Tweet
It certainly seems it was extended to some sort of week long fool pride parade.
Them.
Mrs Oglby from Newfoundland who lives on Sesame Street. Yes, Sesame Street. Would like us to come back and install more “dividers” for her so that when they “come in the night and throw things” no one will be horribly killed. I do not know who “They” are, but They apparently pose quite the threat and only our fine products in their wide selection of colours and styles can deflect their attacks.
Save vs Botany
Me: “Ok, and what city are you in?”
SC: “Tree? What tree?”
…sure. Tree. Yes, that’s what I was asking about. Trees. Specially, what kind of tree do you prefer? Spruce? Oak? Cedar? Or are you more of a pine kind of guy? There is nothing more important or integral to your mortgage than the type of tree you intend to plant on your newly purchased giant dirt square. Bankers are wily to these kind of things and they appreciate fine taste in perennial plant life. The right choice of wood could easily net you another 1 or 2% off your mortgage rate. While the wrong choice may have the opposite effect.
Peach trees for example. Banker's hate peach trees. It’s like garlic to a vampire. If your banker drops by and immediately hisses and covers his face with his brief case, chances are you have a peach tree on your property. It may be best to ask to re-schedule the appointment and immediately have the tree cut down. Conversely, if you’re trying to drive a banker away you can use a bushel of peaches. They’re also afraid of the # sign and can’t cross a running garden hose.
Wait…no, maybe that was lawyers.
I Know Not
( Preface: We do a lot of security monitoring at night and if we can't get a hold of one of the patrol units, we have to send the cops after them to make sure they aren't dead. But we have one site where the ass monkeys keeps sneaking off to nap and not responding to checks. )
In celebration of this day, <client> decided it would make me look like a fool this evening. Not just a bit of a fool like someone who accidentally locked their keys in their car. No, no, you can kind of laugh that off. No, I mean the kind of fool that locks their keys outside of their car and then calls 911 because they are “locked inside” their car. The kind of fool that ends up as a story down at the police station for the next 5 years and lands you with a charge for inappropriate use of 911.
You know, the kind of idiot that ends up in the ER with a lawn dart and 3 doughnuts up his ass and tries to explain how he just "slipped" and fell on them.
It started simply enough, whichever primate had been locked inside <area> to ward off intruders this evening failed to check in. Unfortunately….they failed the first check in. Which meant a call to the police. Now, the police, being, well, police began to ask questions as they are want to do. I will demonstrate my answers to these inquiries to show how they slowly embraced me in the warm, fuzzy blanket of stupidity.
1) No, I do not know who you’re looking for. He has not checked in at all yet this evening so damned if I know which one of them is suppose to be there. It could be 1 of 6 different people and your guess is as good as mine at this point. They tell us nothing.
2) No, I do not have a schedule that tells me which one its suppose to be. That would demonstrate a level of foresight they are not yet prepared to indulge in.
3) No, I do not know if someone is really suppose to be there or not since he hasn’t even checked in once.
4) No, I do not know if he has a vehicle. Or what type of vehicle it is. Or if he took transit. For all I know he glided there from tree to tree using a freakish excess of skin under his arms.
5) No, I do not know where he is. All I know is that he is inside and he may or may not have been crushed by heavy machinery. Though chances are he’s simply asleep. If you discover him sleeping, please roll him towards the heavy machinery.
6) No, they do not give us a lot of information, do they?
Stop! I TALK NOW.
Since it seems to be a running theme this week, let’s continue on with another edition of Gaps in GK’s Knowledge. Although, to be fair, this time it’s more that the caller in question was a bit of a barker chewer rather than any fault on my part. Which is the way I like it. Long as it’s not my fault.
Me: “Ok, I can put you at <hotel> for $60.”
SC: “Is that the lowest rate you have?”
Me: “Yes.”
Much as I would greatly enjoy giving a selective few of you the absolute highest rate possible, unfortunately some remnant shred of morals prevent me from doing so. But do not test me mortal. For it is quite possible the hotel I have suggested will mysteriously run out of rooms in the next 5 seconds, resulting in a more expensive alternative.
SC: “Ok.”
Me: “Alright, what is your name p-“
SC: “Do you know what their normal rate is?”
Me: “No I don’t, sorry. What’s your first name please?”
You are curious as to how much raw coinage our fantastic service is saving you. I understand. However, you have interrupted my spiel and derailed my Operator Voice Mojo™. Be careful. For it is a precious, intangible substance and difficult to recover. A mere ounce of it is worth more than your simplistic life. Yes, it is that valuable to us. The only way to replenish our dark power is to drink a puppy. You don't want to be responsible for that, do you? Please, think of the puppies.
SC: “Bob. Is that with or without tax?”
Me: “That’s without, and your last name please?”
SC: “Twatwaffle.”
That may not be entirely accurate. My memory is a little foggy.
Me: “Ok, do you have a pen there?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “Ok, your confirmation number i-“
SC: “Do you know how much the tax is here?”
Me: “No, I don’t know what the local tax rate is, sorry.”
Enough! No more questions! It is time to die now, Mr Bond.
