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More Then I Ever Wanted To Know
Arghhh....why I returned I have no idea, but I did.
My Duties Resume
I have returned. Ahhh…..the nostalgia overwhelms me. The stench of stale cigarette smoke mixed with the faintest whiff of human urine and just a touch of Axe body spray. The broken heater gleefully blowing freezing cold air directly up my ass from below. It has been a while, public transit. I’d almost forgotten the sights, sounds and smells one experiences within your forsaken confines. I had managed to avoid having to use you for near two weeks. But alas this reprieve came to an end.
Right.
Me: “Good evening, <company> Tech Support"
SC: “I want to call to Africa.”
Well then, my tragically misguided friend, I have just two quick points we should go over together if you’d like to pull up a seat. Number one: You have failed utterly and number two: You have failed in such a spectacular fashion that I cannot even mentally backtrack the route you may have taken to reach this point. I must admit I find this rather startling. I have been at this for many, many a year you see. Guiding the dill witted, inept and downright idiotic amongst us along the clearly marked paths of basic competency. I know these trails like the back of my hand, yet I cannot determine which course you plotted amongst them nor what mistakes you made along the way that could have possibly led you here.
I’m not sure whether I should congratulate you or condemn you for this dubious accomplishment.
I Hate When They Do This
As much as I hate to interrupt your spittle driven tirade about a broken lock on a back door or some such silliness. An issue which was already documented and passed along to your building manager an hour ago when you first called. I must level a single counter point to your argument: Berating me for several minutes as if this is personally my fault and then reassuring me that it is not my fault and you understand it is not my fault does not justify the initial verbal beating. Especially not when you immediately resume berating me after reassuring me you understand it is not my fault. All this tells me is that you a small, petty individual whose genitalia are inadequately sized for pleasuring anything beyond a stale handful of Honey Nut Cheerios. A fact which drives you forward with little regard for who you lash out at as long as you get to yell at someone. Regardless of whether or not they actually have anything to do with the situation.
If you truly have so little control over your quivering rage loins might I suggest finding alternative methods of venting that do not involve innocent lives such as my own? Perhaps you could physically or sexually assault adjacent furniture? It is soulless and likely cushioned. Thus better equipped to deal with such an assault without incurring bruising or hurt feelings.
Or better yet perhaps you could channel this seething energy into something constructive? I bet if you directed it properly you could accomplish all sorts of things. You could feverishly knit yourself a nice rage sweater or bitterly plant a herb garden for example. You know, something productive that wouldn’t leave you feeling empty and shallow afterwards. Crying in the bathroom into a half empty bucket of butter pecan Haagen-Dazs with what passes for your dick in your other hand desperately trying not to dwell on the fact that you are a terrible person and no one truly loves you. Not even the cat.
You know, where you’ll likely be 20 minutes after you get off the phone.
My True Nature
You have called 4 times now. Each time when I have answered there has been no reply, only a cacophony of strange sounds that vaguely indicated that someone might be in the background somewhere. Initially, I was perplexed and unsure of exactly what was going on. However, as you were kind enough to call repeatedly to inflict this on me, I think I may have unraveled this mysterious ritual you are performing that is leading you to me.
I’m going to assume, based on the evidence before me, that this is some sort of elaborate luck ritual and you are attempting to invoke good fortune on your behalf as if this will somehow channel through the phone line, through me, and into the lottery ticket that you order. From what I can tell, this ritual is performed by dialing our number and then pitching your cell phone into a pillow case full of candy wrappers, tin foil and broken glass. If you can successfully retrieve the phone before I hang up, then your ticket will be blessed. This is the only explanation I can devise from the bizarre sounds of desperate rummaging and grunting that seem to be occurring around the phone.
Now I’m not one to disparage anyone’s….er….spiritual beliefs….but I should offer you fair warning here. Even if this elaborate cantrip of yours was to succeed and you did somehow channel the raw essence of good fortune through the line it must still pass through me to reach the ticket. I must point out that I am a black void where hope and fortune goes to die. My existence here is essentially sort of a luck singularity. Any and all good will that passes through me is sucked beyond my event horizon to a place where not even light itself can escape. While I cannot back it up with statistics or pesky things like facts I am quite confident I have never, ever sold a winning ticket in all my years here.
