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Fruit Nuggets and The Dark Fissure
Bit of a slow week. -.-
Qualified
SC: "I'm calling for my interview."
Me: “Are you sure you have the right number? This is <company>”
SC: “Yes, they told me I could call any time for a job interview.”
I don’t think they meant that literally. Because the only ones here at 2am is me and my compatriot and neither of us can provide or are remotely qualified to provide such a service on their behalf. I could give it a whirl if you like but I’d be pulling questions completely at random out of my backside and I doubt many of them would be relevant to your employment. Unless for some reason <company> cares how far you can get a traffic cone up your ass in Lego aisle of Toys R Us while singing "I want to be the very best! Like no one ever was!" before you’re removed by security.
That's Not How This Works
Ah, I see the two of you have put your devious little rodent minds together and come up with a clever plan: Share a double room and try to use TWO of the same coupon on the same room to lower the price even further. I bet you thought this was rather cunning. But sadly, it doesn’t work that way. Your powers combined cannot lower the rate below $59 nor summon Captain Planet. If you even wanted too that is. I always thought he was kind of a knob myself. I mean seriously, what the hell? I don't want the fate of the world resting on the shoulders of a superhero that can be taken out by spraying him in the face with Pam.
Ah Ha! A Clue, Sherlock!
Exhibit A) Car alarms have been going off in the parkade all night. You refer to this as “very annoying.”
Exhibit B) The parking garage door was stuck half open all night.
These are two compelling pieces of evidence you have offered me. What could they possibly mean? Surely you don’t think they’re related do you? No, no you didn’t. Two very clearly connected facts. Two of the biggest, most bloated walrus like dots one could possibly be presented with separated by a space so narrow you could barely get the pencil in between them to connect said dots, and you, you my friend, were unable to make any kind of correlation between A and B.
Mhmm
SC: “I’m looking for Rick”
Me: “Rick? There's no one here by that name.”
SC: “I want to speak with Rick.”
Me: “This is <company>, are you sure you’re calling the right number?”
SC: “I don’t know his number.”
Yes, I believe that was my point.
....
A strange man outside of 7/11 offered to "let me find him" for a dollar. I declined as it seemed like it would be a rather short game with a possible surprise ending I may not enjoy and could not easily wash off. He responded by inferring many things about the orientation of my sexuality. Very loudly.
What Is It With Parkades?
1) You are trying to gain access to the parkade.
2) You cannot “find the button.” that opens the parkade door.
3) I think this is kind of silly, but what the hell, I’m feeling generous tonight so I check with the duty manager to learn where this mystical button is.
4) He tells me where the mystical button is.
5) I tell you where the mystical button is. Very specifically. Go down the stairs to the parkade, turn your head to the right, there will be a giant grey box that says OPEN on it. Inside this box is the grail you seek.
6) You still could not find it.
7) I began mentally forming theories as to why this is including repeated childhood head trauma, a history of heavy drug use or perhaps you grew up unknowingly calling your sister “mom”.
8) You demanded I send someone down there, at 2am no less, to hold your hand and show you where the button was.
9) Fate smiled upon me and the intercom timer cut you off before you could subject me to further pitiful mewing.
10) You did not call back. So I assume you attempted to reach me through the intercom again, but could not locate the button.
Friends Don't Let Friends Drink & Dial
SC: “So, er, uh, what is the grand prishe fer da lotto anyway?”
Me: “The grand prize is a 2 million dollar home.”
SC: “Oh wowsh!”
Sadly, using a Mastercard does not require a sobriety test. Otherwise it’d save me a fair amount of hassle some nights. Heck, if breathalyzer activated call blocks were installed on every phone north of the 60th parallel it’d save me a lot of hassle some nights. I know it’d never happen of course. Something about “civil rights” or “access to emergency services” or something.
But a boy can dream.
The Darkest Theory
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Yeah, can I get a cab?”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “I do?”
Why do you doubt me? Have you ever once called a cab company anywhere in north America where they’ve told you you called the wrong number so you asked them again and they actually went “Just kidding!”? Must I really reconfirm your failure? Are you so desperate to be proven wrong that you must once again stick your hand in the proverbial flame of your mistake? Or is this more like some weird phone fetish of yours. Perhaps being told you're wrong makes you moist and tingly?
Wait, scratch that. I don’t even want to contemplate that. With the amount of failure I confront on a nightly basis here even the possibly of that makes me feel used and dirty. <shudder>
Arrghh...