I got nothing.
I have nothing to say.
I Still Know Nothing
( I hate this account. >< )
Why, hello Officer. Oh, you heard of the fun little game me and your dispatcher were playing? You’d like to play a round or two yourself? Very well, I was just barely recovering a bit of dignity from that last call. I suppose I have just enough to endure another match.
1) No, I do not know if you have any sort of agreement about this and if you are obligated to do it or not.
2) Yes, I agree it’s completely ridiculous that you get called down there to wake up some sleeping fuckwit once a week.
3) Yes, I know he’s probably just asleep. Please refer to my original request and roll him towrads the heavy machinery. Perhaps his untimely demise will force them to hire someone new and somewhat more alert if they wish to avoid any further tragedies.
4) Yes, I know this is incredibly stupid. Yes, I know your resources could better be spent elsewhere dealing with actual emergencies. Please stop lecturing me in the Cop Voice™. I am not the one you want. I am merely a helpless pawn in the grand order of things who is just following directions.
5) …..no, I don’t know even know whose specific directions I’m following. I KNOW NOTHING! <sob>
I got....everything.
( By the floor sup no less. )
Seeing as I was chastised for having nothing to say yesterday. No transit stories. No nothing. Tonight I shall endeavor to meticulously detail every aspect of my journey to the office this evening in order to please my overlords. For I have, once again, managed to step onto the one Skytrain car full of idgits.
First of all was the pair of guys whom were on the bus with me to the station. I paid them little heed to begin with, as one was basically complaining to the other about a variety of mysterious aches and pains he had been experiencing all evening for which he had no explanation. A dull conversation at first and unworthy my inadvertent eavesdropping. That was, until, we arrived at the station and disembarked from our chariot. At that point, the sore fellow turned to his companion and stated:
“You know what it is? It’s these damn panties!”
Thus revealing far, far more about himself that I wanted or needed to know. His friend merely nodded in complete understanding. For apparently he too understood just how uncomfortable the wrong pair of panties can be as well. Clearly, neither of these fools knows enough to shop at La Senza else they wouldn’t have this problem…..er, not that I would know of course.
Than I arrived on the Skytrain and, as I seem to have some odd ability to do, inadvertently selected the one car that would provide the most interesting trip downtown.
Oh it wasn’t too bad at first. I found myself flanked by a trio of which one, a particularly badly dyed bleach blond cell phone grubber, was an aspiring movie actress. Not a particularly realistic career pursuit to begin with, never mind for a girl whose using the word “Like” as a comma. As that largely reduces your scope of work to “Paris Hilton’s best friend this week”. Anyway, this displaced valley girl was on her phone cell making a big production ( likely the only one she will ever star in with her legs closed ) of the call for the benefit of the other two.
Once she got off the phone she explained she was talking to a friend about staring in a “web series” ( Read: Youtube videos ). She began to describe how awesome this series was by describing it as a drama that was, to quote “Like, you know sort of a sci-fi? It’s kind of like, Andromeda.”. Yes, Andromeda. So she’s hoping to star in a series of Youtube videos which are aspiring to the level of a TV show that decided to put Kevin Sorbo in space.
Strangely, her two companions were very impressed with her inability to form proper English sentences and her aspirations to be just like Kevin Sorbo. They began asking her for advice. Thus I was forced to listen to acting tips from Princess Glitter Lip Gloss for the next 10 minutes. Which included the following highlights:
1) She once worked for a casting director so she knows what they look for. To which I quote her exactly: “I was like, a reader for him. So I like, read and stuff.”. Yes, I’m sure it was the most difficult job you’d ever had too.
2) How to tell if you had a good audition: “You just like, feeeeel the connection and stuff.”. Whoa, ease up there Confucius. That’s some deep shit.
3) On why there are bad actors: “Some people like, take it too seriously so they like try too hard.”. Yes, that’s it. Bad actors are too serious. Good actor’s are like, pfft, whatever. I mean big name Hollywood actors are where they are because they couldn’t give a rat’s ass about their careers. Will Smith? He’d wipe his nose with your cat than sue you to dry clean the cat fur off his suit.
At this point the glitter huddle was interrupted by an argument from the far end of the train. It was some sloped forehead cretin of a skater guy ( Let us call him Creter ) that was really just too old to be carrying a skateboard. Not too old, just too old to be taken seriously with a skateboard in public. He was arguing with two females, I assume of which at least one of which has previously made the mistake of letting him in her vagina. I do not know what this argument was about, as both females were using their Indoor Voice™ while Creter was yelling like a spoiled 6 year old on the floor of a Toys R Us.
I began ignoring them when suddenly there was this loud bang like something had been slammed into the Skytrain. So now everyone is looking. Both the girls are exchanging various forms of “Oh my god! What the hell?” as is most the Skytrain. I figure judging from the sound he’s thrown his skateboard into the floor or some similar childish display. Creter than begins to bellow:
“SEE WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!?”
Which, let’s be honest, is the battle cry of wifebeaters everywhere.
“COME ON WE’RE GETTING THE (@*&$ OFF THE TRAIN!”