So perhaps you should rethink these futile magiks of yours, for they are no match for the power that I wield.
.......
C: “Yeah, it’s Maggie with Butt Bait & Tackle”
Me: “With...what...sorry?
SC: “Butt Bait & Tackle”
Me: “.....How is that spelled?”
C: “B-u-t-t”
I had to really make sure I confirmed that one. Now that I have verified its authenticity I have but one question: Why would you do that? My God. I assume it’s named after the owner ( at least I hope it is ), but even so….if your name was Butt why would you name a company after yourself? Especially Butt Bait & Tackle. That doesn’t sound like a sporting goods store. It sounds like a fetish club or a purveyor of fine latex products. Either way it’s a terrible name for a business and I can't begin to imagine the sort of wrong numbers you get on a daily basis.
Har!
Me: “Good morning, <company>. This is GK speaking, how may I help you?”
SC: “Yeah, who are you?”
Did you see that? I’m so talented I answered his question before he even asked. I’m just that good.
Wait a sec....
SC: “Do you have any cancellations tomorrow?”
Me: “I’m afraid the office is closed now. I don’t have access to their schedule.”
SC: “But don’t they phone you to say if they’re going to cancel?”
Me: “I don’t have access to their appointments or cancellations, I’m their afterhours service.”
SC: “But wouldn’t they call you? If they were canceling their move over the weekend. They would call here wouldn’t they? If a person was canceling their move wouldn’t you know that? Wouldn’t they call you?”
Me: “Well, yes.”
You sound….oddly familiar. But I can’t quite place it…..regardless, why are you so obsessed with whether or not we’ve had a cancellation? Are you that desperate for someone to come over, lift up your things and deliver them to a different location? Your fixation seems just a little unhealthy, honestly. You may wish to sit down, take a breather, have a Dr Pepper. You know, relax. Contrary to popular belief this topic is utterly unimportant at 1am on a Saturday morning and can surely wait till at least day break.
SC: “So did you get any calls tonight about cancelling moves?”
Me: “I’m afraid that would be confidential.”
SC: “Well, because, I’m….uh….ok so. What time are they open?”
Me: “They’re not open on the weekend I’m afraid.”
SC: “Fine. <click>”
That was….very odd.
Ah Ha!
Me: “Good evening, <compa-"
SC: “Who am I speaking with?”
Oh, hello again. Still desperate for a mover?
Me: “This is GK.”
SC: “Hi, yeah, anyone with that name knows me to not be telling a fib on the phone here to do with what’s going on. My phones are numbered in a confidential matter.”
I…the…..what? What are you even….
SC: “After I hung up from you I had a comment made in the building. Back and forth commenting in my apartment. That’s more of a HARRASSER in the building.”
So….lets see if I have this right…..after you got off the phone the voices in your apartment started harassing you and now you’re blaming me because I told them things you told me confidentially? Is that it? Perhaps you should ask them to remind you when to take your medication, as you’ve obviously missed a…..hey wait a minute. I do know you. You’re one of the lunatics that keeps calling <Hot Tips>. I knew you sounded familiar.
Not that I am pleased by this revelation, mind you. The thought that you might be branching out in your efforts is a bit unsettling and I can only hope some sort of swift, irreparable misfortune befalls your phone service. Not that it would matter much. I’m sure you’d still be quite content speaking into a dead receiver. Heck, ask one of the voices to pretend to be on the other end of the line. You could play phone crazy all night and not even rack up any calling charges.
Not A Cub Scout
Me: “Do you have your customer ID?"
SC: “Oh, yes, I do but it’s in the other room. Just one minute…..”
So the thought of actually bringing it with you to the phone to place your order didn’t cross your mind I take it?
Me: “Alright, and which credit card would you like to use?”
sC: “Um, the one I just dropped on the floor.”
Well, at least its still closer then your customer ID.
