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Wherein I Meet The Queen
Ugh, if only I could unsee.
Also, I'm probably about to destroy some of your childhood memories. Just a heads up. =p
A Safe Bet
Me: “The phone number for the hotel is xxx-xxx-xxxx.”
SC: “So how do I get in touch with the hotel?”
Me: “….call that number.”
SC: “Ah, ok.”
I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that at some point in your life you’ve pushed on a “Pull” door. For more than 10 seconds.
It's An Emergency To Me!
There is a skunk outside. It has sprayed outside your house. Your house is now completely unlivable and you and your family cannot stay there tonight. I’m not precisely sure of the mechanics of the situation, since I myself, being far more rational and less high strung, would simply close the window. Now, the maintenance guy can handle a fairly wide variety of situations. But I’m not sure a skunk discharging its butt gland canon is something he’d really be up for or be able to do anything about. It's certainly not on the emergency list.
This was, as always with your type, unsatisfactory. This was an emergency to YOU and thats all that mattered. The more you spoke, the bigger the crisis it became. First, you had a child with asthma and the skunk was shaving years off her tiny life. 20 seconds later you had two kids with disabilities ( Whether either of these two was also the one with asthma was unspecified. ) 10 seconds after that you were up to 7 kids. *7*. Who all now have to live on the lawn because this skunk has dispersed its terrible payload under your porch or some such and its insidious rectal nerve agent has all but condemned your living space.
I should probably give the maintenance guy a call before you rob an orphanage to bolster your argument.
867
Me: “That comes to $125 and should take about two weeks to arrive.”
SC: “$125? The catalogue says its only $92…”
Me: “Yes, but there’s a $26 charge for COD shipping as well as $7 tax.”
SC: “……”
Me: “……”
Uh oh, I inadvertently asked him to undertake basic math. Everyone back up a bit just in case he becomes enraged and begins to charge. If anything happens make a break for it and try and climb the nearest tree or lamppost. If all else fails, take your pants off and throw them aside to distract him. A loose pair of pants should keep him occupied for quite some time.
Not quite.
SC: “Yeah, I have a broken window on the house here.”
Me: “Ok, and what kind of glass was it?”
SC: “It’s about a 4x8. Bullet proof glass.”
Obviously not.
The Hardware Tech #1
( This guy is the on call hardware tech for one of our clients.. )
Me: “I have a call here and the caller didn’t know what software they had, so I have to run it by hardware."
ST: “Oh, ok.”
Me: “It’s from the <location>, any idea what software it is?”
ST: “What’s the problem?”
Me: “<Insert technical explanation of problem>. So they're probably Software A or Software B. But she wasn't quite sure if it was A or B when I asked."
ST: “Oh, I don’t know. If it’s <problem> it’s probably Software A or Software B.”
Me: “......yes.”
ST: “I’ll have to call her and ask if it’s Software A or Software B.”
Me: "......"
Yet somehow this person probably makes more money than I do.
Stuff My Cat Does...
Alright, for my fellow cat owners in the office, I have a question. This morning when I got up and wandered drowsily towards the kitchen in search of caffeine, I noticed something on the wall in the living room. Something….odd. Something I knew was not there when I went to bed the previous evening. Upon closer inspection it was, well…I guess the technical term would be “cat shit”. However, it was stuck to the wall. About two feet up. How in the Hell did this come about? I’ve tried and tried but I cannot fathom the mechanics my cat employed to produce this daring piece of fecal art. I mean, I don’t think she could….launch it…that high and with that much force. So it must have been some sort of bizarre, unspeakable acrobatic feat.
She has not repeated the feat so far and I hope she never will.
867
Ah, my favourite kind of caller. The one’s where you ask them a basic question ( such as “What is your name? ) and there’s literally a 7-8 second mental latency where you can almost hear the hamster wheezing in the little wheel inside their head before they manage to answer. The last name was particularly tricky because I threw him a curve ball and asked him to spell it. That was a good 10 seconds worth of “..er….”. Then he quite triumphantly declared “L!”. He seemed rather proud at having remembered how to spell his own name or at least that it started with an “L”.