Please, do so. Faster. But his compatriots protest.
“GET THE *(&@$# OFF NOW! WE’RE GOING!”
This is a classy gentleman, oh yes. His two companions concede and they flee the train. Much to the bewilderment of everyone on board as to what the hell just happened. Quiet returns. Everything seems fine and dandy. Until we hit the next statin.
At this point a Skytrain cop gets on. He doesn’t say anything, but I can hear the radio chatter on his walkie talkie and someone says: “Is there danger of anyone falling out?”. Right. That’s what you want to hear on the Skytrain. That there is a possibility of being sucked out between stations into the windy black abyss outside moments before you experience a delightful freefall to the cold pavement below.
At the next station the cop asks us all to get off as the train is going out of service. Oh great, so it’s our train that has the whole “sucked out” issue. Good to know!
As I get off the train and walk down a ways I see what the problem is: Creter’s little temper tantrum. That loud noise? He punched out the Skytrain window. Wow. Not only did you cause lord knows how much $ in damage, than fled like a fucking coward. But you’ve gotten a whole Skytrain line full of people on the busiest night of the week held up a station for an extra 10-15 minutes while they get a train out of the way and bring in a replacement to pick us up.
Thanks. Jerk.
But, alas, the universe is not entirely cruel. There is a silver lining to every cloud. As I was in the break room for a moment this evening I heard the unmistakable sound of burning rubber from the parking lot beside us. I glanced out the window and here’s some twit in his Porche buzzing around the parking lot showing off to two girls sitting on the concrete divider. I immediately remember Creter and decide to watch for a moment as I have an inkling sensation that something interesting is approaching.
Sure enough, the twit tries to pull a little stunt parking by whipping around two other cars and pulling into a spot by the divider next to the girls. But he doesn’t quite break enough and hits the divider with the front of his Porche.
Yes, I laughed. Yes, it felt good. Yes, I’m an awful person. My only regret is being too far away to see his face.
Hot Tips
SC: “Hey uh, I just got a couple of ideas that could really help you out in like Afghanistan you know?
Me: “…ok.”
Oh goody! Ideas! Surely some random drunkard of his rocker and his medication can provide us with the valuable tactical insight that even our top military operatives have been unable to come up with. Rejoice! For victory will surely be within our grasp shortly.
SC: “You know when you like capture the Al Qaeda guys?”
Technically it’s the Taliban, but carry on.
SC: “Well you could BRAINWASH em, ya know. Brainwash em to kill their leaders than send them back out. Like a KILL COMMAND!”
Me: “……..”
SC: “Cus than they’d like kill their leaders and everything!”
Me: “….right. I’m pretty sure that’s against the Geneva Convention.”
Also it’s not technologically possible ( yet anyhow ). But let’s try the reasonable answer first.
SC: “Well, yeah, but I’m just saying you could. In the future psychological warfare is gonna be really big ya know! Really big.”
Me: “Mhmm.”
A couple of points:
1) Pysops has been really big since the early 1900s. I mean geez, even Sun Tzu talked about it. Keep with the times, man.
2) What your proposing is not quite psyops. Psyops is intentionally trying to weaken enemy morale. Not assassination, that’s more a black ops thing. See, for example Psyops would be like me giving you the Taliban’s phone number. Which, I imagine, would actually be fairly effective and perhaps we really should look into it.
Stop, STOP
It was the wrong number when you called the first time. It was the wrong number when you called again 5 minutes later. It was still the wrong number when you called the third time. It, oddly enough, was still the wrong number when you called yet again 15 minutes later. The 5th time half an hour later? Strangely, still the wrong number. Yet each time you were genuinely surprised at your failure.
I’m not sure what is you’re hoping for. But if I could just interrupt your stubborn attempt at altering reality for a moment, I’d really like to point out that the number is going to stay wrong regardless of how many times you try. Sadly, you are a mere mortal and do not possess the ability to warp reality as you see fit. You cannot make the wrong number into the right number. Heck, you don’t even work at <phone company>
Your attempts are futile. Please cease and desist.
I Demand Answers!
Me: “ok, and your postal code please?”
SC: “….uhh……….waz dat?”
……here we go again. You know, there must be a lot of money to be had in frigid northern wastes. It’s the only possible reason for why <company> hasn’t just banned us from taking orders from the entire place outright. I still maintain that the list of flagged postal codes is not because it costs more to ship to those areas but because those areas are fundamentally more idiotic than the rest of Canada and we're just applying $10 Fucktard Tax.
Me: “It’s….the postal code….for where you live.”
SC: “…..uhhh…..XXX XXX?”
Me: “Thank you.”
I guess I just need to say the exact same thing but slower and simpler as if I was trying to explain something to my cat. ( You know because cats understand English if you speak it slow enough ). Which may explain why we have so much trouble with callers on this line at night. Whenever they do something wrong we’re not close enough to them to spray them with a squirt bottle.
Me: “and what would you like to order?”
SC: “uh…..a hat.”
Of course. Because if you can’t consume a hat at least once every fortnight your powers will wane.