SC: “I’m not very prepared, am I?”
No, no you’re not. But hey, at least your honest. Admittance is the first step towards healing.
Pro Tip
Perhaps you should wait until after you’ve completely hung up the phone before you start sarcastically mocking me to a coworker for daring to have the gall to do my job properly. It would greatly reduce the chances of your desperate call for tech support being "accidentally" erased from the work queue.
Whoa, man
Me: “And your first name please?”
C: “Rainbow.”
Parents planted the family tree in a poppy field, did they?
(FHUUQGHFOPQHYFO@!$
SC: “This is not an emergency, but it is kind of an emergency.”
Ok, so it’s not an emergency but it’s an emergency. Got it.
SC: “is there a doctor on call?”
Me: “There is a doctor on call, but only for emergencies."
SC: “Oh, ok, so, I have a yeast infection-”
OK STOP TALKING.
SC: “At least I think it’s a yeast infection.”
I DON’T KNOW. STOP.
SC: “I thought it could wait till Monday but I don’t know if I can handle it.”
DANGER WILL ROBINSON.
SC: “So what should I do?”
YOU SHOULD STOP SHARING. I KNOW THEY TAUGHT YOU THAT SHARING IS GOOD IN KINDERGARDEN BUT THEY WERE LYING. SHARING IS BAD.
SC: “I can’t walk into the emergency room with a yeast infection.”
PLEASE STOP SAYING THAT.
SC: “Do you think I should go to a walk in clinic?”
WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME LORD?
SC: “You’re not a doctor though, you’re just an operator.”
THAT HASN’T STOPPED YOU SO FAR. BY ALL MEANS CONTINUE. IGNORE THE SOUND OF MY WHIMPERING AND RESUME ELABORATING ON BAKING INGREDIENTS IN YOUR VAGINA.
Love is Over
Me: "Are you calling to book a room?”
SC: “No.”
Then our brief time together has come to an end I’m afraid. We had some good times though didn’t we? But in the end I guess we just weren’t right for each other and it’s time for both of us to move on with our lives.
SC: “I was actually trying to book a flight.”
….oookay, look. I know you’re upset, but it’s over between us. We just can’t do this anymore, ok? One of us is just going to get hurt again.
SC: “Our flight got cancelled here-“
You’re creeping me out a little here. Look, it’s over, ok? There’s nothing between us anymore. You have to let it go. The sex wasn't that good.
SC: “So we were hoping to reschedule.”
Do I have to get a restraining order? Is that what you want? Is it? I’ve seen you driving past the house. I know it’s you! Don’t make me call the police again!
You Gotta Move On
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “No.”
Ok, I know it’s you! I can see you out in the bushes! The cops are on their way. It didn’t have to be like this! <sob>
I Think I Know Whats Wrong
SC: “Your buzzer…uh..pad…to buzz my friend isn’t working. I pressed his number and he didn't answer.”
Me: “Alright…”
SC: “I’m in front of the zalander….uh…zaland…..azlander …..”
C2: “<voice in the background> ALEXANDER STREET”
SC: “Ya, that. I buzzed da manager but he’s not answerin’”
Wait…ok….you tried to buzz your friend and he didn't answer. So you tried to buzz the manager and he didn’t answer. These two little bits of information, combined with the drunken slurring, seem to indicate that there is nothing wrong with the buzzer at all. In fact I would venture to guess it is 100% mechanically sound and in fact this is a failure on the part of the intoxicated meat sack that’s mashing the keypad as we speak.
Ah, Its Good To Be Down Town Again
I would like to take a moment to offer a bit of a shout out as it were to the rather skuzzy fellow a block down from our office. While you did indeed commit the transgression of attempting to bum change off of me you were at least completely honest with your projected financial plans. Indicating quite readily that any spare cash I or anyone could spare was to be immediately devoted to funding beer and possibly one or more prostitutes depending on the size of my donation.
Still I have my doubts as to the quality and skill level of rumpy bumpy one can purchase for a handful of loose change. I imagine its at least a $50 minimum just to get out of the Herpes Zone.
annnd rest.