I guess it’s the little victories in life you have to grasp onto.
Its The Little Things In Life
Every now and then I get to pass a message to a client that just makes my night. Tonight, that message was “Your car is on fire.”.
You Know...My Computer Times These Things.
SC: “It’s about time you answered! I’ve been listening to music for the last 5 minutes!”
Wow, it’s a good thing I answered! Me picking up the line probably reconnected your distorted time space to the rest of realty and saved your life! I don’t know how to break it to you but it was only 15 seconds to the rest of the world. Whew, it’s a good thing I picked up the line. You were almost lost forever in the endless void between space and time.
The Hardware Tech #2
ST: “Hold on, I hate typing with one hand.”
……I’m really hoping you’re holding the phone in the other.
...ok
Me: “They’ll be in at 8am pacific.”
SC: “Pacific?! What’s that in American time?!”
I’d say around 27 O’clock. Because it, like American time, exists only in the realm of immmaaagination.
867
You’re drunk. You’re trying to order pants. You sound exactly like Eeyore and for some reason there’s someone moaning erotically in the background at random. Thank you for violating my childhood memories. Now whenever I think Winnie the Pooh I'll just picture Eeyore in a dirty wife beater manning Pooh's caboose across a pool table.
"Oh bother, ooooOOOH BOTHER!" said Winnie the Pooh as he and Eeyore explored his Enchanted Forest.
867
Me: “Ok, and your name please?”
SC: “Oolena….Olena.”
Me: “Alright, how do you spell it please?”
SC: “O.....o….l…e-e….no, wait. O-L…ee…um….o….e….n. Er…O…L..e…..n…a? O….o…”
Me: “O-L-E-N-A?”
SC: “…uh, yeah.”
Me: “and your last name, please?”
SC: “Koooneeeli.”
Me: “How do you spell that please?”
SC: “K-o-o-n-e-e…..k-o-o….k….e-e…uh…k-o….k? Um…”
I’m not entirely sure if he’s trying to give me his name or if he’s trying to divine the future by staring into a bowl of Alphaghetti and decided he’d call up and share any potential revelations. Or maybe he did see something in his tomato scrying bowl and he’s trying to call me and warn me. Knowing my luck I’ll probably be impaled by a life sized cardboard cutout of Angelina Jolee from HMV on my way home from work as its driven into my soft, fleshy body by the category 5 winds of Hurricane Ooleenakooneekookeekok as it suddenly descends on the west coast in a matter of minutes. All because I foolishly dismissed his warnings as the ranting of a ragingly drunk, possibly mentally damaged man.
The Hardware Tech #3
“Sorry, I’m typing with one hand here.”
Ugh, still? Why must you remind me every time you call in?
867
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “I wanna order page 53.”
….like…everything on page 53? Or page 53 itself? Is your catalogue missing page 53 and you can’t bear to not know what glorious treasures might have been depicted upon it? I guess I can understand. I mean, it might have had pants on it or something, right?
Our City's Finest
( This is an aquatic center, hence this guy HAS to check in otherwise we have to assume he's drowned and send the cops. )
So, Bob didn’t check in for 3:30a from the <building name>. This happens every now and then. When it does there’s really only two possibilities: A) He’s being a knob or B) He’s dead face down in the pool. Normally it’s A, but you never know so I have to send the police down there anyway just to confirm that he’s a knob and not a bloated corpse. So I send the police down there to investigate his, er, knobbiness and that’s when things got a bit weird.
They call me back and inform me they’ve found a security guard. But the guard’s name is “Aurora”, not Bob. I have no idea who “Aurora” is or what they’d be doing down there. So I’m trying to figure out what the heck is going on before they arrest this poor Aurora bastard. So I ask the officer where they found this “Aurora”. They found Aurora at the construction site next door to the <building name>. At that point it dawned on me that they did not exactly dispatch Constable Einstein for this. I explain that Bob should be at, you know, the actual <building name>. So Constable Einstein heads over there and tells me she’ll call me back when she has an update.
A bit later I get the update: Dumbass was asleep. So, Scenario A, yet again, turns out to be true.
