Tweet
Praise Hojo~
Requires Tech Level 5
SC: “Ya, ya’ll sell these Bluetooth? The pl…p….uh, P-L-A-I-N-“
Me: “Plaintronics?”
SC: “Yeah!” Ya’ll sell those? I lost the manually book ta mine.”
Yes, he said manually book.
Me: “We do carry them but I don’t think we have spare manuals. You may have to contact Plaintronics directly”
SC: “I don’ know how ta progreem it!”
Ok, I hate to break this too you but you’ve make a critical error. Take the headset, put it back in the box, find the receipt…..er…the little piece of paper that came with it…and take it back to the place you purchased / found / stole it. Explain to the nice people that you are not yet ready for the power it entails and that you were naïve and foolish. I know its shiny and it glows and that this draws you irresistibly like a moth to a flame. But you realize you can achieve the same effect by purchasing a flashlight or novelty squeeze toy at a Dollar Store for 1/400th the price of your current blinky-doo whatsit.
Riddle me This, Batman
Me: “Ok, and your postal code please?”
SC: “You got me. God. I don’t know.”
Yes, that’s me. Master of riddles. I can addle even the keenest of minds. Such as yourself, obviously. Why the razor sharp edge of your rapier wits could saw its way through even the coldest of butter if given a few minutes to reach room temperature.
Racial Modifiers
I have deployed Christmas treats to the corresponding stockings as instructed. Though I am not an elf by any means as I certainly did not receive +1 Dex, +1 Cha upon character creation. Though I did suffer -1 Con.
Anyone in the office who emails me to correct me on elven racial bonuses will immediately be labeled as a nerd child.
867
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Uh…..ya….when I gonna get ma cheque?”
Me: “….pardon?”
I love how you all have this habit of just initially outright stating what you’re calling for but in a fashion where there is utterly no context for me to figure out what precisely it is you’re talking about and no supporting information for me to do anything about it. Such as “When I gonna get ma cheque”, “Where’s my pants?” “Sent my order!”, “You get money??” or “ELK PAIN GIVE IN THE PANTS HORN”.
Its nice that you’re stating your intentions up front. However, I require a bit more context or at least a little lead in such as “Oh hi, I placed an order several weeks ago and have not yet received my pants. Without them my life is barren and my exposed jibbles cold.” or "Half of an Elk antler is lodged in my colon. I require immediate assistance."
SC: “When I gonna get may cheque?”
Me: “I’m not sure what you’re referring too?”
SC: “I had to order two hats~!”
Me: “…..alright?”
SC: “…..”
Me: "...."
SC: "......uh...<click>"
You’re not actually providing any additional clues that might in any way assist me in unraveling the mystery. In fact I’m even more confused now. You were forced to order two hats for some reason and….what? You want us to cut you a cheque for finding a loving home for the second hat? Did having more than one option addle your brain so much you want compensation for pain and suffering?
I Hate the Jokes so MUCH.
Me: “Ok, and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “Just the winning one.”
Yes. I’ve never heard anything like that before. Ever. For truly you are a cunning jester whose material reverbs up my funny bone with its originality. Yet oddly, while clutched within the gripes of the mirth your quip inspired, I still wish for you to somehow be set upon by starving wolves in your driveway in the dead the night.
Duuurr...
Me: “and your first name please?”
SC: “Kenneth”
Me: “Is that with one or two n’s?”
SC: “2 n’s. Good for you!”
Yes. Good for me. I can parrot and verify information to insure it’s correct. I am truly going above and beyond the call of duty and deserve to be praised in the same way and tone of voice one would use for a 3 year old that has managed to successfully use the toilet.
..wha?
SC: “I was wondering why I’m not getting correspondence from this company anymore?”
Me: “I wouldn’t know, sorry. This is the afterhours desk.”
SC: “I’m not getting mailings or anything.”
Me: “Alright, well you could try asking during business hours. But I wouldn’t know, sorry.”
SC: “Oh, what time is business hours?”
Me: “They’ll be back in at 8am on Monday.”
SC: “Ok. Yeah, I was just wondering why I wasn’t getting anything anymore.”
Yes, you stated that already. Repeating yourself will not inspire me to find you an answer. Though if I had to hazard any sort of guess it’s probably because you kept calling them at 1:30am to ask stupid questions.
Odds
Me: “Ok, and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “Just one please. It only takes one to win!”
It only takes one to lose horribly too. Just for reference you have a 0.6% chance of winning a prize in this lottery. Any prize. But a 99.40% chance of losing horribly. If you’re actually banking on the grand prize of all things, well than you have a 0.0008% chance of winning that. So perhaps you may wish to revise your statement and order enough tickets to at least break 1% on the odds? Otherwise you are free to keep putting your hope in leprechauns, horseshoes and unicorn farts.