Me: “Ok, can I have your nam-“
SC: “I CAN BARELY HEAR YOU!!!!”
Yes, that’s because you have me on speaker phone and you’re standing in an entirely different room presumable mining the darkest recesses of your ass crack with a plaster trowel while you yell down the hallway at the phone. Perhaps if you actually picked up the alien device known as the receiver or at the very least came within 10 meters of the phone you would be able to decipher my words.
Thanks for Sharing
Me: “Ok, still suite #35?”
SC: “No, it’s suite #38 now. I moved next door from my girlfriend.”
Me: “Alright-“
SC: “I needed my space.”
I’m not sure why you felt the need to share that. But while it’s out there, in the open, quivering on the kitchen floor in a puddle of its own insecurities, let us discuss it, shall we? So you and your girlfriend were living together, you did something bad ( I’m assuming this is your fault just from the mocking girly voice you used for “space” ), she told you to get out.....so you moved in next door?
I’m guessing the reason you couldn’t move into suite #36 or #37 is because her restraining order has a 20 foot radius.
I Am Easily Amused
I spotted a new treasure at 7/11. Pocket Fruit Mix To Go Nut Free. Fuck ya! Nut Free! I settled in with my newfound treats. Which promised organic strawberry and orange fruit nuggets. Fruit nuggets. Seriously, how can you not want fruit nuggets? I didn’t even know fruit came in nuggets. I’m surprised it took this long to get fruit into nugget form. I mean we’ve already managed to convert every possible animal into nugget form. It’s about time we moved on to other food groups. Everything tastes better as a nugget. No, really. It's in the Bible.
It also promised a dried fruit medley of pineapple, mango, banana & papaya. Which was technically true. Except it was about 98% Nugget, 2% Medley and the Medley consisted of half a piece of dried banana. But who cares, I mean, fruit nuggets! 98% fruit nuggets!
Well Oiled Machine
Me: “and your phone number please?”
SC: “Ah, hang on a sec……hmmm…..sorry, I have too many numbers in my head.”
Just do what I do and purge any and all numerical information within 30 seconds of receiving it. Seriously, I could repeat a number back to a caller 9 times but 3 seconds after I hit F4 that information is gone. I couldn’t even tell you the area code. Years of being a CSR have honed my mind into the perfect call information processing system. I can recall anything with unflinching clarity for roughly 30 seconds on a call in exchange for completely losing it within 5 seconds of disconnecting lest it use up precious system resources. My mind is like a steel trap reinforced with a handful of used straws out of the trash bin at McDonalds’.
Let Me Paint You A Picture
Alright, let me outline a scenario and you tell me if you've ever experienced this before. As I'm sure you have at your work place.
You go to the bathroom, open the door, foolishly inhale and stumble back as if punched in the face by whatever lay within. One of your coworkers has done something....unholy....in there recently. Something so unspeakable it's making your eyes water.
3 things immediately leap into your mind all tied around a single objective:
1) Get in and get out before someone else comes and thinks you're responsible for whatever dark fissure between this world and the black bogs of the 3rd circle of Hell your coworker has wrought with his anus.
2) Get in and get out before your attempts to inhale as little of the dark miasma as possible end with you passed out and slumped over the porcelain altar as a sacrifice to whatever dark beings helped your coworker open said fissure.
3) Get in and get out before the aroma of the black vapours within stick to your clothing and you're forced to burn everything you're wearing in the backyard when you get home.
Skaweeee~
Me: “Good morning, <company>”
SC: “Dang, I got da wroooung numba!”
Yes, yes you do. Since the possibility of me either squealing like a pig or being able to produce an empty moonshine container and with it perform soothing rhythms by merely blowing on the mouth of the bottle is highly unlikely. This rules out 2 of the 3 possible life objectives you have. As for the 3rd, well, I'm not your cousin and I'm not bent over a tire swing with my pants down.
Guess thats 3 strikes, Jimbob.
Vocabulary
Me: “It’s only 3am here locally, so I don’t have a travel agent in until 8am.”
SC: “But I’m from Europe!”
I’m failing to see how that overrides the harsh reality that is timezones. You’re going to need to make a more compelling argument then “My country drinks a vast amount of tea possibly with biccies and/or crumpets, therefore someone must get out of bed at 3am halfway across the world to book me a hotel room.”
Yes, that’s right, biccies. It was word #17 on my list of words my friend from the UK used that I had to stop him mid sentence and ask him to define so I could figure out what the heck he was on about. I believe #16 was “chavs”.
