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OMFG.
Just....omg, dude. GAH!
I Tire So Much of the Jokes
SC: “Send me some winners this time!”
Ah yes, ha ha. Right. Bravo. Can do, good sir. You’ve got us. There’s really no draw to speak of. We’ve already chosen the winning tickets. We just don’t give them to anyone unless they’re smart enough to ask for them. All those other fools are just mindlessly ordering losing tickets. Because none of them thought to ask “Hey wait, are these winning or losing tickets?”. But you, you’re wily and cunning. You’ve caught a whiff of our little charade and armed with the deductive skills of an inbred kangaroo rat you’ve thrown back our curtain of deceit and exposed the dark secrets within.
Bravo. Your reward? The exact same tickets we send to everyone else. Enjoy.
Misfortune
SC: “Wish me luck!”
Me: “Good luck.”
SC: “I mean I play the lottery and never win anything! Year after year after year and I’ve never won a thing! Ever!”
Yet for some reason you keep buying lottery tickets? Even my cat is smart enough to not jump up on the stove again after she gets burned once and this is a creature that tries to huff kitchen cleaners and thinks Q-Tips are alive. Probably because she tries to huff kitchen cleaners. But anyway, do you really think my wholly insincere “Good luck” is in any way going to be able to counter the vast cosmic misfortune you’ve been cursed with since you took your first breath on this Earth? I thought we’d already established that I am a mere CSR and do not hold any sort of power, mystic or clairvoyant that I can bring to bare for your benefit. So I cannot help you lift this dark curse, nor do I know its origin.
All I know is the universe hates you for some reason and honestly I can’t really blame it.
Foolish Inquiries
Me: “Alright, you should receive your tickets in a few days“
SC: “So did I make the cut off?”
No, I just sold you a bunch of utterly ineligible tickets for a lark. My bad. I’m just messing with you. You’re right, the deadlines past. We’re not selling tickets anymore. Pysche. I’ll have your credit card refunded in 2-5 business days.
...who?
SC: “Is there any sort of confirmation number?”
Me: “Sure-“
SC: “Hang on, she said she lost her pen.”
….who did? There was no others involved in this call at any moment up to this point. Who is this she and why was she poised to scribe for you? You spoke nothing of her so far. Nor did I hear her speak the words you’re relaying to me…..are you channeling her from beyond? Or do I merely have to wait till your other personality finds her pen? It’s ok, I can spare a minute or two while you sort out whatever sort of mental or metaphysical dilemma it is you’re experiencing. Let me know if you want me to pass a message to the other personality or just need some holy water or something.
The Joys of Power Outages
Now I don’t know where <town> is but it seems like everyone in this accursed place not only stays up all night and is utterly dependent on electronic entertainment but is also convinced that they and they alone hold the single key reason that will somehow magically restore power to their fair town. Through the sheer volume of calls they armed me with a myriad list of concerns that I supposedly should immediately attempt to contact a city work crew with that will somehow magically empower them to instantly repair downed power lines:
1) It’s cold outside.
Yes, yes it is. If you’re cold, get a blanket. If your house can’t retain its latent heat for 2 hours you might want to try closing the windows.
2) I have children.
Congratulations? I’m not sure how this factors into anything. Are your children plugged into a wall outlet? Most kids just run on sugar.
3) I have children and it is cold outside.
Rub them together and start a fire.
4) I have fish and they have a filter system that needs power.
Your fish will be fine for a couple of hours. Cripes. If their tiny little lives really teetered in the balance within 30 seconds of that filter failing you probably should have invested in some sort of back up battery or generator. How could you have failed them so? Their primitive, glass encased civilization looks upon you as their god yet in their darkness hour you have cast them aside. Now they will doubt your existence and their fishy little hearts will be broken and empty.
5) The fish are expensive.
Oh, well, that changes everything. I shall dial up the work crew immediately and let them know that they must work as fast as is humanly possible forgoing food, rest and even potty breaks because Lindsey spent more than $3 on her tetras at Pet Cetera.
6) We were watching a movie.
Oh, well. I can help you there actually. He dies at the end.
7) It’s cold outside. I am alone and there are wolves.