Yet More Odds
Me: “Alright, and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “One. One lucky one.”
Very well, I shall personally ensure one of our highly trained staff takes your ticket and scours the earth in hopes of finding the elusive, mystical unicorn. At which point they will follow the magical beast around for a fortnight, holding the ticket up to his ass end in the hopes of having it dusted with the luck infused winds of the creature. However, since the unicorn is largely a beast of fantasy, horrible genetic experiments aside, our employee will probably end up dying cold and alone in the moors of northern England due to exposure and your ticket will be lost with his or her corpse.
Alternatively I can send you one of our normal, run of the mill tickets which have no inherent bias towards fortune or misfortune and you can take your 0.6% chance like everyone else.
SO MUCH RAGE
Me: “Ok, and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “Just the winning one!”
Ha ha. Yes. Why, despite having heard that exact joke a mere 20 hours ago and at least 50-60 times previous to that it just never gets old does it? It fills me with seething mirth even now. I can barely contain my laughter. Though I am succeeding. Admirably. So you can stop pausing to wait for a laugh after delivering your punch line. Because none will be forthcoming. But I assure you I’m laughing on the inside.
I'm Not That Kind of Line
Me: “Alright, you should receive your order in about 2 weeks.”
SC: “Hey, can I talk to you about something? Hmm. Can I talk to you about this? I’m not sure if I can talk to you about this….”
Me: “….”
If it’s about your order, than sure. If it’s about the difference between good touch and bad touch or the funny feeling you get when you climb the rope in gym class, than no.
Inside The Mind Of
Allow me to try and provide a window into the caller’s train of thought on this one. I think it’s important to sometimes try and explore our nocturnal caller’s perspectives so we can better understand the dim world within which they dwell:
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
Oh boy! Someone answered! What did he say? I wasn’t listening. Oh we-hey what’s that fuzzy thing in my navel? I need to pick it out. It could be important.
SC: “Is this a cab company?”
I need a cab! I need to get to the hospital! My navel is eating my shirt!
Me: "No, it’s not sorry.”
It’s not a cab! Dammit, now I need to ask someone for a cab number….wait! I know!
SC" : “Do you know the number to the cab?”
Me: “No I don’t, sorry.”
Damn! He doesn’t know……hey, wait a minute…
SC: “Why don’t you know?”
Me: “…..because this isn’t a cab company.”
What? I thought he WAS a cab company! Er….wait….no, tha-ITS EATING MY SHIRT OH GOD.
Wait, WHAT?
SC: “I think it’s happened again”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “Someone has died and that incompetent manager just left it. Now it reeks!”
Me: “….have you called the police?”
SC: “I can’t deal with it. <click>”
….wait wait wait, ok, back up. What in the world just happened? You think there’s a rotting corpse in the building and the manager is just ignoring it. But you don’t want to deal with it either so you just call me and tell me “Oh hai, my neighbor is dead and it smellz. Pls fix. Kthxbye.” Than hang up without telling me a shred of information that might in any way assist me in locating and removing your deceased air freshener? If someone’s perished it is kind of important and I do need a tad more information than that.
My telecom software does not have a “séance” key.
867
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “A purse.”
Oh lord. I’ve seen the purses we sell. They are generally overpriced, terrifying creations….
Me: “What’s the ID number?”
SC: “xxxxxx”
Ah….the “Bethany Box”. Judging from the texture and fabric, Bethany was a rhino. That would explain why it’s some odd $160. Rhino is hard to come by.
867
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “One sec…lemme find it……I think I have the wrong catalogue…..yes I do. This can’t be happening!!!”
Oh noez! Teh wrong catalogue!~ Truly this is a crisis of national proportions and the proper authorities must be notified.
SC: “I think it was in the fall catalogue and this is the winter catalogue! Do you have the fall catalog there?”
Me: “Yes I do, what were you trying to find?”
SC: “It was a pink plaid jacket.”
....it was a what? Sweet lord. Do we carry something like that? The pink camo items are unsettling enough, but pink plaid? That’s a new and frightening possibility I’d never even considered. Mainly because I was under the mistaken belief no one would wear such an abomination, thus no one would conceive of producing such an abomination. But I was naïve and foolish.
867
Me: “Ok, and your name please?”
SC: “…uywahhh…..its…uh….what do I tell him?”
SC2: “Tell em your name!”
……uywah?
Me: "Alright, and your phone number please?”
