exciting though. They don’t even have half a block worth of visibility at night. So they don’t see you at the stop till the last moment. Than they veer directly at you and slam the brakes in the hopes their hurdling steel death tube will manage to stop before the curb and tragedy. But that’s the rule in Vancouver. You drive full speed regardless of the weather conditions or the threat of imminent death you present to yourself or anyone outside of your vehicle. Especially if you’re a bus driver. I mean, hey, it’s a bus. So what if you hit something. It’ll just kill them, not you.
A Strange Inquiry
Me: “Ok, and which credit card would you like to use?”
SC: “VISA.”
Me: “Alright, and the nu-“
SC: “Here comes the number. ARE. YOU. READY?!”
To rumble? No. For the credit card number? Yes.
A Hint
( Lottery ticket line.... )
SC: “I tried calling before and I got the wrong number. It went through to some gambling crisis line.”
Me: "Heh."
SC: "So we chatted for a few minutes."
Yet here you are anyhow? Not only did the universe drop a not so subtle hint on you, but you actually chatted with the gambling crisis line for several minutes and still ended up calling us? I'm not sure how much bigger of a hint you want here. Maybe if the guy in front of you at 7/11 bought a Lotto 649 ticket, slipped and in a complete fluke managed to paper cut himself across the jugular? Than slowly collapsed like a crimson lawn sprinkler while clutching your coat tails screaming "Why, God?! Why?! I just wanted one more bonus draw!?"
WE MEET AGAIN
Me: “"Good evening, <company>, how may I help you?"
SC: “…uh….”
( …wait a sec, that sound of rum marinated neural failure is oddly familiar… )
Me: “Hello?”
SC: “umm…so….”
Me: “Can I help you with something?”
SC: “Uh….”
< Someone snatches the phone, and on comes the familiar voice of Cohort #2 >
SC2: “No you may not!”
Me: “….pardon?”
SC2: “YOU MAY NOT! <click>”
I’ll get you next time, Tim Coshem. NEXT TIME. <pets cat>
Identifiers
Me: “Good morning, <company>”
SC: “Hi.”
Me: “Hello.”
SC: “Oh, is this really a person talking to me!?”
I have been identified by that term before, yes. Though I have also been identified by the terms “pal”, “guy”, “bro”, “boss”, “honey”, "candy ass", “Jesus”, “Magnificent Bastard” and once, in high school, as the root cause of both World War 1 and 2. So take your pick really.
Though personally I'm partial to "candy ass", myself.
Heads Up
Me: “It should arrive in about 2 weeks-“
SC: “So, it’ll come to the postal office?”
…yes. That’s typically how COD works. A few years back Canada Post use to bring it directly to your door. Like pizza. But while convenient, the mail carriers had a bad habit of breaking your thumbs if you didn’t have the cash on you right that moment. So they had to change their delivery policies somewhat. Now you have to go down to the post office itself to pick it up and pay for it.
Though they still break your thumbs if you don’t have exact change. This is Canada Post after all. Just a heads up.
...and?
Me: “Ok, and your phone number please?”
SC: “Oh, I have a cell phone.”
Me: “……….?”
SC: “………”
….yeah, and? Maybe they didn’t explain this very well at the Telus Store but weirdly enough a cell phone is still a phone. Hence the term “cell phone” instead of “pocket sized obnoxious song clip recorder”.
The Woe of Public Transit: The Loach
( You've probably seen this creature in retail establishments as well. )
So I was waiting for the bus again…you’d think I’d just walk by now and spare myself the company of others. But oh no, I lazy and must ride the fail chariot with everything else that crawls on it late at night on the weekend. Those of you familiar with public transit are probably aware that out the various denizens that lurk upon it there is one that is far more annoying than most, if not all others. The Loach.