Put on a sweater. Draw a happy face on a pillow and hide upstairs with the door closed. Wolves can’t open doors far as I know. I could be mistaken of course. In which case push your new friend at them and run. She’ll buy you enough time to escape and it’s not like you’ve known her that long anyway.
Foolish Inquiries #2
SC: “You’re still selling this late?”
You’re still calling this late?
Financial Planning
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “xxxxxx.”
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “No.”
Me: “……ok, by credit card or COD?”
SC: “COD.”
Me: “Are you sure? You’ll be paying a lot more for shipping than the item itself.”
SC: “Um…yeah.”
The item? $12 hat. The total after shipping? $45. This is not a sound financial decision. This is a failure of your mind to grasp basic mathematics. See, the hat is a mere $12. But the shipping and tax for the hat is almost 3 times as much as the hat itself. Now, I’m not entirely sure what you’re thinking but that doesn’t mean the hat is 3 times as awesome. It is not Hat x 3. It is still Hat x 1. I’m sure you’ve worked very hard digging up sticky loose change from your couch and turning in empty beer cans to get that $45. So don’t throw it all away like this! It’s only a $12 hat!
Surely there’s someplace there you can buy some sort of head gear or at least kill something and turn it into a hat. Either way you’d save some of your precious coin. Which you could convert into yet more beer or Cheetos or something. You know, important things. Not that hats aren’t important. I realize they rank up there around food or oxygen in your odd little world, though they don’t quite eclipse pants. But still, think of the future! Think of investing! If you spent just another week table dancing at family reunions you could afford to call back and order pants. Think of it! Pants! With gold foil on the butt cheeks. But only one cheek. You’d need to save up for about two weeks if you wanted to go for double butt cool.
!!
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Hey babe.”
Me: “…pardon?”
SC: “Babe?”
Me: “…..”
SC: “…oh! <click>”
Yes, you seem to have tragically mistaken me for another. Which means somewhere, out there, is another man with a voice as silky and luscious as my own. I cannot allow this. I must find this, this upstart and crush him beneath my heel. I will not allow anyone to think they can usurp my throne!
There can be only one.
Foolish Inquiries #3
SC: “Does the hotel have a shuttle?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “How far is it from the airport?”
Me: “About 5 minutes.”
SC: “It’s 5 minutes from the shuttle?”
Yes, that’s right, it’s 5 minutes from the shuttle. They drive the shuttle to the airport, leave the radio on 91.5 FM 80’s Pop with the door open and hop a taxi back to the hotel. Just to see if anyone will really get in it and wait for the driver to come back. Than they film your slow mental break down on a hidden dash cam and upload it to Youtube. It’s sort of like bait car cam but with disgruntled US Airways passengers.
Foolish Inquiries #4
Me: “Good morning, <company>, how may I help you?”
SC: “Oh, hello.”
Me: “Hi.”
SC: “Is this a live voice?”
No, I’m a highly advanced artificial intelligence capable of understanding and processing virtually any dialect of English and can converse flawlessly through even the most complex of subjects and concepts. I represent the absolute pinnacle of human technology.
So, obviously, I’m here to sell pants.
The End of an Era
This lone person is the font of the majority of my sorrow this evening. This single, misguided, greedy little fudge goblin was the one responsible for the woe that was wrought upon all between 12 and 12:30. It started innocently enough. All she wanted was a shirt. A single garment with which to encase herself with and avoid being arrested at IHOP. Again. But than it occurred to her: Wait, if but one shirt can prevent a public indecency charge, than two shirts could surely stave off a more serious charge. Such as a snow mobile DUI. Than began her downward spiral. If two shirts could avoid the drunk tank, than several shirts could surely impart near diplomatic immunity.
By several I mean every shirt in the catalog. Yes, that’s right. Every single shirt in the catalog. I know because I began to grow suspicious of the sheer amount of garment she was ordering and checked the catalog. She was simply going along the pages and ordering every damn shirt there. I do mean every shirt too. Shirt after shirt after shirt. This she-shirt bandit was not content with one shirt. Or two. Or even ten. Oh no. She wanted them all. I’m not entirely sure why. I don’t know if she wanted to try to wear them all at once in an attempt to repel gunfire or if she wanted to just sort of roll around in a big pile of them or if she was going to try to use them to re-roof her house. But she needed them. All of them.