867
I just sent a case of Pimpjuice here:
If you’re wondering where this barren arctic village is precisely:
You’d think they’d be calling to ask for more important things then pimp liquid. Like maybe more than 2 hours of electricity a day or indoor plumbing or a plane ticket to somewhere else. Anywhere else. It’s not like they can’t afford it considering I’ve literally sent about $2000 worth of pants and Pimpjuice to this place tonight alone as they passed the one catalogue around the village. It’s like some sort of weird collection plate for the Church of Pants.
Oh God, Oh GOD
So its my day off, Sunday. I'm on my way home from work, running a few errands, etc. I walk up the steps to the Skytrain platform, round the corner and.....oh GOD. There's only two people on the entire platform. One was a middle aged woman the size of a Volvo wearing the tightest sweatpants humanly possible. I'm not 100% sure what they were made of, tt could have all been a really clever tattoo really. The other was a beer gutted guy in his 40's with a Nascar hat on, sunglasses and about 4 teeth left.
She's sitting down on one of the seats on the platform with her legs spread ( .....<whimper> ) and he's sitting in her LAP. Not just sitting in her lap, but grinding his ass into her groin and going "You're the Queen! You're the Queen! YOU'RE THE QUEEN!". My mind fused for a moment because I was not expecting to behold such horror. It was broad day light, I was off work, my mental defenses were down. I had been lulled into a false sense of security.
They both looked at me. I looked at them. The look on my face must have had some impact because he slowed his hip grinding a bit. Then the next 5 people coming up the stairs behind me came around the corner....and stopped short. So now everyone's staring at this.....coupling.
At this point Bubba Jim finally thought maybe it'd be best if he disengaged himself from the airlock that was Bessie's unspeakably horrifying camel toe and at least try to pretend they were somewhat normal and hadn't just been dry humping at the Skytrain station in broad daylight.
To make it all the worse they probably thought they were alone at first but there's no less then 4 security cameras up there. I fully expect to see this on Youtube in a few days.
Today my boss told me I need to either write a book or get my own talk show... -.-
Also, I'm probably about to destroy some of your childhood memories. Just a heads up. =p
A Safe Bet
Me: “The phone number for the hotel is xxx-xxx-xxxx.”
SC: “So how do I get in touch with the hotel?”
Me: “….call that number.”
SC: “Ah, ok.”
I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that at some point in your life you’ve pushed on a “Pull” door. For more than 10 seconds.
It's An Emergency To Me!
There is a skunk outside. It has sprayed outside your house. Your house is now completely unlivable and you and your family cannot stay there tonight. I’m not precisely sure of the mechanics of the situation, since I myself, being far more rational and less high strung, would simply close the window. Now, the maintenance guy can handle a fairly wide variety of situations. But I’m not sure a skunk discharging its butt gland canon is something he’d really be up for or be able to do anything about. It's certainly not on the emergency list.
This was, as always with your type, unsatisfactory. This was an emergency to YOU and thats all that mattered. The more you spoke, the bigger the crisis it became. First, you had a child with asthma and the skunk was shaving years off her tiny life. 20 seconds later you had two kids with disabilities ( Whether either of these two was also the one with asthma was unspecified. ) 10 seconds after that you were up to 7 kids. *7*. Who all now have to live on the lawn because this skunk has dispersed its terrible payload under your porch or some such and its insidious rectal nerve agent has all but condemned your living space.
I should probably give the maintenance guy a call before you rob an orphanage to bolster your argument.
867
Me: “That comes to $125 and should take about two weeks to arrive.”
SC: “$125? The catalogue says its only $92…”
Me: “Yes, but there’s a $26 charge for COD shipping as well as $7 tax.”
SC: “……”
Me: “……”
Uh oh, I inadvertently asked him to undertake basic math. Everyone back up a bit just in case he becomes enraged and begins to charge. If anything happens make a break for it and try and climb the nearest tree or lamppost. If all else fails, take your pants off and throw them aside to distract him. A loose pair of pants should keep him occupied for quite some time.
Not quite.
