Tweet
The Wet End
Oi....coworker called in sick the first night this week so I endured 100% of the idiocy instead of the usual 50%. ><
The Public Transit Corpse Limit
( I'm referring to the Skytrain but you could easily apply this to any subway or bus. )
Tonight I came to the conclusion that everyone that has ever ridden on the Skytrain has a sort of mental Skytrain "corpse limit". Allow me to explain: When you get on the Skytrain and you see someone who is asleep. Not like kinda dozing but completely zonked out in their seat. Inevitably after a certain number of stops you'll start wondering "Is that guy dead?". That number of stops is your Skytrain corpse limit. It’s the number of stops before you start wondering if that guy who's sleeping is really dead, passed out or has otherwise suffered some sort of medical issue that has made them lapse into a coma. Mine is around 5 or 6.
Questions That Hurt the Brain
"Good morning, reservations. How may I help you?"
"Hi, do you speak English?"
…no, I'm a parrot that's been left here overnight by itself with a collection of commonly used statements such as "How may I help you?", "What would you like to order?", "You have the wrong number" and "Nice try you ass mining buttgopher." which I randomly mimic in exchange for Ranch flavoured Corn Nuts.
867
The shirt you ordered was worth $50. The shipping for it was $40. In financial terms this would be referred to as an "unwise investment".
867
The hat you ordered was worth $30. The shipping for it was $40. In financial terms this would be referred to as an "a fantastically stupid move made by shuffling half ape of a man with a tragically dim grasp of basic math that somehow managed to get on welfare anyway".
Distrust
SC: "Can you send a test page to me? I've lost my pager."
Me: "Sure."
An hour later.
SC: "Hey, did you send out that test page yet?"
No, I was painstakingly scribbling it directly onto my monitor in red crayon but I got distracted by something shiny and then spent the next hour sniffing all the markers in the office to see which one smelled the best. Geez, give me some credit here. I think I have at least a vague idea of why I'm sitting in front of a computer with a headset on. Granted I do question it on a nightly basis...
867
Me: "Ok, would you like anything else?"
SC: "Yeah. Wait, wait….hold on….wait…….jus hold on…wait, wait, hold on"
You seem to be under the impression you're working against some sort of time limit. As much as I desperately wish this was true, its not. So relax, Beernuts, sadly I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. Well, I suppose there is sort of a time limit to this. Depending on how long this goes on I may begin to contemplate taking my own life at which point I will be rendered incapable of taking your order.
They'll find me keeled over my desk with a pen lodged up my right nostril where I painstakingly hammered it into my brain with my computer speaker. Meanwhile you'll still be on the line going "Uh, wait....wait..."
Just Give it Over
Me: "Ok, and what's your postal code?"
SC" "<To wife in background> Hey what's the postal code?"
Then a moment later...
Me: "Alright, how do you spell the name of the road?"
SC: "<To wife the background> Hey how do you spell the road?"
And again...
Me: "What's the area code?"
SC: "<To wife in background> Hey what's the area code?"
Ok, look, just put her on. She's seems vastly more qualified to ascertain your current location then you are. I also get the feeling that there is but one article of trousers in said household and she be wearing them.
!
Me: "and which credit card would you like to use?"
SC: "I'll use my VISA!!!"
You do that. I'll just sit back here and hum the theme from Power Rangers while you dramatically pull it out of your wallet then prefix each set of numbers with "Blazing Hyper Beam".
...ew
SC: "Thank you, dear."
You're welcome, creepy middle aged East Indian cab driver man.
Argh
( The chart in question has about 50 colours. >< )
I'd never been dragged through the entire clothing colour chart and debated the exact shade and hue of every colour before. I fervently wish to never do so again. But believe me when I say I don't think *anyone* else aside from you gives a flaming rat's arse hair exactly if and how much yellow may or may not be in "Mint Green" and whether or not "Dove" is more of a blue grey or a grey grey as compared to "Faded Pewter". It's been a while since I've endured a call where I began searching my desk with something I could use to crudely end my life with.
On a side note its difficult to aim for an artery using only a stapler. You just have to sort of keep stapling and hope you strike oil.
You think?
( In regards to roofing tiles )
SC: "We kind of chose the style at night and now we think that may not have been a good idea."
Really? But purchasing a product worth some odd $20,000 then having it installed on your home when you can't even see what it looks like it seems like such a sound judgment. Besides, I bet it matches that bridge you own.
Er..
Me: "Do you have a customer ID number?"
SC: "Um, well, you mailed me one but I spilled something on it and now the envelope won't open."
…won’t..open? I mean if you spill something on it, once it dries out you could still tear it open. But apparently you've somehow sealed it for all time. What exactly did you spill on it? Tile grout? House paint? KY?
Thanks for That
On my way here this evening I passed a hobo at Starbucks that called out to me and went: "Hey! Lemme tell you, guy!" and then thrust his crotch forward and pointed at it with both hands. Luckily for me I'm completely desensitized after years of working downtown so I didn't even raise an eyebrow. My complete disinterest deflated his....um..."enthusiasm" and he shuffled away to attempt to slap someone else with the wet end.