SC: “…uuuywahhh….it’s…uh…”
Ok, stop that.
Me: “and your postal code?”
SC: “..uuuywahhhh……”
…..dude, seriously. If you took a chimp, sat him down, then snuck up behind him with a shovel and cracked him across the back of the head that’s the exact noise he would make as he sunk into unconsciousness.
Me: “and what would you like to order?”
SC: “…uywahhhh….”
Is this some sort of catch phrase? Are we filming some kind of sitcom? Unmarried With Children? I Dream Of Agukuluk? 3rd Rock from Russia?
Me: “ok, and by credit card or COD?”
SC: “….uywahhh…..uh….credit card.”
Me: “Ok, what kind of credit card?”
SC: “uywahhh……sec, I’ll let me secretary handle this.”
…..hahahahaahaahaha. Secretary? You mean the barely sober woman in the background that needed to help you answer the question “What’s your name?”. She may be slightly more clever than you but she’s still barely operating opposable thumbs. Still, since you’re obviously daunted by having to read out more than 6 numbers in one go you may as well tag out and give me a fresh opponent.
Supervillain
After much deliberation I have managed to distill your tirade into a number of distinct points:
1) Both elevators are down in your building.
2) This forced you to walk up the stairs.
3) You left your walker downstairs.
4) You want someone to retrieve your walker.
5) You’ve called like 17 times and already been told that someone was on the way to fix the elevator.
6) This someone is not here yet. You can tell because you “Have a window and don’t see any cars.”.
7) You want someone to retrieve your walker.
8) All of this is probably going to kill you and if it does you’ll sue me. Somehow.
9) Despite all of this you refused to give me your name, suite, phone number or what building you’re talking about.
Apparently I’m supposed to be psychic. Apparently you’re planning on becoming some sort of lich like undead so you can take legal vengeance from beyond the grave. Clearly we were meant partake in an epic battle in the future. A battle for which the fate of the entire world will hang in the balance.
Come than, villain. My frontal lobe throbs with destiny.
867
Me: “Ok, it looks like I only have that in medium.”
SC: “Oooh….do you have it in extra large?”
I really must retire the word “only” as it has failed me far too many times. I need to substitute something a bit more clear like “There is nothing but medium and you are not allowed to say anything except medium because there is no small, large or extra large. Medium is all that exists. Pick medium or hang up. There is no other option.”.
Me: “No I don’t sorry. Only medium.”
SC: “Oh, ok. What about extra large than?” ( Yes, she just asked for it twice )
Me: “……no. We only have medium.”
….alright, I admire your attempt at rejecting my reality and substituting your own. However, despite whatever your friends convinced you last time you got drunk, you do not actually possess super powers and cannot bend reality to your whim. You are also not currently invisible so you may wish to put some pants on and get out of your sister’s room before she gets home.
Yeah, I need one too.
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Yeah, I want to order an apache.”
Me: “…pardon?”
SC: “I need an apache”
…..as in the tribe or the gunship? Because in all blunt honesty I seriously doubt I could help you obtain either. Though if I was forced to choose: the former would probably be a tad easier to find than stealing an 18 million dollar flying death platform. Granted if I could get my paws on an Apache do you really think I’d give it to you? I think not. I might fly it over to your house for a few minutes. But that’d be about it.
Ok so I don’t know really how to fly a helicopter and I would probably crash it broadside into your Honda Civic, detonating all the ammo onboard and wiping out everything within a one block radius. But you have to admit that would still be pretty cool and you probably don’t like your neighbors anyway.
A Cunning Attempt
SC: “It says everything is 30-50% off but I don’t see where that price is listed on the items?”
Me: “The sale price is right there, where it says On Sale Price in red.”
SC: “Oh, I thought it was on top of that.”
The fact I have to point this out, yet again, is both alarming and discouraging. Yes, everything is 50% off of 50% off of 50% of off 50% of the original price. Heck, you know what? Everything’s a buck. How about that? Yes, you could own a $1000 full length 100% cashmere overcoat using only the oddly smelling change dug out of your couch. Heck, we’ll pay you to take it. We don’t like them anyway. They take up space and smell funny.
SC: “Ok, what if I have to send it back? Will it cost me anything?”
Me: “We'll be accepting returns and exchanges on Christmas gifts till about the 15th of Jan or so. There is no restocking fee, you only need to pay for shipping.”
SC: “But all the other companies are offering free shipping BOTH WAYS with their Christmas sales!!!!”
….suuuure they are. I’m sure they have no restocking fees either and every purchase comes with a free gift of one bottled unicorn fart that’s yours to keep regardless of whether or not you like the product. All of these is yours for 3 easy installments of $9.99. But wait, there’s more. Order now and we’ll throw in a pony, free of charge.