My Duties Resume
I have returned. Ahhh…..the nostalgia overwhelms me. The stench of stale cigarette smoke mixed with the faintest whiff of human urine and just a touch of Axe body spray. The broken heater gleefully blowing freezing cold air directly up my ass from below. It has been a while, public transit. I’d almost forgotten the sights, sounds and smells one experiences within your forsaken confines. I had managed to avoid having to use you for near two weeks. But alas this reprieve came to an end.
Right.
Me: “Good evening, <company> Tech Support"
SC: “I want to call to Africa.”
Well then, my tragically misguided friend, I have just two quick points we should go over together if you’d like to pull up a seat. Number one: You have failed utterly and number two: You have failed in such a spectacular fashion that I cannot even mentally backtrack the route you may have taken to reach this point. I must admit I find this rather startling. I have been at this for many, many a year you see. Guiding the dill witted, inept and downright idiotic amongst us along the clearly marked paths of basic competency. I know these trails like the back of my hand, yet I cannot determine which course you plotted amongst them nor what mistakes you made along the way that could have possibly led you here.
I’m not sure whether I should congratulate you or condemn you for this dubious accomplishment.
I Hate When They Do This
As much as I hate to interrupt your spittle driven tirade about a broken lock on a back door or some such silliness. An issue which was already documented and passed along to your building manager an hour ago when you first called. I must level a single counter point to your argument: Berating me for several minutes as if this is personally my fault and then reassuring me that it is not my fault and you understand it is not my fault does not justify the initial verbal beating. Especially not when you immediately resume berating me after reassuring me you understand it is not my fault. All this tells me is that you a small, petty individual whose genitalia are inadequately sized for pleasuring anything beyond a stale handful of Honey Nut Cheerios. A fact which drives you forward with little regard for who you lash out at as long as you get to yell at someone. Regardless of whether or not they actually have anything to do with the situation.
If you truly have so little control over your quivering rage loins might I suggest finding alternative methods of venting that do not involve innocent lives such as my own? Perhaps you could physically or sexually assault adjacent furniture? It is soulless and likely cushioned. Thus better equipped to deal with such an assault without incurring bruising or hurt feelings.
Or better yet perhaps you could channel this seething energy into something constructive? I bet if you directed it properly you could accomplish all sorts of things. You could feverishly knit yourself a nice rage sweater or bitterly plant a herb garden for example. You know, something productive that wouldn’t leave you feeling empty and shallow afterwards. Crying in the bathroom into a half empty bucket of butter pecan Haagen-Dazs with what passes for your dick in your other hand desperately trying not to dwell on the fact that you are a terrible person and no one truly loves you. Not even the cat.
You know, where you’ll likely be 20 minutes after you get off the phone.
My True Nature
You have called 4 times now. Each time when I have answered there has been no reply, only a cacophony of strange sounds that vaguely indicated that someone might be in the background somewhere. Initially, I was perplexed and unsure of exactly what was going on. However, as you were kind enough to call repeatedly to inflict this on me, I think I may have unraveled this mysterious ritual you are performing that is leading you to me.
I’m going to assume, based on the evidence before me, that this is some sort of elaborate luck ritual and you are attempting to invoke good fortune on your behalf as if this will somehow channel through the phone line, through me, and into the lottery ticket that you order. From what I can tell, this ritual is performed by dialing our number and then pitching your cell phone into a pillow case full of candy wrappers, tin foil and broken glass. If you can successfully retrieve the phone before I hang up, then your ticket will be blessed. This is the only explanation I can devise from the bizarre sounds of desperate rummaging and grunting that seem to be occurring around the phone.
Now I’m not one to disparage anyone’s….er….spiritual beliefs….but I should offer you fair warning here. Even if this elaborate cantrip of yours was to succeed and you did somehow channel the raw essence of good fortune through the line it must still pass through me to reach the ticket. I must point out that I am a black void where hope and fortune goes to die. My existence here is essentially sort of a luck singularity. Any and all good will that passes through me is sucked beyond my event horizon to a place where not even light itself can escape. While I cannot back it up with statistics or pesky things like facts I am quite confident I have never, ever sold a winning ticket in all my years here.