Me: “Alright, what’s the ID number?”
SC: “xxxx”
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “Uh, another hat.”
Colour me surprised. If indeed there's anything left of the crayon.
Me: “Ok, what’s the ID number?”
SC: “……uh…..waz dat?”
….what do you mean? You just GAVE me an ID number. You KNOW what an ID number is.
Me: “The product ID number next to the item?”
SC: “…….uh…………”
You gave me one already! Think man! By the Gods, why are you so tragically and irreparably stupid? I have had enough of your shenanigans. I demand an explanation for exactly what goes on up there and why that would explain this utter lapse in mental capacity you all seem to be experiencing. Do you mix your Kool-Aid with paint thinner rather than water? Do you run at each other and butt heads like elk when you fight over mates? Is there some dark alien force at work that’s slowly siphoning off your brain meat? Tell me! I can’t take this much more.
Me: “….the number next to the picture of the item?”
SC: “……uhhhhh…oh. Xxxx?”
Me: “..no, that’s the one you just ordered.”
SC: “Oh.”
That sound you just heard was the sound of my head impacting my desk. Maybe with enough head trauma I can bring myself down to your level and understand what the heck is wrong with you. Though chances are I will slip into the sweet sweet peace & quiet of unconsciousness first. Which in all honesty is a more preferable option than trying to get through the rest of this order with you.
Protip
SC: “Yeah, I can’t get into my place.”
Me: “Alright, are you locked out of the building or out of your suite?”
SC: “Out of my suite.”
Me: “Ok-“
SC: “My keys don’t work!”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “I mean, they do, but I can’t unlock it. I can lock it but I can’t unlock it.”
Pro-tip: Try turning the key the other way.
Subterfuge
Me: “Good morning, <sales spiel>”
SC: “No, actually, I’m a sub contractor and I was wondering if you have any number I could call for a job.”
Me: “Ok, unfortunately this is our information line for customers for all of North America. I can’t assist you with employment. “
SC: “Oh, hrm, well send me one of your information packages than. That’s what you do right?”
Me: “No, actually I arrange for call backs from local reps for interested callers.”
SC: “Ok well do that than.”
Me: “….you’re interested in a <product>?”
SC: “Yeah, yeah.”
Me: “Because I can’t arrange a call back from a rep for employment inquiries.”
( They'd flaw me ALIVE. )
SC: “No no, I’m interested.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Me: “You’re really interested in <product>?”
SC: “Oh yeah, yeah, sure.”
Me: ".......right."
Why….do I not believe you?
Codewarrior
I did not speak Indonesian the last 8 times you called. I do not speak Indonesian now. Repeatedly calling me and demanding I speak Indonesian for several minutes will in no way assist me in suddenly mastering the language. I do appreciate that you began giving me 15-20 minutes between calls in the hopes that I would go study your language and be prepared for your next call. However, I possess but a mere normal ( ….relatively anyway ) human brain and cannot master an entire language in the span of a quarter hour.
Perhaps if I was some sort of linguistic child protege or idiot savant I could in some way assist. But unfortunately I was merely a pasty geek child who spent the better part of high school confusing my Comp Sci teacher with my programming projects until he told me “Screw it, just do whatever you want.”.
If you possessed some sort of rudimentary knowledge of Basic, C or FB2 perhaps we could communicate? Here, I’ll go first:
10 INPUT “Good evening, GK speaking, how may I help you? ”, X$
20 PRINT “I do not speak “; X$
40 PRINT “I only speak English.”
50 PRINT “Please go fuck yourself and stop calling.”
60 IF CALL$ = “Again!?” GOTO 10
Protip
I’m just going to go out on a limb here….no wait, hear me out. I know it may sound a little crazy but you know, what with the gang war going on and people being shot left and right in drive-bys and what not maybe now is not the best time to be cruising around with a restricted fire arm in your car? I know, I know! Nuts, right? I’m just as surprised as you are that the cops had a problem with it! But look at this from the cop’s perspective:
You’re a complete dumbass. You’re known to police. You have an unlicensed restricted firearm in the car. You’re driving around with it. At 3am. You’re a complete dumbass.
See? It’s not hard to understand how the cops might have misunderstood.
The Difficulty Curve
Contrary to popular belief, the amount of discount offered is not directly proportional to the length, width and severity of the sob story you keep interrupting me with. It also doesn’t matter that it “doesn’t seem right” how the airline is treating you and how you still have to pay for a hotel room. You’re the one who has wisely chosen to fly American Airlines. An airline that is the aviation equivalent of hitch hiking a ride in the back of a some farmer’s 78’ Datson pick up with a bale of hale and 2 swine whilst the 3rd swine, whom he claims is actually his daughter, makes creepy doe eyes and licks her one good tooth suggestively at you through the hole where the back window should be.
You have brought this pork driven woe down on yourself and your attempts at milking me for a sympathy discount are doomed to failure. The term “blood from a stone” does not even begin to describe my black heart. A more accurate expression of the difficulty curve would be “Double vanilla chai mocha latte from a dead dog’s bung hole”.
annnd rest.....maybe more later. I have a backlog. ><
Them.