Basically what you’re asking me isn’t if you can purchase a $1000 coat for $100. But rather can we lend you one for the holidays so you can impress your friends than send it back without costing you a penny? Is that about right?
I think not.
Lonestar and the Mascara Kid
Sooo….Broadway. Yeah, you know the drill. Tonight featured both imports and exports at Broadway.
Tonight’s trio of exported failure was as follows:
First up, a man illogically wearing leather pants, a cowboy hat and a leather jacket but with blue hair. Also carrying a duffel bag large enough to carry a body in. May or may not have actually had a body in it. I shall call him Lonestar.
Joining him, a short kid wearing the traditional skater garb: Hoodie, pants they have failed to operate correctly and are hanging at half mast and a “belt” that’s really a chain stolen from a construction site after dark. Possibly where they were coming home from. But to up the confusion, he was wearing mascara and had purple hair. So of like if Skater and Goth had some sort of lovechild and that child lived in a house without mirrors or the love of a parent. I shall call him Skoth.
Finally, their silent companion, a girl that somehow managed to bridge the gap between Motown and flannel. Sporting a borderline ridiculous afro but pairing it with plaid pants. She was entirely mute except to laugh at Lonestar and Skoth when they performed amusing pet tricks for Skittles. So she will simply be the Mute.
This chromatic lot first crawled on around Joyce. Immediately upon entering the train, it struck Lonestar that this was the perfect time and place to take Skoth hostage. At which point he grabbed Skoth in a chokehold, pointed his finger at his temple and went “Gun! Gun! Gun!”. Skoth dutifully acted the part. Or perhaps truly thought that Lonestar would in fact randomly take his life on public transit and then store him in his insidious corpse duffel. But after a few moments of no one on the train giving a damn or nervously avoiding eye contact, Lonestar lost interested and released his gender confused hostage.
Lonestar than proceeded to greet everyone on the train whether they would make eye contact or not. I successfully Feigned Death and eluded his attention. Than Skoth began to inform us that it was Lonestar’s birthday. Oh goody. Lonestar isn’t randomly homicidal, drunk or incredibly high, he’s just lonely because no one came to his birthday party except Skoth and the Mute. Lonestar repeated the confirmation of his spawn event and seemed very desperate for someone, anyone, to care. I of course, did not. As I am no longer of capable of the emotion you humans call “compassion”. Though I can feign it in exchange for an hourly wage.
Unfortunately, the guy across from me shouted out “Happy Birthday!” a few times to Lonestar. This guy is a jerkface. Because this guy knew he was just about to get off the train at the next stop and could freely encourage Lonestar and the Mascara Kid with little no to chance of repercussion as he had already planned his escape route.
This cheered poor Lonestar up, and he took his posse to the back of the train. Where they proceeded to talk like cowboys while the Mute laughed at the appropriate moments in a manner normally reserved for a patient under heavy medication. You’ve probably never seen a mascara wearing prepubescent blue haired he-gremlin attempt to say “Come on, pardners!’” but it’s an experience that will stay with you for some time. Whether you want it too or not.
Luckily, this unholy yet colourful trio ( of course ) got off at Broadway.
But then, where there are exports, there must be imports in order to maintain a healthy freak economy.
I was actually lulled into a false sense of security. I spotted no overt freaklings crawling on at Broadway. Only crawling off. It wasn’t until the guy in front of me dropped his buck a slice pizza on the floor of the Skytrain that things once again took a turn.
Not only did he drop it, but he dropped it topping side down. You know, so it can stick. His reply was “Oh, great.” Before he retrieved it, and his plate, which he also dropped, off of the floor. At which point he looked at it, shrugged, and resumed eating it. Seeing the looks of horror upon him he went “Ah well, it’s food and food is good.”.
Now, I don’t even like touching the poles on the Skytrain. I’ve seen the things that happen to the poles on these trains over the years. I’ve seen all manner of things and…bodyparts applied to them both clothed and unclothed. And that’s just the poles. I can’t *imagine* what sort of things have occurred on, are clinging too or are currently growing and breeding upon that floor. There’s a reason the first trains out of Waterfront in the morning reek of industrial cleaning agents. It’s because it’s the only hope of killing whatever is inside that train before it can find a human host and overthrow civilization.
Yet, here you are, munching down on your buck a slice pizza that just had an audible liaison with this floor. So I’m going to take a guess that you’ll probably be dead by the weekend and half the city will have followed by Christmas.
Oh, and <manager> is a nerd child.