The Loach randomly selects one individual on the bus or subway and for no apparent reason initiates conversation with this perfect stranger. The more inane, pointless and repetitive this conversation the more persistent this lonely, lonely soul will be. They usually select a topic you care absolutely nothing about, such as their marital problems or their problems with their kids and begin to tell you about it for utterly no reason what so ever. Any attempt to act disinterested is completely and utterly lost on them. You could literally not say a single word back or even pretend to be or go to sleep and they will not be discouraged. In some causes they begin talking to you even if you are asleep. The only possible way to free yourself is if they see a more desirable target than you.
There was a Loach at the bus stop with me this evening. But I saw him for what he was. Mainly because he arrived with 3 other people 1/3rd his age who would not normally be caught dead anywhere near him but he had latched onto them as they were walking down the street and followed them, rambling on, until reaching the bus stop. At which point two fled, and the third found himself caught. Like a deer. I was safe for a few minutes as he rambled on mindlessly to this kid that couldn’t have been more than 17 or 18, about how he’s like 45 years old and just moving out of his dad’s place. But he has a wicked plasma TV and what not. He than proceeded to invite the kid to move into his new house with him ( Because that’s not creepy ). But than began detailing just how horrible a roommate he would be by declaring when he wants to listen to music or watch a hockey game or something he wants it up LOUD and fark anyone that says otherwise.
Finally, utterly creeped out, the kid fled. With the Loach calling out “You ungrateful little sh*t!” behind him. Which left the Loach alone with me. In the dark. On an empty street. With no bus in sight yet. But I knew what he was and was going to have no part in it. Leading to this “conversation”:
L: “So how’s it going?”
Me: “………not bad”
L: “……..”
Me: “……..”
L: “That's it? Not bad? So you just one of those people that don’t talk to others? Does everyone have some sort of *&@#ing plague that you can’t talk to them?!”
Yes, actually. It’s called stupid.
L: “So everyone’s just *&@$ing diseased? Is that it?”
In all blunt honesty you’re teetering into “raving sociopath” territory anyway. I’m surprised that kid didn’t just take off at full sprint. Actually, maybe he did. I wasn't really watching and I don't see him anywhere now.
At this point the bus was spotted and I was saved. Or at least, had witnesses that could quickly dial 911. I stepped on first and quickly fled deep within the confines of the vehicle in the hopes of escape. But than the Loach, sensing more desirable prey, disengaged his pursuit……and affixed himself to the bus driver. The poor, poor bus driver. He can’t escape. Plus this is exactly what you want when there’s fog and ice: Someone distracting the bus driver. I mean, the only way he knows where the road is to begin with is by the street lamps and you know he’s not going to slow down. This is Vancouver. He’s not going to slow down till he’s dead. Or we’re dead. Or we find a building large enough to stop us. Or any combination of the three.
The Loach beguiled the poor driver with tales of his mid-life crisis and his struggle with raging alcoholism all the while standing RIGHT next to the poor guy with about a foot of personal space left. No lead in mind you. Just basically “Hey, how ya doing? Ya, I use to drink all the time man-“ all the way to the Skytrain station. At which point the Loach was forced to get off and board another bus. Where I assume he likewise affixed himself to the bus driver to discuss his ongoing battle with erectile dysfunction.
Hey, wait a sec...
Me: “Good evening, <real estate company>, how may I help you?”
SC: “Uh, hat? Oh, wait. I think I have the wrong number.”
And I think I know who you are, what you want and who you were really trying to call....
A Cunning Plan
( a few minutes later... )
Me: “Good evening, <company>, are you calling to place an order?"
SC: “Uh, yeah, I’d like to order a hat?”
There you go. Now you’ve got it right.
Me: “Ok, can I have your first name please?”
SC: “…..um….”
Me: “…….?”
SC: “...uhhhh.....<click>”
Awww, too bad. Wiped out on the very first hurdle. Ok, look, I am nothing if not helpful so let me see if I can give you a hand here. You want a hat and I, well…I don’t really want to sell you one but I am contractually obligated so let’s see if we can’t work something out. So put on some pants, grab the catalog and listen to me very carefully. Here’s what you need to do:
First up, I need you to go outside. Take the catalog with you. You should find yourself amongst a dark, huddled collection of buildings with an ever present miasma of misery hanging about the air like a fog. Now I need you to start looking around for other people. But not just anyone. You want to look around until you find someone that’s actually walking upright. This may take you a while. You may even have to wait till one of the great iron sky birds comes down and lands on your outdoor curling rink. When one of the Pants Givers emerges, go up to him and speak with him. Ask him to place the order for you.