The only thing that finally brought this madness to an end was the $900 order limit. Yes, she ordered $900 worth of shirts. Her final tally was 19 shirts and that was only after I stopped her and had her remove some to get back under the limit. But no, my misery would not end there. It occurred to her that she would have to wait at least 2 weeks for her precious cloth so she wanted to spend just a few more moments basking in glow of her new treasures. At which point she made me read back and confirm every. Single. Shirt.
I do not know what’s happening up there. With this single cataclysmic event there appears to be a shift. Hats and pants have been thrown to the wayside. The dark reign of shirt has begun and it has found its Queen.
A Few Pointers
Now that another fine charity drive has come to a close its time for me to tally up our experiences and provide you, the caller, with a simple set of guide lines that you can follow next time to improve the experience for both you and us. As it seems many of you have some rather common misconceptions about your credit card.
1) Where you obtained your credit card does not matter.
When we ask which credit card you would like to use we refer to Visa or Mastercard. We will accept Amex, but we do not advertise as such because Amex is like Visa’s unlikable distant cousin that always shows up drunk at family reunions and stick’s his butt in the cheese dip than chases the kids around claiming to be “Captain Nacho Cheeks”. We accept him because he’s family but we try not to tell him where we live if we can avoid it.
So you don’t have to tell us it’s a TD Bank Visa or City Bank or Sears or Canadian Tire or Chuck E Cheese or Jim’s House of Latex or where ever else you may have obtained your magic plastic. Simply Visa, Mastercard or Amex will suffice.
2) Where you obtained the card does not identify the card.
On that same note if we ask what card you would like to use and you state simply TD Bank, City Bank, Sears, Canadian Tire, Chuck E Cheese or Bob’s Butter Hole that does not help us in any way. You must tell us what type of card it is you hold. Which, again, means Visa, Mastercard or Amex.
3) We do not care what type of card you have.
It does not matter to us if you have a Gold, Platinum, Obsidian, Butterscotch or Cherry Visa Card. Again, all that matters is the “Visa” part. Your attempts at impressing us with your credit limit are futile, I assure you. If you want to impress us with your wealth, pony up for the maximum donation. Wealth does not impress us. However, charity will briefly melt our black, frozen hearts.
4) Please have your card ready and be capable of conveying it to us.
I love my grandma as much as the next person but if you’re old enough to remember hunting wooly mammoth in your youth than please make sure you have your glasses on and can actually read your card. I myself become half blind when my facial optics are disengaged and I’m quite aware by the time I reach your age I’ll be lucky to make out the menu at Chuck E Cheese. However, I’m hoping that by that time technology will have advanced to the point that I can purchase bionic eyes that shoot lasers beams so I can keep kids off my lawn.
5) Please keep your credit card information private.
You’re on the Skytrain. I know, I can hear it in the background. Perhaps this is not the best place to be reading your credit card number out loud.
Wark~
Me: “Ok, can I have your first name please?”
SC: “Jermaine”
Me: “Ok, and your last name please?”
SC: “<At this point she made a noise like a chocobo trying to swallow a live cat while being slammed in a car door.>
Me: “…can you spell that please?”
SC: “..huh?”
Ok, quick note. If your last name has 2 or more Q’s, 4+ vowels and ends in 2 or more K’s I’m going to have to ask you how to spell it. Do not be alarmed. It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong it just means I have never, ever heard any living creature on this planet make that noise and did not even think it was even possible with the human tongue.
Be very, very quiet.
Me: “Alright, and which credit card would you like to use?”
SC: “Wisa”
Ah yes, tell me, is it wabbit season yet? Or is it still duck season?
...Arg.
SC: “Don’t forget to phone when I win!”
Ah yes, another….joke. Don’t worry, I won’t. I won’t forget to phone and laugh when you lose either.
.....
I was calling one of our clients and this is literally the first thing he said when the line picked up:
C: “I’m ready to go my dear!”
Me: “…o…..k?”
Lending further credence to my belief that this guy does not understand a word of English. Yes, he knew who it was and why I was calling too. Sure, there’s a remote possibility that he’s desperately attracted to me but I’ll sleep better tonight grasping onto the belief he just doesn’t understand English very well.