Requires Tech Level 5
SC: “Ya, ya’ll sell these Bluetooth? The pl…p….uh, P-L-A-I-N-“
Me: “Plaintronics?”
SC: “Yeah!” Ya’ll sell those? I lost the manually book ta mine.”
Yes, he said manually book.
Me: “We do carry them but I don’t think we have spare manuals. You may have to contact Plaintronics directly”
SC: “I don’ know how ta progreem it!”
Ok, I hate to break this too you but you’ve make a critical error. Take the headset, put it back in the box, find the receipt…..er…the little piece of paper that came with it…and take it back to the place you purchased / found / stole it. Explain to the nice people that you are not yet ready for the power it entails and that you were naïve and foolish. I know its shiny and it glows and that this draws you irresistibly like a moth to a flame. But you realize you can achieve the same effect by purchasing a flashlight or novelty squeeze toy at a Dollar Store for 1/400th the price of your current blinky-doo whatsit.
Riddle me This, Batman
Me: “Ok, and your postal code please?”
SC: “You got me. God. I don’t know.”
Yes, that’s me. Master of riddles. I can addle even the keenest of minds. Such as yourself, obviously. Why the razor sharp edge of your rapier wits could saw its way through even the coldest of butter if given a few minutes to reach room temperature.
Racial Modifiers
I have deployed Christmas treats to the corresponding stockings as instructed. Though I am not an elf by any means as I certainly did not receive +1 Dex, +1 Cha upon character creation. Though I did suffer -1 Con.
Anyone in the office who emails me to correct me on elven racial bonuses will immediately be labeled as a nerd child.
867
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Uh…..ya….when I gonna get ma cheque?”
Me: “….pardon?”
I love how you all have this habit of just initially outright stating what you’re calling for but in a fashion where there is utterly no context for me to figure out what precisely it is you’re talking about and no supporting information for me to do anything about it. Such as “When I gonna get ma cheque”, “Where’s my pants?” “Sent my order!”, “You get money??” or “ELK PAIN GIVE IN THE PANTS HORN”.
Its nice that you’re stating your intentions up front. However, I require a bit more context or at least a little lead in such as “Oh hi, I placed an order several weeks ago and have not yet received my pants. Without them my life is barren and my exposed jibbles cold.” or "Half of an Elk antler is lodged in my colon. I require immediate assistance."
SC: “When I gonna get may cheque?”
Me: “I’m not sure what you’re referring too?”
SC: “I had to order two hats~!”
Me: “…..alright?”
SC: “…..”
Me: "...."
SC: "......uh...<click>"
You’re not actually providing any additional clues that might in any way assist me in unraveling the mystery. In fact I’m even more confused now. You were forced to order two hats for some reason and….what? You want us to cut you a cheque for finding a loving home for the second hat? Did having more than one option addle your brain so much you want compensation for pain and suffering?
I Hate the Jokes so MUCH.
Me: “Ok, and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “Just the winning one.”
Yes. I’ve never heard anything like that before. Ever. For truly you are a cunning jester whose material reverbs up my funny bone with its originality. Yet oddly, while clutched within the gripes of the mirth your quip inspired, I still wish for you to somehow be set upon by starving wolves in your driveway in the dead the night.
Duuurr...
Me: “and your first name please?”
SC: “Kenneth”
Me: “Is that with one or two n’s?”
SC: “2 n’s. Good for you!”
Yes. Good for me. I can parrot and verify information to insure it’s correct. I am truly going above and beyond the call of duty and deserve to be praised in the same way and tone of voice one would use for a 3 year old that has managed to successfully use the toilet.
..wha?
SC: “I was wondering why I’m not getting correspondence from this company anymore?”
Me: “I wouldn’t know, sorry. This is the afterhours desk.”
SC: “I’m not getting mailings or anything.”
Me: “Alright, well you could try asking during business hours. But I wouldn’t know, sorry.”
SC: “Oh, what time is business hours?”
Me: “They’ll be back in at 8am on Monday.”
SC: “Ok. Yeah, I was just wondering why I wasn’t getting anything anymore.”
Yes, you stated that already. Repeating yourself will not inspire me to find you an answer. Though if I had to hazard any sort of guess it’s probably because you kept calling them at 1:30am to ask stupid questions.
Odds
Me: “Ok, and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “Just one please. It only takes one to win!”
It only takes one to lose horribly too. Just for reference you have a 0.6% chance of winning a prize in this lottery. Any prize. But a 99.40% chance of losing horribly. If you’re actually banking on the grand prize of all things, well than you have a 0.0008% chance of winning that. So perhaps you may wish to revise your statement and order enough tickets to at least break 1% on the odds? Otherwise you are free to keep putting your hope in leprechauns, horseshoes and unicorn farts.