Mrs Oglby from Newfoundland who lives on Sesame Street. Yes, Sesame Street. Would like us to come back and install more “dividers” for her so that when they “come in the night and throw things” no one will be horribly killed. I do not know who “They” are, but They apparently pose quite the threat and only our fine products in their wide selection of colours and styles can deflect their attacks.
Save vs Botany
Me: “Ok, and what city are you in?”
SC: “Tree? What tree?”
…sure. Tree. Yes, that’s what I was asking about. Trees. Specially, what kind of tree do you prefer? Spruce? Oak? Cedar? Or are you more of a pine kind of guy? There is nothing more important or integral to your mortgage than the type of tree you intend to plant on your newly purchased giant dirt square. Bankers are wily to these kind of things and they appreciate fine taste in perennial plant life. The right choice of wood could easily net you another 1 or 2% off your mortgage rate. While the wrong choice may have the opposite effect.
Peach trees for example. Banker's hate peach trees. It’s like garlic to a vampire. If your banker drops by and immediately hisses and covers his face with his brief case, chances are you have a peach tree on your property. It may be best to ask to re-schedule the appointment and immediately have the tree cut down. Conversely, if you’re trying to drive a banker away you can use a bushel of peaches. They’re also afraid of the # sign and can’t cross a running garden hose.
Wait…no, maybe that was lawyers.
I Know Not
( Preface: We do a lot of security monitoring at night and if we can't get a hold of one of the patrol units, we have to send the cops after them to make sure they aren't dead. But we have one site where the ass monkeys keeps sneaking off to nap and not responding to checks. )
In celebration of this day, <client> decided it would make me look like a fool this evening. Not just a bit of a fool like someone who accidentally locked their keys in their car. No, no, you can kind of laugh that off. No, I mean the kind of fool that locks their keys outside of their car and then calls 911 because they are “locked inside” their car. The kind of fool that ends up as a story down at the police station for the next 5 years and lands you with a charge for inappropriate use of 911.
You know, the kind of idiot that ends up in the ER with a lawn dart and 3 doughnuts up his ass and tries to explain how he just "slipped" and fell on them.
It started simply enough, whichever primate had been locked inside <area> to ward off intruders this evening failed to check in. Unfortunately….they failed the first check in. Which meant a call to the police. Now, the police, being, well, police began to ask questions as they are want to do. I will demonstrate my answers to these inquiries to show how they slowly embraced me in the warm, fuzzy blanket of stupidity.
1) No, I do not know who you’re looking for. He has not checked in at all yet this evening so damned if I know which one of them is suppose to be there. It could be 1 of 6 different people and your guess is as good as mine at this point. They tell us nothing.
2) No, I do not have a schedule that tells me which one its suppose to be. That would demonstrate a level of foresight they are not yet prepared to indulge in.
3) No, I do not know if someone is really suppose to be there or not since he hasn’t even checked in once.
4) No, I do not know if he has a vehicle. Or what type of vehicle it is. Or if he took transit. For all I know he glided there from tree to tree using a freakish excess of skin under his arms.
5) No, I do not know where he is. All I know is that he is inside and he may or may not have been crushed by heavy machinery. Though chances are he’s simply asleep. If you discover him sleeping, please roll him towards the heavy machinery.
6) No, they do not give us a lot of information, do they?
Stop! I TALK NOW.
Since it seems to be a running theme this week, let’s continue on with another edition of Gaps in GK’s Knowledge. Although, to be fair, this time it’s more that the caller in question was a bit of a barker chewer rather than any fault on my part. Which is the way I like it. Long as it’s not my fault.
Me: “Ok, I can put you at <hotel> for $60.”
SC: “Is that the lowest rate you have?”
Me: “Yes.”
Much as I would greatly enjoy giving a selective few of you the absolute highest rate possible, unfortunately some remnant shred of morals prevent me from doing so. But do not test me mortal. For it is quite possible the hotel I have suggested will mysteriously run out of rooms in the next 5 seconds, resulting in a more expensive alternative.
SC: “Ok.”
Me: “Alright, what is your name p-“
SC: “Do you know what their normal rate is?”
Me: “No I don’t, sorry. What’s your first name please?”
You are curious as to how much raw coinage our fantastic service is saving you. I understand. However, you have interrupted my spiel and derailed my Operator Voice Mojo™. Be careful. For it is a precious, intangible substance and difficult to recover. A mere ounce of it is worth more than your simplistic life. Yes, it is that valuable to us. The only way to replenish our dark power is to drink a puppy. You don't want to be responsible for that, do you? Please, think of the puppies.
SC: “Bob. Is that with or without tax?”
Me: “That’s without, and your last name please?”
SC: “Twatwaffle.”
That may not be entirely accurate. My memory is a little foggy.
Me: “Ok, do you have a pen there?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “Ok, your confirmation number i-“
SC: “Do you know how much the tax is here?”
Me: “No, I don’t know what the local tax rate is, sorry.”
Enough! No more questions! It is time to die now, Mr Bond.
I got nothing.