SC: “Yeah, I have a broken window on the house here.”
Me: “Ok, and what kind of glass was it?”
SC: “It’s about a 4x8. Bullet proof glass.”
Obviously not.
The Hardware Tech #1
( This guy is the on call hardware tech for one of our clients.. )
Me: “I have a call here and the caller didn’t know what software they had, so I have to run it by hardware."
ST: “Oh, ok.”
Me: “It’s from the <location>, any idea what software it is?”
ST: “What’s the problem?”
Me: “<Insert technical explanation of problem>. So they're probably Software A or Software B. But she wasn't quite sure if it was A or B when I asked."
ST: “Oh, I don’t know. If it’s <problem> it’s probably Software A or Software B.”
Me: “......yes.”
ST: “I’ll have to call her and ask if it’s Software A or Software B.”
Me: "......"
Yet somehow this person probably makes more money than I do.
Stuff My Cat Does...
Alright, for my fellow cat owners in the office, I have a question. This morning when I got up and wandered drowsily towards the kitchen in search of caffeine, I noticed something on the wall in the living room. Something….odd. Something I knew was not there when I went to bed the previous evening. Upon closer inspection it was, well…I guess the technical term would be “cat shit”. However, it was stuck to the wall. About two feet up. How in the Hell did this come about? I’ve tried and tried but I cannot fathom the mechanics my cat employed to produce this daring piece of fecal art. I mean, I don’t think she could….launch it…that high and with that much force. So it must have been some sort of bizarre, unspeakable acrobatic feat.
She has not repeated the feat so far and I hope she never will.
867
Ah, my favourite kind of caller. The one’s where you ask them a basic question ( such as “What is your name? ) and there’s literally a 7-8 second mental latency where you can almost hear the hamster wheezing in the little wheel inside their head before they manage to answer. The last name was particularly tricky because I threw him a curve ball and asked him to spell it. That was a good 10 seconds worth of “..er….”. Then he quite triumphantly declared “L!”. He seemed rather proud at having remembered how to spell his own name or at least that it started with an “L”.
I guess it’s the little victories in life you have to grasp onto.
Its The Little Things In Life
Every now and then I get to pass a message to a client that just makes my night. Tonight, that message was “Your car is on fire.”.
You Know...My Computer Times These Things.
SC: “It’s about time you answered! I’ve been listening to music for the last 5 minutes!”
Wow, it’s a good thing I answered! Me picking up the line probably reconnected your distorted time space to the rest of realty and saved your life! I don’t know how to break it to you but it was only 15 seconds to the rest of the world. Whew, it’s a good thing I picked up the line. You were almost lost forever in the endless void between space and time.
The Hardware Tech #2
ST: “Hold on, I hate typing with one hand.”
……I’m really hoping you’re holding the phone in the other.
...ok
Me: “They’ll be in at 8am pacific.”
SC: “Pacific?! What’s that in American time?!”
I’d say around 27 O’clock. Because it, like American time, exists only in the realm of immmaaagination.
867
You’re drunk. You’re trying to order pants. You sound exactly like Eeyore and for some reason there’s someone moaning erotically in the background at random. Thank you for violating my childhood memories. Now whenever I think Winnie the Pooh I'll just picture Eeyore in a dirty wife beater manning Pooh's caboose across a pool table.
"Oh bother, ooooOOOH BOTHER!" said Winnie the Pooh as he and Eeyore explored his Enchanted Forest.
867
Me: “Ok, and your name please?”
SC: “Oolena….Olena.”
Me: “Alright, how do you spell it please?”
SC: “O.....o….l…e-e….no, wait. O-L…ee…um….o….e….n. Er…O…L..e…..n…a? O….o…”
Me: “O-L-E-N-A?”
SC: “…uh, yeah.”
Me: “and your last name, please?”
SC: “Koooneeeli.”
Me: “How do you spell that please?”