Yet More Odds
Me: “Alright, and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “One. One lucky one.”
Very well, I shall personally ensure one of our highly trained staff takes your ticket and scours the earth in hopes of finding the elusive, mystical unicorn. At which point they will follow the magical beast around for a fortnight, holding the ticket up to his ass end in the hopes of having it dusted with the luck infused winds of the creature. However, since the unicorn is largely a beast of fantasy, horrible genetic experiments aside, our employee will probably end up dying cold and alone in the moors of northern England due to exposure and your ticket will be lost with his or her corpse.
Alternatively I can send you one of our normal, run of the mill tickets which have no inherent bias towards fortune or misfortune and you can take your 0.6% chance like everyone else.
SO MUCH RAGE
Me: “Ok, and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “Just the winning one!”
Ha ha. Yes. Why, despite having heard that exact joke a mere 20 hours ago and at least 50-60 times previous to that it just never gets old does it? It fills me with seething mirth even now. I can barely contain my laughter. Though I am succeeding. Admirably. So you can stop pausing to wait for a laugh after delivering your punch line. Because none will be forthcoming. But I assure you I’m laughing on the inside.
I'm Not That Kind of Line
Me: “Alright, you should receive your order in about 2 weeks.”
SC: “Hey, can I talk to you about something? Hmm. Can I talk to you about this? I’m not sure if I can talk to you about this….”
Me: “….”
If it’s about your order, than sure. If it’s about the difference between good touch and bad touch or the funny feeling you get when you climb the rope in gym class, than no.
Inside The Mind Of
Allow me to try and provide a window into the caller’s train of thought on this one. I think it’s important to sometimes try and explore our nocturnal caller’s perspectives so we can better understand the dim world within which they dwell:
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
Oh boy! Someone answered! What did he say? I wasn’t listening. Oh we-hey what’s that fuzzy thing in my navel? I need to pick it out. It could be important.
SC: “Is this a cab company?”
I need a cab! I need to get to the hospital! My navel is eating my shirt!
Me: "No, it’s not sorry.”
It’s not a cab! Dammit, now I need to ask someone for a cab number….wait! I know!
SC" : “Do you know the number to the cab?”
Me: “No I don’t, sorry.”
Damn! He doesn’t know……hey, wait a minute…
SC: “Why don’t you know?”
Me: “…..because this isn’t a cab company.”
What? I thought he WAS a cab company! Er….wait….no, tha-ITS EATING MY SHIRT OH GOD.
Wait, WHAT?
SC: “I think it’s happened again”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “Someone has died and that incompetent manager just left it. Now it reeks!”
Me: “….have you called the police?”
SC: “I can’t deal with it. <click>”
….wait wait wait, ok, back up. What in the world just happened? You think there’s a rotting corpse in the building and the manager is just ignoring it. But you don’t want to deal with it either so you just call me and tell me “Oh hai, my neighbor is dead and it smellz. Pls fix. Kthxbye.” Than hang up without telling me a shred of information that might in any way assist me in locating and removing your deceased air freshener? If someone’s perished it is kind of important and I do need a tad more information than that.
My telecom software does not have a “séance” key.
867
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “A purse.”
Oh lord. I’ve seen the purses we sell. They are generally overpriced, terrifying creations….
Me: “What’s the ID number?”
SC: “xxxxxx”
Ah….the “Bethany Box”. Judging from the texture and fabric, Bethany was a rhino. That would explain why it’s some odd $160. Rhino is hard to come by.
867
Me: “Ok, and what would you like to order?”
SC: “One sec…lemme find it……I think I have the wrong catalogue…..yes I do. This can’t be happening!!!”
Oh noez! Teh wrong catalogue!~ Truly this is a crisis of national proportions and the proper authorities must be notified.
SC: “I think it was in the fall catalogue and this is the winter catalogue! Do you have the fall catalog there?”
Me: “Yes I do, what were you trying to find?”
SC: “It was a pink plaid jacket.”
....it was a what? Sweet lord. Do we carry something like that? The pink camo items are unsettling enough, but pink plaid? That’s a new and frightening possibility I’d never even considered. Mainly because I was under the mistaken belief no one would wear such an abomination, thus no one would conceive of producing such an abomination. But I was naïve and foolish.
867
Me: “Ok, and your name please?”
SC: “…uywahhh…..its…uh….what do I tell him?”
SC2: “Tell em your name!”
……uywah?
Me: "Alright, and your phone number please?”