I Could Kill You. I Really Could.
( This entire call took near 20 minutes.. >< )
I rage.
Guy calls up for software support because his registration code isn't working during the installation. Alright, easy enough. It means he's either typing it wrong ( Most likely ), the label smudged ( Unlikely ) or it was printed incorrectly ( Highly unlikely. ). But whatever, its not hard to dig up registration codes.
Just to make sure I painstakingly verify with him that he is indeed typing it correctly since my first impression of him was "Chimp". I went over it with him, double checked that he knew it was case sensitive and wasn't entering it with Capslock on or anything equally as foolish. ( You know, things that would require whipping. ). Nope. Not working.
Alrighty, well, no problem. Its a subscription service so I can check our customer database......
SC: "Oh, I'm not sure if I put it under my name or my brother's name."
....ok, stupid yes, but I can search two names...
SC: "Oh, I got it bundled through Dell if that makes a difference."
...yes, that makes a huge difference, monkey boy. Now I have to search the orders through Dell instead....
SC: "But I dunno whose name we bought the laptop under."
...<twitch>. Ok, deep breath, it's not his fault that him and his mom both call his father "Dad".
So, I can't find any record of him or his dumbass brother. Have to do this the hard way....
Me: "Do you have the laptop's serial number?"
SC: "Uh....no."
Me: "Do you have the laptop there with you?"
SC: "Yeah."
Me: "Can you turn it over and tell me the serial number?"
SC: "uh.....oh, hey. The one on the sticker?"
Me: "Yes, the one that says "Serial Number""
SC: "Ok, its-"
So I go hunting again trying to find what reg code was sent out for that serial number......no sign of it.....argh. Urge to maim...rising. I've sifted through every customer and order database I've got using only the vague clues provided by Skippy the Rectum Chimp and there's no sign of this guy's info anywhere. So now I have to get a hold of the Tier 2 guys and see if they have any ideas.
I ask the guy to hold and call Tier 2. I go over it with them and they are just as baffled as I am. I end up discussing it with them for about 5 minutes trying to think of some reason this guy's code doesn't work and why we can't find it. Finally Tier 2 gives up and asks me to just put the dipshit through. So I bring him back on the line and get this:
"Oh hey, it worked! I was just typing it wrong. Nevermind. <click>"
......not even a thank you.
Ok, thats it. I need a golf club and an address list, THE HERD MUST BE CULLED.
Halfway through the work week....<twitch>
The Public Transit Corpse Limit
( I'm referring to the Skytrain but you could easily apply this to any subway or bus. )
Tonight I came to the conclusion that everyone that has ever ridden on the Skytrain has a sort of mental Skytrain "corpse limit". Allow me to explain: When you get on the Skytrain and you see someone who is asleep. Not like kinda dozing but completely zonked out in their seat. Inevitably after a certain number of stops you'll start wondering "Is that guy dead?". That number of stops is your Skytrain corpse limit. It’s the number of stops before you start wondering if that guy who's sleeping is really dead, passed out or has otherwise suffered some sort of medical issue that has made them lapse into a coma. Mine is around 5 or 6.
Questions That Hurt the Brain
"Good morning, reservations. How may I help you?"
"Hi, do you speak English?"
…no, I'm a parrot that's been left here overnight by itself with a collection of commonly used statements such as "How may I help you?", "What would you like to order?", "You have the wrong number" and "Nice try you ass mining buttgopher." which I randomly mimic in exchange for Ranch flavoured Corn Nuts.
867
The shirt you ordered was worth $50. The shipping for it was $40. In financial terms this would be referred to as an "unwise investment".
867
The hat you ordered was worth $30. The shipping for it was $40. In financial terms this would be referred to as an "a fantastically stupid move made by shuffling half ape of a man with a tragically dim grasp of basic math that somehow managed to get on welfare anyway".
Distrust
SC: "Can you send a test page to me? I've lost my pager."
Me: "Sure."
An hour later.
SC: "Hey, did you send out that test page yet?"
No, I was painstakingly scribbling it directly onto my monitor in red crayon but I got distracted by something shiny and then spent the next hour sniffing all the markers in the office to see which one smelled the best. Geez, give me some credit here. I think I have at least a vague idea of why I'm sitting in front of a computer with a headset on. Granted I do question it on a nightly basis...
867
Me: "Ok, would you like anything else?"
SC: "Yeah. Wait, wait….hold on….wait…….jus hold on…wait, wait, hold on"
You seem to be under the impression you're working against some sort of time limit. As much as I desperately wish this was true, its not. So relax, Beernuts, sadly I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. Well, I suppose there is sort of a time limit to this. Depending on how long this goes on I may begin to contemplate taking my own life at which point I will be rendered incapable of taking your order.
They'll find me keeled over my desk with a pen lodged up my right nostril where I painstakingly hammered it into my brain with my computer speaker. Meanwhile you'll still be on the line going "Uh, wait....wait..."