Its Not That Difficult....
Me: “Alright, and what size would you like?”
SC: “H.”
Me: “….ok, but what size would you like?”
SC: “A jacket?”
Me: “…no, what size would you like?
SC: “Ummmm……extra large?”
Me: “You’d like it in extra large?”
SC: “Medium.”
Me: “…you want a medium?”
SC: “Medium or large.”
Me: “…you want it in large?”
SC: “Ok.”
Ok, look here my little arctic pumpkin: You’re the one placing the order. You’re the one that wants a jacket. Therefore you should be the one deciding what size the jacket should be. Not me. It doesn’t really matter what size jacket I want since I won’t be the one wearing it. You’ll be the one wearing it. Provided you can figure out how to put it on at least ( Hint: If you’ve involved your feet in any way you’re probably doing it wrong. ). So please, come up with a rough estimate of your general girth and rotundness and let me know. So that I may more accurately garb you.
Oh, right, that one.
Me: “Ok, and what was the name of your building?”
SC: “Oh….I’m not sure….”
Me: “….”
SC: “Oh, wait, I know. It starts with a C.”
Me: “……?”
SC: “……”
Me: "...."
…that’s it? It starts with a C? That’s…..not that helpful. Are you hoping I can just fill in the rest based on one letter? Because I can tell you without a doubt that when I call the on call he’s going to tell me he doesn’t handle that building after I tell him you’re calling from the “Cunt Blossom Estate”.
...Arrrg...
Me: “Ok, and your postal code please?”
SC: “…um…..box 9.”
Me: “Ok, but what is your postal code please?”
SC: “uhhh….box..9?”
Me: “….no, what is your postal code please?”
SC: “Uh….Alberta?”
Me: “….no. I need your postal code.”
SC: “…..box….9?”
Let me know when you’re ready to give up desperately jamming the square peg at the round hole like an enraged baboon. Than perhaps we can make a tad more progress towards fulfilling your carnal hat desires. At least until trying to comprehend “Size” sends you back into a blind primate rage.
I CAN'T DECIDE.
SC: “Yes, I was wondering if you could give me some information on your socks?”
Me: “Alright”
( They’re white and have some cat hair on them. )
SC: “I’m looking on your website and it says they only come in Black, Expresso and Camel.”
Me: “Ok.”
SC: “But when I go to the colour guide on the menu there’s ALLLLL these colours is there any way to tell what colours are available?”
Me: “.....Whichever colours show up on the item’s page are the only colours we have available for that item.”
SC: “It’s so hard to decide! There’s all these colours.”
Me: “The socks are only available in Black, Expresso and Camel...”
SC: “But it’s so hard to decide!”
…..it is? …how? You only have three choices and those choices are Black, Expresso and Camel. In other words Black, Brown and Slightly Lighter Brown. If you’re having this much trouble making a chromatic selection between just those three than please don’t go clicking around our website any further. God help you if you clicked on one of our scarves or shawls. You’d have an aneurism and slump over the keyboard in a puddle of your own drool until the cops found you.
....omfg.
( This is a legal aid line... )
SC: “Yeah, um, my friend is dead in my house here.”
….wait, what?
SC: “But I don’t want to call like the cops or anything.”
No, dude. Seriously. Back up a sec. What the fuck?
SC: “I don’t think it’s fair for me to not have legal council before the cops get here and everything.”
Not, fair? Not fair!? Dude, you have a CORPSE on your couch. Your FRIEND'S corpse at that. Call 911. Jesus fucking Christ Jiminy Snotrocket. Call someone. Anyone. Just not me. I can’t believe your first reaction to coming home and finding your friend's dead body was “Damn, I better call a lawyer”. Argh. If I could reach through the phone and throttle you I would. At least till you got your priorities in order or I myself needed legal council. Jesus.
To top it all off you don't sound upset at all. You sound annoyed and inconvenienced. You worthless, worthless asshole.
Besides, if your whole concern is that the cops will suspect you of foul play than congratulations: Calling a lawyer before you even call an ambulance ranks up there on the Police Suspicion Chart just under "Tried to hide the body in the freezer under the Fudgsicles".
Gah!