So perhaps you should rethink these futile magiks of yours, for they are no match for the power that I wield.
.......
C: “Yeah, it’s Maggie with Butt Bait & Tackle”
Me: “With...what...sorry?
SC: “Butt Bait & Tackle”
Me: “.....How is that spelled?”
C: “B-u-t-t”
I had to really make sure I confirmed that one. Now that I have verified its authenticity I have but one question: Why would you do that? My God. I assume it’s named after the owner ( at least I hope it is ), but even so….if your name was Butt why would you name a company after yourself? Especially Butt Bait & Tackle. That doesn’t sound like a sporting goods store. It sounds like a fetish club or a purveyor of fine latex products. Either way it’s a terrible name for a business and I can't begin to imagine the sort of wrong numbers you get on a daily basis.
Har!
Me: “Good morning, <company>. This is GK speaking, how may I help you?”
SC: “Yeah, who are you?”
Did you see that? I’m so talented I answered his question before he even asked. I’m just that good.
Wait a sec....
SC: “Do you have any cancellations tomorrow?”
Me: “I’m afraid the office is closed now. I don’t have access to their schedule.”
SC: “But don’t they phone you to say if they’re going to cancel?”
Me: “I don’t have access to their appointments or cancellations, I’m their afterhours service.”
SC: “But wouldn’t they call you? If they were canceling their move over the weekend. They would call here wouldn’t they? If a person was canceling their move wouldn’t you know that? Wouldn’t they call you?”
Me: “Well, yes.”
You sound….oddly familiar. But I can’t quite place it…..regardless, why are you so obsessed with whether or not we’ve had a cancellation? Are you that desperate for someone to come over, lift up your things and deliver them to a different location? Your fixation seems just a little unhealthy, honestly. You may wish to sit down, take a breather, have a Dr Pepper. You know, relax. Contrary to popular belief this topic is utterly unimportant at 1am on a Saturday morning and can surely wait till at least day break.
SC: “So did you get any calls tonight about cancelling moves?”
Me: “I’m afraid that would be confidential.”
SC: “Well, because, I’m….uh….ok so. What time are they open?”
Me: “They’re not open on the weekend I’m afraid.”
SC: “Fine. <click>”
That was….very odd.
Ah Ha!
Me: “Good evening, <compa-"
SC: “Who am I speaking with?”
Oh, hello again. Still desperate for a mover?
Me: “This is GK.”
SC: “Hi, yeah, anyone with that name knows me to not be telling a fib on the phone here to do with what’s going on. My phones are numbered in a confidential matter.”
I…the…..what? What are you even….
SC: “After I hung up from you I had a comment made in the building. Back and forth commenting in my apartment. That’s more of a HARRASSER in the building.”
So….lets see if I have this right…..after you got off the phone the voices in your apartment started harassing you and now you’re blaming me because I told them things you told me confidentially? Is that it? Perhaps you should ask them to remind you when to take your medication, as you’ve obviously missed a…..hey wait a minute. I do know you. You’re one of the lunatics that keeps calling <Hot Tips>. I knew you sounded familiar.
Not that I am pleased by this revelation, mind you. The thought that you might be branching out in your efforts is a bit unsettling and I can only hope some sort of swift, irreparable misfortune befalls your phone service. Not that it would matter much. I’m sure you’d still be quite content speaking into a dead receiver. Heck, ask one of the voices to pretend to be on the other end of the line. You could play phone crazy all night and not even rack up any calling charges.
Not A Cub Scout
Me: “Do you have your customer ID?"
SC: “Oh, yes, I do but it’s in the other room. Just one minute…..”
So the thought of actually bringing it with you to the phone to place your order didn’t cross your mind I take it?
Me: “Alright, and which credit card would you like to use?”
sC: “Um, the one I just dropped on the floor.”
Well, at least its still closer then your customer ID.
SC: “I’m not very prepared, am I?”
No, no you’re not. But hey, at least your honest. Admittance is the first step towards healing.