SC: “…uuuywahhh….it’s…uh…”
Ok, stop that.
Me: “and your postal code?”
SC: “..uuuywahhhh……”
…..dude, seriously. If you took a chimp, sat him down, then snuck up behind him with a shovel and cracked him across the back of the head that’s the exact noise he would make as he sunk into unconsciousness.
Me: “and what would you like to order?”
SC: “…uywahhhh….”
Is this some sort of catch phrase? Are we filming some kind of sitcom? Unmarried With Children? I Dream Of Agukuluk? 3rd Rock from Russia?
Me: “ok, and by credit card or COD?”
SC: “….uywahhh…..uh….credit card.”
Me: “Ok, what kind of credit card?”
SC: “uywahhh……sec, I’ll let me secretary handle this.”
…..hahahahaahaahaha. Secretary? You mean the barely sober woman in the background that needed to help you answer the question “What’s your name?”. She may be slightly more clever than you but she’s still barely operating opposable thumbs. Still, since you’re obviously daunted by having to read out more than 6 numbers in one go you may as well tag out and give me a fresh opponent.
Supervillain
After much deliberation I have managed to distill your tirade into a number of distinct points:
1) Both elevators are down in your building.
2) This forced you to walk up the stairs.
3) You left your walker downstairs.
4) You want someone to retrieve your walker.
5) You’ve called like 17 times and already been told that someone was on the way to fix the elevator.
6) This someone is not here yet. You can tell because you “Have a window and don’t see any cars.”.
7) You want someone to retrieve your walker.
8) All of this is probably going to kill you and if it does you’ll sue me. Somehow.
9) Despite all of this you refused to give me your name, suite, phone number or what building you’re talking about.
Apparently I’m supposed to be psychic. Apparently you’re planning on becoming some sort of lich like undead so you can take legal vengeance from beyond the grave. Clearly we were meant partake in an epic battle in the future. A battle for which the fate of the entire world will hang in the balance.
Come than, villain. My frontal lobe throbs with destiny.
867
Me: “Ok, it looks like I only have that in medium.”
SC: “Oooh….do you have it in extra large?”
I really must retire the word “only” as it has failed me far too many times. I need to substitute something a bit more clear like “There is nothing but medium and you are not allowed to say anything except medium because there is no small, large or extra large. Medium is all that exists. Pick medium or hang up. There is no other option.”.
Me: “No I don’t sorry. Only medium.”
SC: “Oh, ok. What about extra large than?” ( Yes, she just asked for it twice )
Me: “……no. We only have medium.”
….alright, I admire your attempt at rejecting my reality and substituting your own. However, despite whatever your friends convinced you last time you got drunk, you do not actually possess super powers and cannot bend reality to your whim. You are also not currently invisible so you may wish to put some pants on and get out of your sister’s room before she gets home.
Yeah, I need one too.
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Yeah, I want to order an apache.”
Me: “…pardon?”
SC: “I need an apache”
…..as in the tribe or the gunship? Because in all blunt honesty I seriously doubt I could help you obtain either. Though if I was forced to choose: the former would probably be a tad easier to find than stealing an 18 million dollar flying death platform. Granted if I could get my paws on an Apache do you really think I’d give it to you? I think not. I might fly it over to your house for a few minutes. But that’d be about it.
Ok so I don’t know really how to fly a helicopter and I would probably crash it broadside into your Honda Civic, detonating all the ammo onboard and wiping out everything within a one block radius. But you have to admit that would still be pretty cool and you probably don’t like your neighbors anyway.
A Cunning Attempt
SC: “It says everything is 30-50% off but I don’t see where that price is listed on the items?”
Me: “The sale price is right there, where it says On Sale Price in red.”
SC: “Oh, I thought it was on top of that.”
The fact I have to point this out, yet again, is both alarming and discouraging. Yes, everything is 50% off of 50% off of 50% of off 50% of the original price. Heck, you know what? Everything’s a buck. How about that? Yes, you could own a $1000 full length 100% cashmere overcoat using only the oddly smelling change dug out of your couch. Heck, we’ll pay you to take it. We don’t like them anyway. They take up space and smell funny.
SC: “Ok, what if I have to send it back? Will it cost me anything?”
Me: “We'll be accepting returns and exchanges on Christmas gifts till about the 15th of Jan or so. There is no restocking fee, you only need to pay for shipping.”
SC: “But all the other companies are offering free shipping BOTH WAYS with their Christmas sales!!!!”
….suuuure they are. I’m sure they have no restocking fees either and every purchase comes with a free gift of one bottled unicorn fart that’s yours to keep regardless of whether or not you like the product. All of these is yours for 3 easy installments of $9.99. But wait, there’s more. Order now and we’ll throw in a pony, free of charge.