I have nothing to say.
I Still Know Nothing
( I hate this account. >< )
Why, hello Officer. Oh, you heard of the fun little game me and your dispatcher were playing? You’d like to play a round or two yourself? Very well, I was just barely recovering a bit of dignity from that last call. I suppose I have just enough to endure another match.
1) No, I do not know if you have any sort of agreement about this and if you are obligated to do it or not.
2) Yes, I agree it’s completely ridiculous that you get called down there to wake up some sleeping fuckwit once a week.
3) Yes, I know he’s probably just asleep. Please refer to my original request and roll him towrads the heavy machinery. Perhaps his untimely demise will force them to hire someone new and somewhat more alert if they wish to avoid any further tragedies.
4) Yes, I know this is incredibly stupid. Yes, I know your resources could better be spent elsewhere dealing with actual emergencies. Please stop lecturing me in the Cop Voice™. I am not the one you want. I am merely a helpless pawn in the grand order of things who is just following directions.
5) …..no, I don’t know even know whose specific directions I’m following. I KNOW NOTHING! <sob>
I got....everything.
( By the floor sup no less. )
Seeing as I was chastised for having nothing to say yesterday. No transit stories. No nothing. Tonight I shall endeavor to meticulously detail every aspect of my journey to the office this evening in order to please my overlords. For I have, once again, managed to step onto the one Skytrain car full of idgits.
First of all was the pair of guys whom were on the bus with me to the station. I paid them little heed to begin with, as one was basically complaining to the other about a variety of mysterious aches and pains he had been experiencing all evening for which he had no explanation. A dull conversation at first and unworthy my inadvertent eavesdropping. That was, until, we arrived at the station and disembarked from our chariot. At that point, the sore fellow turned to his companion and stated:
“You know what it is? It’s these damn panties!”
Thus revealing far, far more about himself that I wanted or needed to know. His friend merely nodded in complete understanding. For apparently he too understood just how uncomfortable the wrong pair of panties can be as well. Clearly, neither of these fools knows enough to shop at La Senza else they wouldn’t have this problem…..er, not that I would know of course.
Than I arrived on the Skytrain and, as I seem to have some odd ability to do, inadvertently selected the one car that would provide the most interesting trip downtown.
Oh it wasn’t too bad at first. I found myself flanked by a trio of which one, a particularly badly dyed bleach blond cell phone grubber, was an aspiring movie actress. Not a particularly realistic career pursuit to begin with, never mind for a girl whose using the word “Like” as a comma. As that largely reduces your scope of work to “Paris Hilton’s best friend this week”. Anyway, this displaced valley girl was on her phone cell making a big production ( likely the only one she will ever star in with her legs closed ) of the call for the benefit of the other two.
Once she got off the phone she explained she was talking to a friend about staring in a “web series” ( Read: Youtube videos ). She began to describe how awesome this series was by describing it as a drama that was, to quote “Like, you know sort of a sci-fi? It’s kind of like, Andromeda.”. Yes, Andromeda. So she’s hoping to star in a series of Youtube videos which are aspiring to the level of a TV show that decided to put Kevin Sorbo in space.
Strangely, her two companions were very impressed with her inability to form proper English sentences and her aspirations to be just like Kevin Sorbo. They began asking her for advice. Thus I was forced to listen to acting tips from Princess Glitter Lip Gloss for the next 10 minutes. Which included the following highlights:
1) She once worked for a casting director so she knows what they look for. To which I quote her exactly: “I was like, a reader for him. So I like, read and stuff.”. Yes, I’m sure it was the most difficult job you’d ever had too.
2) How to tell if you had a good audition: “You just like, feeeeel the connection and stuff.”. Whoa, ease up there Confucius. That’s some deep shit.
3) On why there are bad actors: “Some people like, take it too seriously so they like try too hard.”. Yes, that’s it. Bad actors are too serious. Good actor’s are like, pfft, whatever. I mean big name Hollywood actors are where they are because they couldn’t give a rat’s ass about their careers. Will Smith? He’d wipe his nose with your cat than sue you to dry clean the cat fur off his suit.
At this point the glitter huddle was interrupted by an argument from the far end of the train. It was some sloped forehead cretin of a skater guy ( Let us call him Creter ) that was really just too old to be carrying a skateboard. Not too old, just too old to be taken seriously with a skateboard in public. He was arguing with two females, I assume of which at least one of which has previously made the mistake of letting him in her vagina. I do not know what this argument was about, as both females were using their Indoor Voice™ while Creter was yelling like a spoiled 6 year old on the floor of a Toys R Us.
I began ignoring them when suddenly there was this loud bang like something had been slammed into the Skytrain. So now everyone is looking. Both the girls are exchanging various forms of “Oh my god! What the hell?” as is most the Skytrain. I figure judging from the sound he’s thrown his skateboard into the floor or some similar childish display. Creter than begins to bellow:
“SEE WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!?”
Which, let’s be honest, is the battle cry of wifebeaters everywhere.
“COME ON WE’RE GETTING THE (@*&$ OFF THE TRAIN!”
