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Mhmm...Corn Flakes.
I have returned! And I bring with me more tales of woe.
So gather round kiddies, tis story time. Horrible....horrible story time.
Clue
Me: “Ok, and what kind of system do you have?”
SC: “I don’t know what kind of system it is....”
Me: “Hmm, do you have a serial number for it?”
SC: “I don’t know it.”
Me: “Alright, what error are you getting than?”
SC: “I don’t know.”
I’m afraid you’re going to have to try just a little bit harder than that. As unfortunately I do not have a Mystery Machine, a talking dog, two brother’s named Joe and Frank or even Tom Hanks with a haircut that almost qualifies as a sin against nature onto itself. Therefore my chances of unraveling this mystery with the remarkably cryptic clues you’ve provided are slim and nil.
Though I will commend you for at least knowing your own name. Bravo, lad. Bravo.
Um, no.
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Hi, mom?”
Me: “….pardon?”
SC: “Oh, sorry, I think I have the wrong number.”
….you think you have the wrong number? Which kind of implies I sound like your mother or vice versa. Which kind of implies she has as much body hair as I do if not more. Which kind of implies she use to be or still is a man. Which kind of implies you’re adopted.
Now I know, I know. This is a really awful way to have to find out the cold hard truth. But in all honesty you should have suspected something was up when the aroma that brings you back to your childhood isn't fresh cookies or you mom's perfume, but rather balls and nylon.
No, seriously.
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Mo-, oh, sorry I think I have the wrong number again”
Yes, yes you do. As I have not developed ovaries in the last 30 seconds. Though I suppose I could give it a try if you really want me too.
No.
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “M-, Oh, sorry again.”
Hmmmm, nope. Still nothing. I’m not even sure what muscle I’m supposed to be flexing.
Odd Choice of Words
SC: “I’m reporting an illness.”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “I’m calling to report an illness.”
Me: “…..alright….are you......calling in sick?”
SC: “Yes.”
Just for future reference all you need to say is “I’m calling in sick.”. The phrase “I’ll calling to report an illness” is probably best reserved for summoning a Hazmat team in the event of a potential epidemic or a possible impending zombie apocalypse. Not like those slow, shuffling zombies either. The crazy ass fast ones from 28 Days Later that can run full sprint after your car for 10 blocks.
The Secret
As I was disembarking from my land chariot at the Skytrain this evening I overheard a rather loud couple engaging in a game of “It’s a secret”. At least I assume that’s what it was. As he said “It’s a secret” and she went: “Tell me! Tell me! Come on, tell me! Tell me! TELL ME! TELLME TELLME TELLME TELLME TELLME TELLME TELLLLLLMEEEEEEEEEEEE TELL ME” repeat ad nasuem for the next 6-7 minutes at a volume that could be clearly heard even after I walked all the way to the platform from the bus loop.
This wasn’t a young couple or a pair of feuding kindergartners either. They were old enough to be my parents. Yet there she is, stomping her feet and squealing “Tell me tell me tell me!” over and over. As I said, this lasted for a good 6-7 minutes before her high pitched banshee like pleas of “tell me” suddenly turned to, and I quote, “I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU”. Than all went silent. I assume because he wet himself and escaped the scene, or his demise was so swift he had not even a moment to utter the faintest sound of terror.
Judging from the sheer enraged madness in her voice, the secret must have been “I porked your sister”.
The Night Waterer
Caller: “Hi, it’s the Night Waterer here. Just checking in.”
The Night Waterer, you say? That sounds like a rather….low grade superhero. What precisely do you do? Tend people’s lawns under the cover of night? Or are you more like a dollar store knock off of Aquaman? Which is even sadder, really, as Aquaman himself is a rather low grade superhero to begin with. I mean, you can breathe underwater and talk to fish? Woohoo. That does all of what, exactly? Award you honorary credit for one semester of your marine biology degree?
Of course, I could be mistaken. Tragically mistaken. Perhaps you are in fact a super villain. A dire nocturnal evil doer who lurks I the shadows of the city only to suddenly and swiftly relieve himself on public property.
You and every other guy downtown on the weekend if the smell is any indication.
Alas
Me: “Ok, do you have your customer ID?"
SC: “I do but I don’t have it with me. What does it do anyway?”
Me: “It just allows me to pull up your name, address and what not”
SC: “Oh. That would be a lot easier, wouldn’t it?
Why yes, yes it would. Hence your moment of absent mindedness has robbed both of us of the convenient glory that we could have basked in. A soft, heartwarming light that would have easily cured at least 30-45 seconds worth of pox from this call. But alas, you have cast us down into the darkness. Where we shall writhe and twist over your payment details for the next minute and a half.