Now, he may say a lot of things you don’t understand at first like “Who are you?”, “What do you want?!”, “Please, don’t hurt me! Here, take my wallet!” or “Oh God, did you just pee on my leg?!”. But you’ll have to keep trying till you get through to him. Show him the catalog. Point at the hat. Make a little phone receiver with your thumb and pinkie and pretend to talk into it. Threaten to hit him in the face over and over with a rock until he agrees to help you.
If none of that works than hit him in the face over and over with a rock and take his wallet. Than wait for the next iron sky bird to arrive. Repeat this process as many times as need be or until you either get your hat or one of them begins to spit fire at you. In which case attempt to throw rocks at it.
Eventually you’ll either obtain a hat or no longer require it. Either way your problem will be solved.
Moo.
Me: “Ok, and your last name please?”
SC: “McDonald!”
Me: “McDonald?”
SC: “MCDONALD!”
Me: "With an Mc or an Mac-"
SC: "MCDONALD!@#!?@$!@$!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Easy, Bessie! I’m just trying to confirm your last name to ensure accuracy. I am not trying to rouse your bovine temper into a bubbling milky froth. All I want to do is ensure I have your name correct. Please do not bring your rage driven hooves down about my soft, breakable body. Or I will be forced to throw a salt lick and make a desperate run for the fence.
Just in case you have missed any of the references so far I am strongly implying that you are a cow. A complete and total cow. Not even the good kind of cow that provides delicious milk and pasture based country scenery during road trips. The evil kind of cow that gets out of its pen all the time, eats your lawn, takes a dump on your dog and bites little children.
In closing: Moo.
Expanding One's Vocabulary
I was having a particularly difficult time with an ass of a caller leading to this exchange with a coworker...
Me: "Argh! That guy was such a...such a...cunt."
CW: "......."
Me: "I guess that doesn't quite work....man cunt?"
CW: "......."
Me: "MUNT! He was a total farking MUNT."
CW: "....did you....just call him a munt?"
Me: "YES."
CW: "Ok, just checking."
Explanations
( These all came in the span of about 5 minutes. )
Me: “Good morning, <travel agency>.”
SC: “Yeah, um, what time does the flight for <city> leave?”
Me: “Unfortunately, the reservations desk isn’t in yet so I do not have that information. They’ll be in at 6:30am.”
SC: “Oh, ok.”
Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?
Me: “Good morning, <travel agency>.”
SC: “Yeah, uh, I wanna find out what time a flight leaves.”
Me: “Our reservations desk is not in yet, so I do not have that information or you. They’ll be in at 6:30am and they’ll be able to tell you.”
SC: “Oh, ok.”
Ok, maybe it was. Hmmm…I’m not sure what you’re missing or where so far. Perhaps the words I am using are too large and intimidating for you to comprehend? Er, waiting, that’s a big word too. Sorry. This is going to take some effort on my part. It’s difficult to downshift my train of thought to “Big Wheels Tricycle” speed to get on the same wavelength as you. Not a brand new Big Wheels either. One you've had for a few years so you've worn a little hole in the front wheel and some gravel got in there and now it makes this horrific noise whenever you pedal.
Me: “Good morning, <travel agency>.”
SC: “Uh, yeah, what time does the flight leave for <city>?”
Me: “As I’ve said, our reservations desk is not in till 6:30am. I’m afraid I do not have that information. You need to speak with them.”
SC: “Oh, ok.”
Right, ok, here goes: LATER CALL. GET TELL WHEN IRON BIRD GO GO FLY, YAR?
A Flawed Inquiry
Me: “Ok, and what size would you like?”
SC: “Um, do you have 8?”