Please, do so. Faster. But his compatriots protest.
“GET THE *(&@$# OFF NOW! WE’RE GOING!”
This is a classy gentleman, oh yes. His two companions concede and they flee the train. Much to the bewilderment of everyone on board as to what the hell just happened. Quiet returns. Everything seems fine and dandy. Until we hit the next statin.
At this point a Skytrain cop gets on. He doesn’t say anything, but I can hear the radio chatter on his walkie talkie and someone says: “Is there danger of anyone falling out?”. Right. That’s what you want to hear on the Skytrain. That there is a possibility of being sucked out between stations into the windy black abyss outside moments before you experience a delightful freefall to the cold pavement below.
At the next station the cop asks us all to get off as the train is going out of service. Oh great, so it’s our train that has the whole “sucked out” issue. Good to know!
As I get off the train and walk down a ways I see what the problem is: Creter’s little temper tantrum. That loud noise? He punched out the Skytrain window. Wow. Not only did you cause lord knows how much $ in damage, than fled like a fucking coward. But you’ve gotten a whole Skytrain line full of people on the busiest night of the week held up a station for an extra 10-15 minutes while they get a train out of the way and bring in a replacement to pick us up.
Thanks. Jerk.
But, alas, the universe is not entirely cruel. There is a silver lining to every cloud. As I was in the break room for a moment this evening I heard the unmistakable sound of burning rubber from the parking lot beside us. I glanced out the window and here’s some twit in his Porche buzzing around the parking lot showing off to two girls sitting on the concrete divider. I immediately remember Creter and decide to watch for a moment as I have an inkling sensation that something interesting is approaching.
Sure enough, the twit tries to pull a little stunt parking by whipping around two other cars and pulling into a spot by the divider next to the girls. But he doesn’t quite break enough and hits the divider with the front of his Porche.
Yes, I laughed. Yes, it felt good. Yes, I’m an awful person. My only regret is being too far away to see his face.
Hot Tips
SC: “Hey uh, I just got a couple of ideas that could really help you out in like Afghanistan you know?
Me: “…ok.”
Oh goody! Ideas! Surely some random drunkard of his rocker and his medication can provide us with the valuable tactical insight that even our top military operatives have been unable to come up with. Rejoice! For victory will surely be within our grasp shortly.
SC: “You know when you like capture the Al Qaeda guys?”
Technically it’s the Taliban, but carry on.
SC: “Well you could BRAINWASH em, ya know. Brainwash em to kill their leaders than send them back out. Like a KILL COMMAND!”
Me: “……..”
SC: “Cus than they’d like kill their leaders and everything!”
Me: “….right. I’m pretty sure that’s against the Geneva Convention.”
Also it’s not technologically possible ( yet anyhow ). But let’s try the reasonable answer first.
SC: “Well, yeah, but I’m just saying you could. In the future psychological warfare is gonna be really big ya know! Really big.”
Me: “Mhmm.”
A couple of points:
1) Pysops has been really big since the early 1900s. I mean geez, even Sun Tzu talked about it. Keep with the times, man.
2) What your proposing is not quite psyops. Psyops is intentionally trying to weaken enemy morale. Not assassination, that’s more a black ops thing. See, for example Psyops would be like me giving you the Taliban’s phone number. Which, I imagine, would actually be fairly effective and perhaps we really should look into it.
Stop, STOP
It was the wrong number when you called the first time. It was the wrong number when you called again 5 minutes later. It was still the wrong number when you called the third time. It, oddly enough, was still the wrong number when you called yet again 15 minutes later. The 5th time half an hour later? Strangely, still the wrong number. Yet each time you were genuinely surprised at your failure.
I’m not sure what is you’re hoping for. But if I could just interrupt your stubborn attempt at altering reality for a moment, I’d really like to point out that the number is going to stay wrong regardless of how many times you try. Sadly, you are a mere mortal and do not possess the ability to warp reality as you see fit. You cannot make the wrong number into the right number. Heck, you don’t even work at <phone company>
Your attempts are futile. Please cease and desist.
I Demand Answers!
Me: “ok, and your postal code please?”
SC: “….uhh……….waz dat?”
……here we go again. You know, there must be a lot of money to be had in frigid northern wastes. It’s the only possible reason for why <company> hasn’t just banned us from taking orders from the entire place outright. I still maintain that the list of flagged postal codes is not because it costs more to ship to those areas but because those areas are fundamentally more idiotic than the rest of Canada and we're just applying $10 Fucktard Tax.
Me: “It’s….the postal code….for where you live.”
SC: “…..uhhh…..XXX XXX?”
Me: “Thank you.”
I guess I just need to say the exact same thing but slower and simpler as if I was trying to explain something to my cat. ( You know because cats understand English if you speak it slow enough ). Which may explain why we have so much trouble with callers on this line at night. Whenever they do something wrong we’re not close enough to them to spray them with a squirt bottle.
Me: “and what would you like to order?”
SC: “uh…..a hat.”
Of course. Because if you can’t consume a hat at least once every fortnight your powers will wane.
Me: “Alright, what’s the ID number?”