Thus ends my week... -.-
Qualified
SC: "I'm calling for my interview."
Me: “Are you sure you have the right number? This is <company>”
SC: “Yes, they told me I could call any time for a job interview.”
I don’t think they meant that literally. Because the only ones here at 2am is me and my compatriot and neither of us can provide or are remotely qualified to provide such a service on their behalf. I could give it a whirl if you like but I’d be pulling questions completely at random out of my backside and I doubt many of them would be relevant to your employment. Unless for some reason <company> cares how far you can get a traffic cone up your ass in Lego aisle of Toys R Us while singing "I want to be the very best! Like no one ever was!" before you’re removed by security.
That's Not How This Works
Ah, I see the two of you have put your devious little rodent minds together and come up with a clever plan: Share a double room and try to use TWO of the same coupon on the same room to lower the price even further. I bet you thought this was rather cunning. But sadly, it doesn’t work that way. Your powers combined cannot lower the rate below $59 nor summon Captain Planet. If you even wanted too that is. I always thought he was kind of a knob myself. I mean seriously, what the hell? I don't want the fate of the world resting on the shoulders of a superhero that can be taken out by spraying him in the face with Pam.
Ah Ha! A Clue, Sherlock!
Exhibit A) Car alarms have been going off in the parkade all night. You refer to this as “very annoying.”
Exhibit B) The parking garage door was stuck half open all night.
These are two compelling pieces of evidence you have offered me. What could they possibly mean? Surely you don’t think they’re related do you? No, no you didn’t. Two very clearly connected facts. Two of the biggest, most bloated walrus like dots one could possibly be presented with separated by a space so narrow you could barely get the pencil in between them to connect said dots, and you, you my friend, were unable to make any kind of correlation between A and B.
Mhmm
SC: “I’m looking for Rick”
Me: “Rick? There's no one here by that name.”
SC: “I want to speak with Rick.”
Me: “This is <company>, are you sure you’re calling the right number?”
SC: “I don’t know his number.”
Yes, I believe that was my point.
....
A strange man outside of 7/11 offered to "let me find him" for a dollar. I declined as it seemed like it would be a rather short game with a possible surprise ending I may not enjoy and could not easily wash off. He responded by inferring many things about the orientation of my sexuality. Very loudly.
What Is It With Parkades?
1) You are trying to gain access to the parkade.
2) You cannot “find the button.” that opens the parkade door.
3) I think this is kind of silly, but what the hell, I’m feeling generous tonight so I check with the duty manager to learn where this mystical button is.
4) He tells me where the mystical button is.
5) I tell you where the mystical button is. Very specifically. Go down the stairs to the parkade, turn your head to the right, there will be a giant grey box that says OPEN on it. Inside this box is the grail you seek.
6) You still could not find it.
7) I began mentally forming theories as to why this is including repeated childhood head trauma, a history of heavy drug use or perhaps you grew up unknowingly calling your sister “mom”.
8) You demanded I send someone down there, at 2am no less, to hold your hand and show you where the button was.
9) Fate smiled upon me and the intercom timer cut you off before you could subject me to further pitiful mewing.
10) You did not call back. So I assume you attempted to reach me through the intercom again, but could not locate the button.
Friends Don't Let Friends Drink & Dial
SC: “So, er, uh, what is the grand prishe fer da lotto anyway?”
Me: “The grand prize is a 2 million dollar home.”
SC: “Oh wowsh!”
Sadly, using a Mastercard does not require a sobriety test. Otherwise it’d save me a fair amount of hassle some nights. Heck, if breathalyzer activated call blocks were installed on every phone north of the 60th parallel it’d save me a lot of hassle some nights. I know it’d never happen of course. Something about “civil rights” or “access to emergency services” or something.
But a boy can dream.
The Darkest Theory
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Yeah, can I get a cab?”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “I do?”
Why do you doubt me? Have you ever once called a cab company anywhere in north America where they’ve told you you called the wrong number so you asked them again and they actually went “Just kidding!”? Must I really reconfirm your failure? Are you so desperate to be proven wrong that you must once again stick your hand in the proverbial flame of your mistake? Or is this more like some weird phone fetish of yours. Perhaps being told you're wrong makes you moist and tingly?
Wait, scratch that. I don’t even want to contemplate that. With the amount of failure I confront on a nightly basis here even the possibly of that makes me feel used and dirty. <shudder>
Arrghh...
Me: “Ok, can I have your nam-“
SC: “I CAN BARELY HEAR YOU!!!!”