Alas, why have you forsaken us?
You Ass.
SC: “Yeah, the website said you were 24 hours. I wanted to find out just how 24 hours you were.”
Yeah, the little voice in my had said you were probably kind of a cocksparrow. I didn’t want to find out just how much of a cocksparrow you were.
It seems we both found the answers to our inquiries, didn’t we?
Oh God
I saw a gentleman on the Skytrain this evening. A very….unique, gentleman. Yes, unique. That will suffice and is much more polite than “Pathetic husk of human sadness”. Anyway, this gentleman….I’m not sure what happened to him. I don’t know if he asked his 14 year old nephew for fashion advice or if he really thought his fashion choices were cool and contemporary. But his fashion selections were highly questionable. Even for this city, and this is a city where I don’t bat an eyelash when I see girls wearing thongs and cat ears.
Anyway, this fine gentleman was attired in hardcore emo. He had the tight, tight, tight black leather pants. “I can tell you’re Jewish” tight. The big arse studded leather belt with complimenting sad pony skull belt buckle. The tight, tight, tight, tight black tube top. “I can tell you’re a C cup” tight ( Yes, C cup. Moobs are involved in this tale. ). Than the mascara. Oh the mascara…and eye shadow. Finally, he had that little sadness flap. You know, that one gelled up flap up of hair that covers half their face. The Sadness Flap(tm). But than the rest is all spiked up in the back.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “But GK, that sounds like fairly standard Emo Gear™ I don’t see what the problem is?”. Well, that’s a good question my little space cadets.
The problem, was this guy was at least 45 years old. At least. And I’m being generous.
Yes, I'm a Nerd.
Badly slammed from the get go this evening, I wasn’t able to clear the call backlog till 12:40 meaning I had almost an hour of straight call queue. With an average answer time of 586 seconds according to my status window. Do you know how angry some people are when they’ve been on hold for over half an hour? >.<
And it takes forever to get that 586 to come back down again too. It takes so much time to heal the wounds. It’s like I was hewed down with a Morgul-blade.
!
Me: “Ok, and your name please?”
SC: “Hermander.”
Hermander! I choose you!
The Fark?
Me: “Ok, and how do you spell your first name?”
SC: “PAHTARAKAASAAR”
Me: “….was that the first name and the last name?”
SC: “Yes.”
Me: “The first name was P-A-H-T-A?”
SC: “No! H. H. As in Helen.”
Me: “H-A-T-“
SC: No, Helen, my name is Helen!”
….ok, “Helen”. What exactly happened there? Did you briefly rest mental control back from your nefarious alien overlords? Where has Lord Pahtarakaasaar gone? I need to speak with him again, he wanted to place an order for some tickets. If you would be so kind as surrender your mind and soul back to him for 5 minutes so I can finish this order it would be greatly appreciated.
Hot Tips
SC: “You know Charles Manson was reading books about Hitler and he looked at Prince Charles and thought I’m a Charles and he’s a Charles and I’m a Manson and he’s a Manson so it’s Prince Charles Manson and Prince Charles and Charles Manson are the same, right?”
Me: “……..”
SC: “Hello?”
Me: “………”
SC: “……awwww. <click>”
I see the Cone of Silence tactic is equally effective on you as it is on the Fangirl. Perhaps I’m on to something here. I’ll have to try it on Uncle Vick this evening too if he calls…..of course, knowing Vick if I use it on him he’ll actually begin to cry.
You jer-
Me: “Ok, well, th-“
SC: “Excellent, thanks a lot. Bye.”
Just an FYI: Impatiently mashing the B button to skip needless dialogue only works in select video games.
Hot Tips
SC: “Hey, who do you like better? Me or Charles Manson?”
Me: “………what?!”
SC: “Who do you like better, me or Charles Manson?”
Me: “……….”
SC: “…..hello?”
Me: “I have absolutely no idea how to respond to that.”
SC: “Oh.”
That will go down as the strangest question I’ve been asked so far this year. So far, anyway. The absolute worst part about it is I couldn’t answer it. I drew a blank. Seriously, you know you have issues when you ask someone “Hey do you like me more than an infamous psychotic murderer?” and they actually have to take a minute to think about it.
The Fangirl
Time for this week’s stalker update. Tonight she called and attempted to convince me she’s all better now because she’s behaving and taking her medication…..thaaaan she went on to rant about how she’s the middle child of something like 17 children because her mom apparently gave birth to litters rather than children. But all of her family were going to live longer than she was because she would probably die before them.
She didn’t specify what from. Only that her lifespan was shorter than all those around her.