I Tire So Much of the Jokes
SC: “Send me some winners this time!”
Ah yes, ha ha. Right. Bravo. Can do, good sir. You’ve got us. There’s really no draw to speak of. We’ve already chosen the winning tickets. We just don’t give them to anyone unless they’re smart enough to ask for them. All those other fools are just mindlessly ordering losing tickets. Because none of them thought to ask “Hey wait, are these winning or losing tickets?”. But you, you’re wily and cunning. You’ve caught a whiff of our little charade and armed with the deductive skills of an inbred kangaroo rat you’ve thrown back our curtain of deceit and exposed the dark secrets within.
Bravo. Your reward? The exact same tickets we send to everyone else. Enjoy.
Misfortune
SC: “Wish me luck!”
Me: “Good luck.”
SC: “I mean I play the lottery and never win anything! Year after year after year and I’ve never won a thing! Ever!”
Yet for some reason you keep buying lottery tickets? Even my cat is smart enough to not jump up on the stove again after she gets burned once and this is a creature that tries to huff kitchen cleaners and thinks Q-Tips are alive. Probably because she tries to huff kitchen cleaners. But anyway, do you really think my wholly insincere “Good luck” is in any way going to be able to counter the vast cosmic misfortune you’ve been cursed with since you took your first breath on this Earth? I thought we’d already established that I am a mere CSR and do not hold any sort of power, mystic or clairvoyant that I can bring to bare for your benefit. So I cannot help you lift this dark curse, nor do I know its origin.
All I know is the universe hates you for some reason and honestly I can’t really blame it.
Foolish Inquiries
Me: “Alright, you should receive your tickets in a few days“
SC: “So did I make the cut off?”
No, I just sold you a bunch of utterly ineligible tickets for a lark. My bad. I’m just messing with you. You’re right, the deadlines past. We’re not selling tickets anymore. Pysche. I’ll have your credit card refunded in 2-5 business days.
...who?
SC: “Is there any sort of confirmation number?”
Me: “Sure-“
SC: “Hang on, she said she lost her pen.”
….who did? There was no others involved in this call at any moment up to this point. Who is this she and why was she poised to scribe for you? You spoke nothing of her so far. Nor did I hear her speak the words you’re relaying to me…..are you channeling her from beyond? Or do I merely have to wait till your other personality finds her pen? It’s ok, I can spare a minute or two while you sort out whatever sort of mental or metaphysical dilemma it is you’re experiencing. Let me know if you want me to pass a message to the other personality or just need some holy water or something.
The Joys of Power Outages
Now I don’t know where <town> is but it seems like everyone in this accursed place not only stays up all night and is utterly dependent on electronic entertainment but is also convinced that they and they alone hold the single key reason that will somehow magically restore power to their fair town. Through the sheer volume of calls they armed me with a myriad list of concerns that I supposedly should immediately attempt to contact a city work crew with that will somehow magically empower them to instantly repair downed power lines:
1) It’s cold outside.
Yes, yes it is. If you’re cold, get a blanket. If your house can’t retain its latent heat for 2 hours you might want to try closing the windows.
2) I have children.
Congratulations? I’m not sure how this factors into anything. Are your children plugged into a wall outlet? Most kids just run on sugar.
3) I have children and it is cold outside.
Rub them together and start a fire.
4) I have fish and they have a filter system that needs power.
Your fish will be fine for a couple of hours. Cripes. If their tiny little lives really teetered in the balance within 30 seconds of that filter failing you probably should have invested in some sort of back up battery or generator. How could you have failed them so? Their primitive, glass encased civilization looks upon you as their god yet in their darkness hour you have cast them aside. Now they will doubt your existence and their fishy little hearts will be broken and empty.
5) The fish are expensive.
Oh, well, that changes everything. I shall dial up the work crew immediately and let them know that they must work as fast as is humanly possible forgoing food, rest and even potty breaks because Lindsey spent more than $3 on her tetras at Pet Cetera.
6) We were watching a movie.
Oh, well. I can help you there actually. He dies at the end.
7) It’s cold outside. I am alone and there are wolves.