Me: “Unfortunately I only have 7, 7.5 and 10 in stock.”
SC: “Oh, umm….do you think a 10 would be too big?”
I have utterly no point of reference for the length, width, girth or hobbitness of your feet aside from what tiny morsel of information you have already revealed: That they are, in your belief, size 8. Therefore, armed with that information I can make the blatantly obvious deduction that you yourself apparently cannot: Yes.
Mirror, Mirror
Me: “Ok, and your last name please?”
SC: “Miska”
Me: “Alright, how do you spell that please?”
SC: “M-I-S-K-A”
Me: “M-I-S-K-A?”
SC: “No, Niska.”
Me: “N-I-S-K-A?”
SC: "Miska"
Me: “………ok, is it an M as in Mother or N as in Nancy?”
SC: “Huh?”
M or N. Oddly enough these are two separate letters even though they do sound somewhat similar. I need you differentiate between the two of them for me. Your name cannot start with both. That is not possible in the English language. They cannot both occupy the same position in a word. It may be possible for them to co-exist if we take into account the possibility of concurrent parallel universes where your evil twin existence, the goateed Ms Niska, may also dwell. However, all you’re doing is ordering shoes. You do not need to drag multi-dimensional existences into this. If you’re ordering shoes for yourself and Slave Queen Niska, it’s ok, I can just put two pair on one order and have it send to you. Alright?
A Clever Rouse
I’d just like to point out to my fellow operators that if “John Rambo” calls you and wants your help getting back to the US it’s probably a prank and you don’t really have to leave a message for him. The same goes for any would be Nigerian Princes that are having any travel or banking issues abroad they’d like your assistance with. Also, under no circumstances are we interested in a bridge.
A Tip
Tech Tip: If every time you try to turn your computer on it the power light just blinks and it starts to smell like it’s on fire and smoke than maybe you should stop trying to turn it on. I may not be an expert, but I do have a bit of know how in this field and generally speaking if something smells like fire you’ll want to turn it off and not turn it back on again. If this is too much to handle than at least flee the immediate vicinity and peer cautiously at the object in question from behind the couch or other sturdy piece of furniture until you can ascertain if it’s safe to emerge or are driven out by encroaching flames.
An Extreme Longing for Cake
Me: “Good evening, 24 Hour <company>.”
SC: “Yeah, hi. Are you guys open 24 hours?"
Yes. But not in a row.
The Woe of Public Transit: SGR
( God I hope a vid of this appears on Youtube. Come on Translink! I know you had at least 2 cameras on this. )
I know I shouldn’t laugh at the suffering of others, but well, sometimes it’s difficult. This morning as I was stepping off the Skytrain, there was this fine young lad making a desperate, desperate sprint for the Skytrain. A Skytrain diver. Now, I’ve never really understood Skytrain divers. Especially not first thing in the morning on a week day when there’s another Skytrain literally 20 seconds behind this one. But, well, to each his own.
Anyway, this would be triathlon was making a break for the doors. Coffee in one hand. Books in the other. I should point out that most the lower mainland was and still is a death rink. The only recent development has been fog. So running anywhere is taking your life into your own hands. Of which this poor lad did. Though in all honesty after what was about to transpire, he probably would have preferred death. See, just as he reached the door he also caught a section of wet, slippery platform…
One leg went straight up in the air, followed by the other. So he’s now horizontal in the air, but has full running speed forward momentum. Just as the doors are closing. So he slams into the half closed door groin first with his full body weight and perfectly scissors himself on them. Neigh instantly performing spontaneous gender reassignment surgery on himself. Before dropping unceremoniously on his ass.. It was such impeccably perfect timing that I almost looked around for a film crew.
He just sat there for a moment, stunned, while the door kept trying to close on his groin.
You know, there comes a time in every man’s life when the only thing he wants to do is get up, find a nice, quiet little corner somewhere, curl into a ball and just have a good long cry. This was that guy’s moment.
But I’ll give him credit. He didn’t spill his coffee. So it must have been Tim Horton’s.
Thus ends another week....
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