Basically what you’re asking me isn’t if you can purchase a $1000 coat for $100. But rather can we lend you one for the holidays so you can impress your friends than send it back without costing you a penny? Is that about right?
I think not.
Lonestar and the Mascara Kid
Sooo….Broadway. Yeah, you know the drill. Tonight featured both imports and exports at Broadway.
Tonight’s trio of exported failure was as follows:
First up, a man illogically wearing leather pants, a cowboy hat and a leather jacket but with blue hair. Also carrying a duffel bag large enough to carry a body in. May or may not have actually had a body in it. I shall call him Lonestar.
Joining him, a short kid wearing the traditional skater garb: Hoodie, pants they have failed to operate correctly and are hanging at half mast and a “belt” that’s really a chain stolen from a construction site after dark. Possibly where they were coming home from. But to up the confusion, he was wearing mascara and had purple hair. So of like if Skater and Goth had some sort of lovechild and that child lived in a house without mirrors or the love of a parent. I shall call him Skoth.
Finally, their silent companion, a girl that somehow managed to bridge the gap between Motown and flannel. Sporting a borderline ridiculous afro but pairing it with plaid pants. She was entirely mute except to laugh at Lonestar and Skoth when they performed amusing pet tricks for Skittles. So she will simply be the Mute.
This chromatic lot first crawled on around Joyce. Immediately upon entering the train, it struck Lonestar that this was the perfect time and place to take Skoth hostage. At which point he grabbed Skoth in a chokehold, pointed his finger at his temple and went “Gun! Gun! Gun!”. Skoth dutifully acted the part. Or perhaps truly thought that Lonestar would in fact randomly take his life on public transit and then store him in his insidious corpse duffel. But after a few moments of no one on the train giving a damn or nervously avoiding eye contact, Lonestar lost interested and released his gender confused hostage.
Lonestar than proceeded to greet everyone on the train whether they would make eye contact or not. I successfully Feigned Death and eluded his attention. Than Skoth began to inform us that it was Lonestar’s birthday. Oh goody. Lonestar isn’t randomly homicidal, drunk or incredibly high, he’s just lonely because no one came to his birthday party except Skoth and the Mute. Lonestar repeated the confirmation of his spawn event and seemed very desperate for someone, anyone, to care. I of course, did not. As I am no longer of capable of the emotion you humans call “compassion”. Though I can feign it in exchange for an hourly wage.
Unfortunately, the guy across from me shouted out “Happy Birthday!” a few times to Lonestar. This guy is a jerkface. Because this guy knew he was just about to get off the train at the next stop and could freely encourage Lonestar and the Mascara Kid with little no to chance of repercussion as he had already planned his escape route.
This cheered poor Lonestar up, and he took his posse to the back of the train. Where they proceeded to talk like cowboys while the Mute laughed at the appropriate moments in a manner normally reserved for a patient under heavy medication. You’ve probably never seen a mascara wearing prepubescent blue haired he-gremlin attempt to say “Come on, pardners!’” but it’s an experience that will stay with you for some time. Whether you want it too or not.
Luckily, this unholy yet colourful trio ( of course ) got off at Broadway.
But then, where there are exports, there must be imports in order to maintain a healthy freak economy.
I was actually lulled into a false sense of security. I spotted no overt freaklings crawling on at Broadway. Only crawling off. It wasn’t until the guy in front of me dropped his buck a slice pizza on the floor of the Skytrain that things once again took a turn.
Not only did he drop it, but he dropped it topping side down. You know, so it can stick. His reply was “Oh, great.” Before he retrieved it, and his plate, which he also dropped, off of the floor. At which point he looked at it, shrugged, and resumed eating it. Seeing the looks of horror upon him he went “Ah well, it’s food and food is good.”.
Now, I don’t even like touching the poles on the Skytrain. I’ve seen the things that happen to the poles on these trains over the years. I’ve seen all manner of things and…bodyparts applied to them both clothed and unclothed. And that’s just the poles. I can’t *imagine* what sort of things have occurred on, are clinging too or are currently growing and breeding upon that floor. There’s a reason the first trains out of Waterfront in the morning reek of industrial cleaning agents. It’s because it’s the only hope of killing whatever is inside that train before it can find a human host and overthrow civilization.
Yet, here you are, munching down on your buck a slice pizza that just had an audible liaison with this floor. So I’m going to take a guess that you’ll probably be dead by the weekend and half the city will have followed by Christmas.
Oh, and <manager> is a nerd child.
Comment