Just Give it Over
Me: "Ok, and what's your postal code?"
SC" "<To wife in background> Hey what's the postal code?"
Then a moment later...
Me: "Alright, how do you spell the name of the road?"
SC: "<To wife the background> Hey how do you spell the road?"
And again...
Me: "What's the area code?"
SC: "<To wife in background> Hey what's the area code?"
Ok, look, just put her on. She's seems vastly more qualified to ascertain your current location then you are. I also get the feeling that there is but one article of trousers in said household and she be wearing them.
!
Me: "and which credit card would you like to use?"
SC: "I'll use my VISA!!!"
You do that. I'll just sit back here and hum the theme from Power Rangers while you dramatically pull it out of your wallet then prefix each set of numbers with "Blazing Hyper Beam".
...ew
SC: "Thank you, dear."
You're welcome, creepy middle aged East Indian cab driver man.
Argh
( The chart in question has about 50 colours. >< )
I'd never been dragged through the entire clothing colour chart and debated the exact shade and hue of every colour before. I fervently wish to never do so again. But believe me when I say I don't think *anyone* else aside from you gives a flaming rat's arse hair exactly if and how much yellow may or may not be in "Mint Green" and whether or not "Dove" is more of a blue grey or a grey grey as compared to "Faded Pewter". It's been a while since I've endured a call where I began searching my desk with something I could use to crudely end my life with.
On a side note its difficult to aim for an artery using only a stapler. You just have to sort of keep stapling and hope you strike oil.
You think?
( In regards to roofing tiles )
SC: "We kind of chose the style at night and now we think that may not have been a good idea."
Really? But purchasing a product worth some odd $20,000 then having it installed on your home when you can't even see what it looks like it seems like such a sound judgment. Besides, I bet it matches that bridge you own.
Er..
Me: "Do you have a customer ID number?"
SC: "Um, well, you mailed me one but I spilled something on it and now the envelope won't open."
…won’t..open? I mean if you spill something on it, once it dries out you could still tear it open. But apparently you've somehow sealed it for all time. What exactly did you spill on it? Tile grout? House paint? KY?
Thanks for That
On my way here this evening I passed a hobo at Starbucks that called out to me and went: "Hey! Lemme tell you, guy!" and then thrust his crotch forward and pointed at it with both hands. Luckily for me I'm completely desensitized after years of working downtown so I didn't even raise an eyebrow. My complete disinterest deflated his....um..."enthusiasm" and he shuffled away to attempt to slap someone else with the wet end.
I Could Kill You. I Really Could.
( This entire call took near 20 minutes.. >< )
I rage.
Guy calls up for software support because his registration code isn't working during the installation. Alright, easy enough. It means he's either typing it wrong ( Most likely ), the label smudged ( Unlikely ) or it was printed incorrectly ( Highly unlikely. ). But whatever, its not hard to dig up registration codes.
Just to make sure I painstakingly verify with him that he is indeed typing it correctly since my first impression of him was "Chimp". I went over it with him, double checked that he knew it was case sensitive and wasn't entering it with Capslock on or anything equally as foolish. ( You know, things that would require whipping. ). Nope. Not working.
Alrighty, well, no problem. Its a subscription service so I can check our customer database......
SC: "Oh, I'm not sure if I put it under my name or my brother's name."
....ok, stupid yes, but I can search two names...
SC: "Oh, I got it bundled through Dell if that makes a difference."
...yes, that makes a huge difference, monkey boy. Now I have to search the orders through Dell instead....
SC: "But I dunno whose name we bought the laptop under."
...<twitch>. Ok, deep breath, it's not his fault that him and his mom both call his father "Dad".
So, I can't find any record of him or his dumbass brother. Have to do this the hard way....
Me: "Do you have the laptop's serial number?"
SC: "Uh....no."
Me: "Do you have the laptop there with you?"
SC: "Yeah."
Me: "Can you turn it over and tell me the serial number?"
SC: "uh.....oh, hey. The one on the sticker?"
Me: "Yes, the one that says "Serial Number""
SC: "Ok, its-"
So I go hunting again trying to find what reg code was sent out for that serial number......no sign of it.....argh. Urge to maim...rising. I've sifted through every customer and order database I've got using only the vague clues provided by Skippy the Rectum Chimp and there's no sign of this guy's info anywhere. So now I have to get a hold of the Tier 2 guys and see if they have any ideas.
I ask the guy to hold and call Tier 2. I go over it with them and they are just as baffled as I am. I end up discussing it with them for about 5 minutes trying to think of some reason this guy's code doesn't work and why we can't find it. Finally Tier 2 gives up and asks me to just put the dipshit through. So I bring him back on the line and get this:
"Oh hey, it worked! I was just typing it wrong. Nevermind. <click>"
......not even a thank you.
Ok, thats it. I need a golf club and an address list, THE HERD MUST BE CULLED.
Halfway through the work week....<twitch>
For your sake, however, I'm sorry.
Comment