SC: “K-o-o-n-e-e…..k-o-o….k….e-e…uh…k-o….k? Um…”
I’m not entirely sure if he’s trying to give me his name or if he’s trying to divine the future by staring into a bowl of Alphaghetti and decided he’d call up and share any potential revelations. Or maybe he did see something in his tomato scrying bowl and he’s trying to call me and warn me. Knowing my luck I’ll probably be impaled by a life sized cardboard cutout of Angelina Jolee from HMV on my way home from work as its driven into my soft, fleshy body by the category 5 winds of Hurricane Ooleenakooneekookeekok as it suddenly descends on the west coast in a matter of minutes. All because I foolishly dismissed his warnings as the ranting of a ragingly drunk, possibly mentally damaged man.
The Hardware Tech #3
“Sorry, I’m typing with one hand here.”
Ugh, still? Why must you remind me every time you call in?
867
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “I wanna order page 53.”
….like…everything on page 53? Or page 53 itself? Is your catalogue missing page 53 and you can’t bear to not know what glorious treasures might have been depicted upon it? I guess I can understand. I mean, it might have had pants on it or something, right?
Our City's Finest
( This is an aquatic center, hence this guy HAS to check in otherwise we have to assume he's drowned and send the cops. )
So, Bob didn’t check in for 3:30a from the <building name>. This happens every now and then. When it does there’s really only two possibilities: A) He’s being a knob or B) He’s dead face down in the pool. Normally it’s A, but you never know so I have to send the police down there anyway just to confirm that he’s a knob and not a bloated corpse. So I send the police down there to investigate his, er, knobbiness and that’s when things got a bit weird.
They call me back and inform me they’ve found a security guard. But the guard’s name is “Aurora”, not Bob. I have no idea who “Aurora” is or what they’d be doing down there. So I’m trying to figure out what the heck is going on before they arrest this poor Aurora bastard. So I ask the officer where they found this “Aurora”. They found Aurora at the construction site next door to the <building name>. At that point it dawned on me that they did not exactly dispatch Constable Einstein for this. I explain that Bob should be at, you know, the actual <building name>. So Constable Einstein heads over there and tells me she’ll call me back when she has an update.
A bit later I get the update: Dumbass was asleep. So, Scenario A, yet again, turns out to be true.
867
I just sent a case of Pimpjuice here:
If you’re wondering where this barren arctic village is precisely:
You’d think they’d be calling to ask for more important things then pimp liquid. Like maybe more than 2 hours of electricity a day or indoor plumbing or a plane ticket to somewhere else. Anywhere else. It’s not like they can’t afford it considering I’ve literally sent about $2000 worth of pants and Pimpjuice to this place tonight alone as they passed the one catalogue around the village. It’s like some sort of weird collection plate for the Church of Pants.
Oh God, Oh GOD
So its my day off, Sunday. I'm on my way home from work, running a few errands, etc. I walk up the steps to the Skytrain platform, round the corner and.....oh GOD. There's only two people on the entire platform. One was a middle aged woman the size of a Volvo wearing the tightest sweatpants humanly possible. I'm not 100% sure what they were made of, tt could have all been a really clever tattoo really. The other was a beer gutted guy in his 40's with a Nascar hat on, sunglasses and about 4 teeth left.
She's sitting down on one of the seats on the platform with her legs spread ( .....<whimper> ) and he's sitting in her LAP. Not just sitting in her lap, but grinding his ass into her groin and going "You're the Queen! You're the Queen! YOU'RE THE QUEEN!". My mind fused for a moment because I was not expecting to behold such horror. It was broad day light, I was off work, my mental defenses were down. I had been lulled into a false sense of security.
They both looked at me. I looked at them. The look on my face must have had some impact because he slowed his hip grinding a bit. Then the next 5 people coming up the stairs behind me came around the corner....and stopped short. So now everyone's staring at this.....coupling.
At this point Bubba Jim finally thought maybe it'd be best if he disengaged himself from the airlock that was Bessie's unspeakably horrifying camel toe and at least try to pretend they were somewhat normal and hadn't just been dry humping at the Skytrain station in broad daylight.
To make it all the worse they probably thought they were alone at first but there's no less then 4 security cameras up there. I fully expect to see this on Youtube in a few days.
Today my boss told me I need to either write a book or get my own talk show... -.-
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