Put on a sweater. Draw a happy face on a pillow and hide upstairs with the door closed. Wolves can’t open doors far as I know. I could be mistaken of course. In which case push your new friend at them and run. She’ll buy you enough time to escape and it’s not like you’ve known her that long anyway.
Foolish Inquiries #2
SC: “You’re still selling this late?”
You’re still calling this late?
Financial Planning
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “xxxxxx.”
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “No.”
Me: “……ok, by credit card or COD?”
SC: “COD.”
Me: “Are you sure? You’ll be paying a lot more for shipping than the item itself.”
SC: “Um…yeah.”
The item? $12 hat. The total after shipping? $45. This is not a sound financial decision. This is a failure of your mind to grasp basic mathematics. See, the hat is a mere $12. But the shipping and tax for the hat is almost 3 times as much as the hat itself. Now, I’m not entirely sure what you’re thinking but that doesn’t mean the hat is 3 times as awesome. It is not Hat x 3. It is still Hat x 1. I’m sure you’ve worked very hard digging up sticky loose change from your couch and turning in empty beer cans to get that $45. So don’t throw it all away like this! It’s only a $12 hat!
Surely there’s someplace there you can buy some sort of head gear or at least kill something and turn it into a hat. Either way you’d save some of your precious coin. Which you could convert into yet more beer or Cheetos or something. You know, important things. Not that hats aren’t important. I realize they rank up there around food or oxygen in your odd little world, though they don’t quite eclipse pants. But still, think of the future! Think of investing! If you spent just another week table dancing at family reunions you could afford to call back and order pants. Think of it! Pants! With gold foil on the butt cheeks. But only one cheek. You’d need to save up for about two weeks if you wanted to go for double butt cool.
!!
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Hey babe.”
Me: “…pardon?”
SC: “Babe?”
Me: “…..”
SC: “…oh! <click>”
Yes, you seem to have tragically mistaken me for another. Which means somewhere, out there, is another man with a voice as silky and luscious as my own. I cannot allow this. I must find this, this upstart and crush him beneath my heel. I will not allow anyone to think they can usurp my throne!
There can be only one.
Foolish Inquiries #3
SC: “Does the hotel have a shuttle?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “How far is it from the airport?”
Me: “About 5 minutes.”
SC: “It’s 5 minutes from the shuttle?”
Yes, that’s right, it’s 5 minutes from the shuttle. They drive the shuttle to the airport, leave the radio on 91.5 FM 80’s Pop with the door open and hop a taxi back to the hotel. Just to see if anyone will really get in it and wait for the driver to come back. Than they film your slow mental break down on a hidden dash cam and upload it to Youtube. It’s sort of like bait car cam but with disgruntled US Airways passengers.
Foolish Inquiries #4
Me: “Good morning, <company>, how may I help you?”
SC: “Oh, hello.”
Me: “Hi.”
SC: “Is this a live voice?”
No, I’m a highly advanced artificial intelligence capable of understanding and processing virtually any dialect of English and can converse flawlessly through even the most complex of subjects and concepts. I represent the absolute pinnacle of human technology.
So, obviously, I’m here to sell pants.
The End of an Era
This lone person is the font of the majority of my sorrow this evening. This single, misguided, greedy little fudge goblin was the one responsible for the woe that was wrought upon all between 12 and 12:30. It started innocently enough. All she wanted was a shirt. A single garment with which to encase herself with and avoid being arrested at IHOP. Again. But than it occurred to her: Wait, if but one shirt can prevent a public indecency charge, than two shirts could surely stave off a more serious charge. Such as a snow mobile DUI. Than began her downward spiral. If two shirts could avoid the drunk tank, than several shirts could surely impart near diplomatic immunity.
By several I mean every shirt in the catalog. Yes, that’s right. Every single shirt in the catalog. I know because I began to grow suspicious of the sheer amount of garment she was ordering and checked the catalog. She was simply going along the pages and ordering every damn shirt there. I do mean every shirt too. Shirt after shirt after shirt. This she-shirt bandit was not content with one shirt. Or two. Or even ten. Oh no. She wanted them all. I’m not entirely sure why. I don’t know if she wanted to try to wear them all at once in an attempt to repel gunfire or if she wanted to just sort of roll around in a big pile of them or if she was going to try to use them to re-roof her house. But she needed them. All of them.