Pro Tip
Perhaps you should wait until after you’ve completely hung up the phone before you start sarcastically mocking me to a coworker for daring to have the gall to do my job properly. It would greatly reduce the chances of your desperate call for tech support being "accidentally" erased from the work queue.
Whoa, man
Me: “And your first name please?”
C: “Rainbow.”
Parents planted the family tree in a poppy field, did they?
(FHUUQGHFOPQHYFO@!$
SC: “This is not an emergency, but it is kind of an emergency.”
Ok, so it’s not an emergency but it’s an emergency. Got it.
SC: “is there a doctor on call?”
Me: “There is a doctor on call, but only for emergencies."
SC: “Oh, ok, so, I have a yeast infection-”
OK STOP TALKING.
SC: “At least I think it’s a yeast infection.”
I DON’T KNOW. STOP.
SC: “I thought it could wait till Monday but I don’t know if I can handle it.”
DANGER WILL ROBINSON.
SC: “So what should I do?”
YOU SHOULD STOP SHARING. I KNOW THEY TAUGHT YOU THAT SHARING IS GOOD IN KINDERGARDEN BUT THEY WERE LYING. SHARING IS BAD.
SC: “I can’t walk into the emergency room with a yeast infection.”
PLEASE STOP SAYING THAT.
SC: “Do you think I should go to a walk in clinic?”
WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME LORD?
SC: “You’re not a doctor though, you’re just an operator.”
THAT HASN’T STOPPED YOU SO FAR. BY ALL MEANS CONTINUE. IGNORE THE SOUND OF MY WHIMPERING AND RESUME ELABORATING ON BAKING INGREDIENTS IN YOUR VAGINA.
Love is Over
Me: "Are you calling to book a room?”
SC: “No.”
Then our brief time together has come to an end I’m afraid. We had some good times though didn’t we? But in the end I guess we just weren’t right for each other and it’s time for both of us to move on with our lives.
SC: “I was actually trying to book a flight.”
….oookay, look. I know you’re upset, but it’s over between us. We just can’t do this anymore, ok? One of us is just going to get hurt again.
SC: “Our flight got cancelled here-“
You’re creeping me out a little here. Look, it’s over, ok? There’s nothing between us anymore. You have to let it go. The sex wasn't that good.
SC: “So we were hoping to reschedule.”
Do I have to get a restraining order? Is that what you want? Is it? I’ve seen you driving past the house. I know it’s you! Don’t make me call the police again!
You Gotta Move On
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “No.”
Ok, I know it’s you! I can see you out in the bushes! The cops are on their way. It didn’t have to be like this! <sob>
I Think I Know Whats Wrong
SC: “Your buzzer…uh..pad…to buzz my friend isn’t working. I pressed his number and he didn't answer.”
Me: “Alright…”
SC: “I’m in front of the zalander….uh…zaland…..azlander …..”
C2: “<voice in the background> ALEXANDER STREET”
SC: “Ya, that. I buzzed da manager but he’s not answerin’”
Wait…ok….you tried to buzz your friend and he didn't answer. So you tried to buzz the manager and he didn’t answer. These two little bits of information, combined with the drunken slurring, seem to indicate that there is nothing wrong with the buzzer at all. In fact I would venture to guess it is 100% mechanically sound and in fact this is a failure on the part of the intoxicated meat sack that’s mashing the keypad as we speak.
Ah, Its Good To Be Down Town Again
I would like to take a moment to offer a bit of a shout out as it were to the rather skuzzy fellow a block down from our office. While you did indeed commit the transgression of attempting to bum change off of me you were at least completely honest with your projected financial plans. Indicating quite readily that any spare cash I or anyone could spare was to be immediately devoted to funding beer and possibly one or more prostitutes depending on the size of my donation.
Still I have my doubts as to the quality and skill level of rumpy bumpy one can purchase for a handful of loose change. I imagine its at least a $50 minimum just to get out of the Herpes Zone.
annnd rest.
). Always confused the hell out of me; how on earth can people be so selectively paranoid?
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