Hot Tips
( Yes they were farkin' alternating calling me every 15 minutes >< )
SC: “Hey, did you know god created Satan with two heads?”
Me: “…..”
SC: “Than one head looked at the other head and it was like love at first sight you know.”
Me: “……..”
SC: “So now Satan is married and that’s why he’s a two headed snake.”
Me: “…………”
SC: “But Jesus is still single so he’s cool. He’s like King Cool.”
Me: “…………..<snerk>”
SC: “So I mean who would you rather be like? King Cool or a two headed snake?”
My God. Where did you come from anyway and why have you need be apprehended and incarcerated or admitted in some form yet? You have to be smoking, sniffing, injecting or taking as a suppository some truly impressive chemicals to achieve this kind of thought pattern.
And why does being single make Jesus cool? I mean, sure Satan is kind of a dink, but at least he’s happily married(?)…..to himself….or something….I guess. Cripes, I don’t even want to stand near the rails of this particular train of thought.
The Fangirl
Stalker update #2: She is laying on her sofa with the front door open and the police took her away. Now they want to go to the hospital but she doesn’t want to go to the hospital because the hospital wants to kill her. Because that’s what hospitals do. They all plot to kill her. The whole helping people, treating injuries, performing operations etc is all just a front for a grand plot to kill her. The police are trying to make her go but she doesn’t want to go. She wants to stay on the sofa. Because the sofa stops the hospital from killing her and makes the voices stop or something.
She actually ranked hospitals in order of killness as well. Vancouver General is quite dangerous. But Richmond Hospital is a virtual death pit. There is no more dangerous a place in the entire lower mainland than Richmond Hospital. For her that is.
The rest of us are safe. They’ll still treat us because they need to maintain their guise in order to lure her in and slay her.
<cough>
SC: “Yeah, I can’t git ma computer ta work”
Me: “Alright, are you calling from the US?”
SC: “Wha?”
Me: “Are you calling from the US?”
SC: “The what now?”
Me: “Are you calling from the United States of America?”
SC: “Oh, no. I’m calling from Mississippi.”
Umm….hmmm. Damn, this is a bit awkward. Geez, how do I put this. Ok, here goes: I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but you lost the war.
Your Parents Are Cruel
Me: “Ok, and your name please?”
SC: “Kim SuchAndSuch”
Me: “Alright, and is the name different on the card?”
SC: “It’s KIMBERLEY on the card.”
Whoa, easy there lad. You were beaten up a lot as a kid, weren’t you?
Rawr!
Me: “Ok, and what’s the address please?”
SC: “Huh?”
Me: “Can I have the address please?”
SC: “Wha? Address?”
Me: “Yes, do you know what the address is, please?”
SC: “I’m not sure what you’re asking….”
Me: “The address, do you know the address of the building?”
SC: “The what?”
Dammit. Look, I’m from the Maritimes. I know you people have addresses back there. I lived at many houses during my youth in the Maritimes and each of those houses had an address by which one could locate them else we’d have never been able to order pizza. So this is not a complicated question. It’s actually rather simple. Just tell me where you are, you damnable herring chok-…er……um <cough>. Sorry.
I'm from the west coast. Really, I am... >.>
Um...what?
SC: “I haven’t heard back yet, can we escalate this to a supervisor?”
Me: “I’m afraid I’ll have to page the tech one more time first.”
SC: “We can’t escalate this?”
Me: “This is the escalation procedure we normally follow.”
SC: “Alright, fine. I guess I’ll just have to escalate this myself than…..<click>”
…..er….o…kay? …..pardon me a moment while I go make sure I locked the elevator…..he hasn’t called back since this call either….....I think I'll take a cab home today.
Jesus!
( I called up a duty manager because his building is ON FIRE )
Me: “Ok, the call is from <fire dept> regarding the<building>.”
DM: “One moment.”
Me: “Alright.”
( I foolishly assume he wants me to hold on a moment while he gets a pen or something.. )
DM: “…….”
Me: “…….”
DM: “WELL WHAT IS IT?!"
Me: “Alright, the phone number is-“
DM: “Yeah I know the number.”
Me: “Ok, it’s for <addres-“
DM: “I KNOW WHERE IT IS!!!!"
Me: “Ok, it's a fir-“
DM: “Yeah, GO ON!!"
Cripes! Keep your spittle frothed maw closed for more than 2 seconds and let me finish a sentence please. I’m not sure what sort of large, poorly coordinated land mammal squatted daintily over your Corn Flakes this morning but perhaps you should call whatever professional service is required to remove it from your living space.
!?!?