Yes, that’s because you have me on speaker phone and you’re standing in an entirely different room presumable mining the darkest recesses of your ass crack with a plaster trowel while you yell down the hallway at the phone. Perhaps if you actually picked up the alien device known as the receiver or at the very least came within 10 meters of the phone you would be able to decipher my words.
Thanks for Sharing
Me: “Ok, still suite #35?”
SC: “No, it’s suite #38 now. I moved next door from my girlfriend.”
Me: “Alright-“
SC: “I needed my space.”
I’m not sure why you felt the need to share that. But while it’s out there, in the open, quivering on the kitchen floor in a puddle of its own insecurities, let us discuss it, shall we? So you and your girlfriend were living together, you did something bad ( I’m assuming this is your fault just from the mocking girly voice you used for “space” ), she told you to get out.....so you moved in next door?
I’m guessing the reason you couldn’t move into suite #36 or #37 is because her restraining order has a 20 foot radius.
I Am Easily Amused
I spotted a new treasure at 7/11. Pocket Fruit Mix To Go Nut Free. Fuck ya! Nut Free! I settled in with my newfound treats. Which promised organic strawberry and orange fruit nuggets. Fruit nuggets. Seriously, how can you not want fruit nuggets? I didn’t even know fruit came in nuggets. I’m surprised it took this long to get fruit into nugget form. I mean we’ve already managed to convert every possible animal into nugget form. It’s about time we moved on to other food groups. Everything tastes better as a nugget. No, really. It's in the Bible.
It also promised a dried fruit medley of pineapple, mango, banana & papaya. Which was technically true. Except it was about 98% Nugget, 2% Medley and the Medley consisted of half a piece of dried banana. But who cares, I mean, fruit nuggets! 98% fruit nuggets!
Well Oiled Machine
Me: “and your phone number please?”
SC: “Ah, hang on a sec……hmmm…..sorry, I have too many numbers in my head.”
Just do what I do and purge any and all numerical information within 30 seconds of receiving it. Seriously, I could repeat a number back to a caller 9 times but 3 seconds after I hit F4 that information is gone. I couldn’t even tell you the area code. Years of being a CSR have honed my mind into the perfect call information processing system. I can recall anything with unflinching clarity for roughly 30 seconds on a call in exchange for completely losing it within 5 seconds of disconnecting lest it use up precious system resources. My mind is like a steel trap reinforced with a handful of used straws out of the trash bin at McDonalds’.
Let Me Paint You A Picture
Alright, let me outline a scenario and you tell me if you've ever experienced this before. As I'm sure you have at your work place.
You go to the bathroom, open the door, foolishly inhale and stumble back as if punched in the face by whatever lay within. One of your coworkers has done something....unholy....in there recently. Something so unspeakable it's making your eyes water.
3 things immediately leap into your mind all tied around a single objective:
1) Get in and get out before someone else comes and thinks you're responsible for whatever dark fissure between this world and the black bogs of the 3rd circle of Hell your coworker has wrought with his anus.
2) Get in and get out before your attempts to inhale as little of the dark miasma as possible end with you passed out and slumped over the porcelain altar as a sacrifice to whatever dark beings helped your coworker open said fissure.
3) Get in and get out before the aroma of the black vapours within stick to your clothing and you're forced to burn everything you're wearing in the backyard when you get home.
Skaweeee~
Me: “Good morning, <company>”
SC: “Dang, I got da wroooung numba!”
Yes, yes you do. Since the possibility of me either squealing like a pig or being able to produce an empty moonshine container and with it perform soothing rhythms by merely blowing on the mouth of the bottle is highly unlikely. This rules out 2 of the 3 possible life objectives you have. As for the 3rd, well, I'm not your cousin and I'm not bent over a tire swing with my pants down.
Guess thats 3 strikes, Jimbob.
Vocabulary
Me: “It’s only 3am here locally, so I don’t have a travel agent in until 8am.”
SC: “But I’m from Europe!”
I’m failing to see how that overrides the harsh reality that is timezones. You’re going to need to make a more compelling argument then “My country drinks a vast amount of tea possibly with biccies and/or crumpets, therefore someone must get out of bed at 3am halfway across the world to book me a hotel room.”
Yes, that’s right, biccies. It was word #17 on my list of words my friend from the UK used that I had to stop him mid sentence and ask him to define so I could figure out what the heck he was on about. I believe #16 was “chavs”.
Thus ends my week... -.-
bow to the almighty gravekeeper 
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