SC: “xxxx”
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: “Uh, another hat.”
Colour me surprised. If indeed there's anything left of the crayon.
Me: “Ok, what’s the ID number?”
SC: “……uh…..waz dat?”
….what do you mean? You just GAVE me an ID number. You KNOW what an ID number is.
Me: “The product ID number next to the item?”
SC: “…….uh…………”
You gave me one already! Think man! By the Gods, why are you so tragically and irreparably stupid? I have had enough of your shenanigans. I demand an explanation for exactly what goes on up there and why that would explain this utter lapse in mental capacity you all seem to be experiencing. Do you mix your Kool-Aid with paint thinner rather than water? Do you run at each other and butt heads like elk when you fight over mates? Is there some dark alien force at work that’s slowly siphoning off your brain meat? Tell me! I can’t take this much more.
Me: “….the number next to the picture of the item?”
SC: “……uhhhhh…oh. Xxxx?”
Me: “..no, that’s the one you just ordered.”
SC: “Oh.”
That sound you just heard was the sound of my head impacting my desk. Maybe with enough head trauma I can bring myself down to your level and understand what the heck is wrong with you. Though chances are I will slip into the sweet sweet peace & quiet of unconsciousness first. Which in all honesty is a more preferable option than trying to get through the rest of this order with you.
Protip
SC: “Yeah, I can’t get into my place.”
Me: “Alright, are you locked out of the building or out of your suite?”
SC: “Out of my suite.”
Me: “Ok-“
SC: “My keys don’t work!”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “I mean, they do, but I can’t unlock it. I can lock it but I can’t unlock it.”
Pro-tip: Try turning the key the other way.
Subterfuge
Me: “Good morning, <sales spiel>”
SC: “No, actually, I’m a sub contractor and I was wondering if you have any number I could call for a job.”
Me: “Ok, unfortunately this is our information line for customers for all of North America. I can’t assist you with employment. “
SC: “Oh, hrm, well send me one of your information packages than. That’s what you do right?”
Me: “No, actually I arrange for call backs from local reps for interested callers.”
SC: “Ok well do that than.”
Me: “….you’re interested in a <product>?”
SC: “Yeah, yeah.”
Me: “Because I can’t arrange a call back from a rep for employment inquiries.”
( They'd flaw me ALIVE. )
SC: “No no, I’m interested.”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Me: “You’re really interested in <product>?”
SC: “Oh yeah, yeah, sure.”
Me: ".......right."
Why….do I not believe you?
Codewarrior
I did not speak Indonesian the last 8 times you called. I do not speak Indonesian now. Repeatedly calling me and demanding I speak Indonesian for several minutes will in no way assist me in suddenly mastering the language. I do appreciate that you began giving me 15-20 minutes between calls in the hopes that I would go study your language and be prepared for your next call. However, I possess but a mere normal ( ….relatively anyway ) human brain and cannot master an entire language in the span of a quarter hour.
Perhaps if I was some sort of linguistic child protege or idiot savant I could in some way assist. But unfortunately I was merely a pasty geek child who spent the better part of high school confusing my Comp Sci teacher with my programming projects until he told me “Screw it, just do whatever you want.”.
If you possessed some sort of rudimentary knowledge of Basic, C or FB2 perhaps we could communicate? Here, I’ll go first:
10 INPUT “Good evening, GK speaking, how may I help you? ”, X$
20 PRINT “I do not speak “; X$
40 PRINT “I only speak English.”
50 PRINT “Please go fuck yourself and stop calling.”
60 IF CALL$ = “Again!?” GOTO 10
Protip
I’m just going to go out on a limb here….no wait, hear me out. I know it may sound a little crazy but you know, what with the gang war going on and people being shot left and right in drive-bys and what not maybe now is not the best time to be cruising around with a restricted fire arm in your car? I know, I know! Nuts, right? I’m just as surprised as you are that the cops had a problem with it! But look at this from the cop’s perspective:
You’re a complete dumbass. You’re known to police. You have an unlicensed restricted firearm in the car. You’re driving around with it. At 3am. You’re a complete dumbass.
See? It’s not hard to understand how the cops might have misunderstood.
The Difficulty Curve
Contrary to popular belief, the amount of discount offered is not directly proportional to the length, width and severity of the sob story you keep interrupting me with. It also doesn’t matter that it “doesn’t seem right” how the airline is treating you and how you still have to pay for a hotel room. You’re the one who has wisely chosen to fly American Airlines. An airline that is the aviation equivalent of hitch hiking a ride in the back of a some farmer’s 78’ Datson pick up with a bale of hale and 2 swine whilst the 3rd swine, whom he claims is actually his daughter, makes creepy doe eyes and licks her one good tooth suggestively at you through the hole where the back window should be.
You have brought this pork driven woe down on yourself and your attempts at milking me for a sympathy discount are doomed to failure. The term “blood from a stone” does not even begin to describe my black heart. A more accurate expression of the difficulty curve would be “Double vanilla chai mocha latte from a dead dog’s bung hole”.
annnd rest.....maybe more later. I have a backlog. ><
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