The only thing that finally brought this madness to an end was the $900 order limit. Yes, she ordered $900 worth of shirts. Her final tally was 19 shirts and that was only after I stopped her and had her remove some to get back under the limit. But no, my misery would not end there. It occurred to her that she would have to wait at least 2 weeks for her precious cloth so she wanted to spend just a few more moments basking in glow of her new treasures. At which point she made me read back and confirm every. Single. Shirt.
I do not know what’s happening up there. With this single cataclysmic event there appears to be a shift. Hats and pants have been thrown to the wayside. The dark reign of shirt has begun and it has found its Queen.
A Few Pointers
Now that another fine charity drive has come to a close its time for me to tally up our experiences and provide you, the caller, with a simple set of guide lines that you can follow next time to improve the experience for both you and us. As it seems many of you have some rather common misconceptions about your credit card.
1) Where you obtained your credit card does not matter.
When we ask which credit card you would like to use we refer to Visa or Mastercard. We will accept Amex, but we do not advertise as such because Amex is like Visa’s unlikable distant cousin that always shows up drunk at family reunions and stick’s his butt in the cheese dip than chases the kids around claiming to be “Captain Nacho Cheeks”. We accept him because he’s family but we try not to tell him where we live if we can avoid it.
So you don’t have to tell us it’s a TD Bank Visa or City Bank or Sears or Canadian Tire or Chuck E Cheese or Jim’s House of Latex or where ever else you may have obtained your magic plastic. Simply Visa, Mastercard or Amex will suffice.
2) Where you obtained the card does not identify the card.
On that same note if we ask what card you would like to use and you state simply TD Bank, City Bank, Sears, Canadian Tire, Chuck E Cheese or Bob’s Butter Hole that does not help us in any way. You must tell us what type of card it is you hold. Which, again, means Visa, Mastercard or Amex.
3) We do not care what type of card you have.
It does not matter to us if you have a Gold, Platinum, Obsidian, Butterscotch or Cherry Visa Card. Again, all that matters is the “Visa” part. Your attempts at impressing us with your credit limit are futile, I assure you. If you want to impress us with your wealth, pony up for the maximum donation. Wealth does not impress us. However, charity will briefly melt our black, frozen hearts.
4) Please have your card ready and be capable of conveying it to us.
I love my grandma as much as the next person but if you’re old enough to remember hunting wooly mammoth in your youth than please make sure you have your glasses on and can actually read your card. I myself become half blind when my facial optics are disengaged and I’m quite aware by the time I reach your age I’ll be lucky to make out the menu at Chuck E Cheese. However, I’m hoping that by that time technology will have advanced to the point that I can purchase bionic eyes that shoot lasers beams so I can keep kids off my lawn.
5) Please keep your credit card information private.
You’re on the Skytrain. I know, I can hear it in the background. Perhaps this is not the best place to be reading your credit card number out loud.
Wark~
Me: “Ok, can I have your first name please?”
SC: “Jermaine”
Me: “Ok, and your last name please?”
SC: “<At this point she made a noise like a chocobo trying to swallow a live cat while being slammed in a car door.>
Me: “…can you spell that please?”
SC: “..huh?”
Ok, quick note. If your last name has 2 or more Q’s, 4+ vowels and ends in 2 or more K’s I’m going to have to ask you how to spell it. Do not be alarmed. It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong it just means I have never, ever heard any living creature on this planet make that noise and did not even think it was even possible with the human tongue.
Be very, very quiet.
Me: “Alright, and which credit card would you like to use?”
SC: “Wisa”
Ah yes, tell me, is it wabbit season yet? Or is it still duck season?
...Arg.
SC: “Don’t forget to phone when I win!”
Ah yes, another….joke. Don’t worry, I won’t. I won’t forget to phone and laugh when you lose either.
.....
I was calling one of our clients and this is literally the first thing he said when the line picked up:
C: “I’m ready to go my dear!”
Me: “…o…..k?”
Lending further credence to my belief that this guy does not understand a word of English. Yes, he knew who it was and why I was calling too. Sure, there’s a remote possibility that he’s desperately attracted to me but I’ll sleep better tonight grasping onto the belief he just doesn’t understand English very well.
Its Not That Difficult....
Me: “Alright, and what size would you like?”
SC: “H.”
Me: “….ok, but what size would you like?”
SC: “A jacket?”
Me: “…no, what size would you like?
SC: “Ummmm……extra large?”
Me: “You’d like it in extra large?”
SC: “Medium.”
Me: “…you want a medium?”
SC: “Medium or large.”
Me: “…you want it in large?”
SC: “Ok.”
Ok, look here my little arctic pumpkin: You’re the one placing the order. You’re the one that wants a jacket. Therefore you should be the one deciding what size the jacket should be. Not me. It doesn’t really matter what size jacket I want since I won’t be the one wearing it. You’ll be the one wearing it. Provided you can figure out how to put it on at least ( Hint: If you’ve involved your feet in any way you’re probably doing it wrong. ). So please, come up with a rough estimate of your general girth and rotundness and let me know. So that I may more accurately garb you.
Oh, right, that one.
Me: “Ok, and what was the name of your building?”
SC: “Oh….I’m not sure….”
Me: “….”
SC: “Oh, wait, I know. It starts with a C.”
Me: “……?”
SC: “……”
Me: "...."
…that’s it? It starts with a C? That’s…..not that helpful. Are you hoping I can just fill in the rest based on one letter? Because I can tell you without a doubt that when I call the on call he’s going to tell me he doesn’t handle that building after I tell him you’re calling from the “Cunt Blossom Estate”.
...Arrrg...
Me: “Ok, and your postal code please?”
SC: “…um…..box 9.”
Me: “Ok, but what is your postal code please?”
SC: “uhhh….box..9?”
Me: “….no, what is your postal code please?”
SC: “Uh….Alberta?”
Me: “….no. I need your postal code.”
SC: “…..box….9?”
Let me know when you’re ready to give up desperately jamming the square peg at the round hole like an enraged baboon. Than perhaps we can make a tad more progress towards fulfilling your carnal hat desires. At least until trying to comprehend “Size” sends you back into a blind primate rage.
I CAN'T DECIDE.
SC: “Yes, I was wondering if you could give me some information on your socks?”
Me: “Alright”
( They’re white and have some cat hair on them. )
SC: “I’m looking on your website and it says they only come in Black, Expresso and Camel.”
Me: “Ok.”
SC: “But when I go to the colour guide on the menu there’s ALLLLL these colours is there any way to tell what colours are available?”
Me: “.....Whichever colours show up on the item’s page are the only colours we have available for that item.”
SC: “It’s so hard to decide! There’s all these colours.”
Me: “The socks are only available in Black, Expresso and Camel...”
SC: “But it’s so hard to decide!”
…..it is? …how? You only have three choices and those choices are Black, Expresso and Camel. In other words Black, Brown and Slightly Lighter Brown. If you’re having this much trouble making a chromatic selection between just those three than please don’t go clicking around our website any further. God help you if you clicked on one of our scarves or shawls. You’d have an aneurism and slump over the keyboard in a puddle of your own drool until the cops found you.
....omfg.
( This is a legal aid line... )
SC: “Yeah, um, my friend is dead in my house here.”
….wait, what?
SC: “But I don’t want to call like the cops or anything.”
No, dude. Seriously. Back up a sec. What the fuck?
SC: “I don’t think it’s fair for me to not have legal council before the cops get here and everything.”
Not, fair? Not fair!? Dude, you have a CORPSE on your couch. Your FRIEND'S corpse at that. Call 911. Jesus fucking Christ Jiminy Snotrocket. Call someone. Anyone. Just not me. I can’t believe your first reaction to coming home and finding your friend's dead body was “Damn, I better call a lawyer”. Argh. If I could reach through the phone and throttle you I would. At least till you got your priorities in order or I myself needed legal council. Jesus.
To top it all off you don't sound upset at all. You sound annoyed and inconvenienced. You worthless, worthless asshole.
Besides, if your whole concern is that the cops will suspect you of foul play than congratulations: Calling a lawyer before you even call an ambulance ranks up there on the Police Suspicion Chart just under "Tried to hide the body in the freezer under the Fudgsicles".
Gah!
. I'll be sure to use that one later tomorrow. 
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