( Same duty manager....a little while later. A pipe has burst in a suite. )
Me: “They have a water leak in the ceiling”
DM: “What, and they called just NOW?!”
Me: “Yes.”
DM: “How could they have a water leak, it’s not even raining!”
Um…because it’s a pipe…leak?
Me: “Well, they called just a few minutes ago.”
DM: “FINE!!! I'll call them!"
Deep breaths, dude. Deep breaths. Take a deep breath and count to 10. Let the anger flow out of you. Go to your happy place. Please, before you show up at the tenant’s suite to fix a problem and end up beating them to death with a salad bowl.
!!!!!!
( ...same manager, 10 minutes later )
DM: “What was that number again?”
Me: “xxx-xxx-xxxx?”
DM: “That’s it. Well they’re not answering. I mean really, why call at this hour if you’re not even going to answer your phone!”
Me: “……”
DM: "If they call back just leave it.”
Me: “....Alright”
That seems....unwise. Considering the scope and cost of damage that could result.
DM: “Don’t call me again tonight!!”
...but...its....your job to be on duty for emergencies....this is why they pay you....
Me: “...Ok.”
DM: “<click>”
Ho-lee-carp. Why is there so much whizz in everyone’s collective cereal bowls this morning? What the heck is going on out there? ……..wait…….wait just a minute……..THE NIGHT WATERER! It all makes sense!
CURSE YOU, VILLAIN!!
annnnd free.
So gather round kiddies, tis story time. Horrible....horrible story time.
Clue
Me: “Ok, and what kind of system do you have?”
SC: “I don’t know what kind of system it is....”
Me: “Hmm, do you have a serial number for it?”
SC: “I don’t know it.”
Me: “Alright, what error are you getting than?”
SC: “I don’t know.”
I’m afraid you’re going to have to try just a little bit harder than that. As unfortunately I do not have a Mystery Machine, a talking dog, two brother’s named Joe and Frank or even Tom Hanks with a haircut that almost qualifies as a sin against nature onto itself. Therefore my chances of unraveling this mystery with the remarkably cryptic clues you’ve provided are slim and nil.
Though I will commend you for at least knowing your own name. Bravo, lad. Bravo.
Um, no.
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Hi, mom?”
Me: “….pardon?”
SC: “Oh, sorry, I think I have the wrong number.”
….you think you have the wrong number? Which kind of implies I sound like your mother or vice versa. Which kind of implies she has as much body hair as I do if not more. Which kind of implies she use to be or still is a man. Which kind of implies you’re adopted.
Now I know, I know. This is a really awful way to have to find out the cold hard truth. But in all honesty you should have suspected something was up when the aroma that brings you back to your childhood isn't fresh cookies or you mom's perfume, but rather balls and nylon.
No, seriously.
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Mo-, oh, sorry I think I have the wrong number again”
Yes, yes you do. As I have not developed ovaries in the last 30 seconds. Though I suppose I could give it a try if you really want me too.
No.
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “M-, Oh, sorry again.”
Hmmmm, nope. Still nothing. I’m not even sure what muscle I’m supposed to be flexing.
Odd Choice of Words
SC: “I’m reporting an illness.”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “I’m calling to report an illness.”
Me: “…..alright….are you......calling in sick?”
SC: “Yes.”
Just for future reference all you need to say is “I’m calling in sick.”. The phrase “I’ll calling to report an illness” is probably best reserved for summoning a Hazmat team in the event of a potential epidemic or a possible impending zombie apocalypse. Not like those slow, shuffling zombies either. The crazy ass fast ones from 28 Days Later that can run full sprint after your car for 10 blocks.
The Secret
As I was disembarking from my land chariot at the Skytrain this evening I overheard a rather loud couple engaging in a game of “It’s a secret”. At least I assume that’s what it was. As he said “It’s a secret” and she went: “Tell me! Tell me! Come on, tell me! Tell me! TELL ME! TELLME TELLME TELLME TELLME TELLME TELLME TELLLLLLMEEEEEEEEEEEE TELL ME” repeat ad nasuem for the next 6-7 minutes at a volume that could be clearly heard even after I walked all the way to the platform from the bus loop.
This wasn’t a young couple or a pair of feuding kindergartners either. They were old enough to be my parents. Yet there she is, stomping her feet and squealing “Tell me tell me tell me!” over and over. As I said, this lasted for a good 6-7 minutes before her high pitched banshee like pleas of “tell me” suddenly turned to, and I quote, “I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU”. Than all went silent. I assume because he wet himself and escaped the scene, or his demise was so swift he had not even a moment to utter the faintest sound of terror.
Judging from the sheer enraged madness in her voice, the secret must have been “I porked your sister”.
The Night Waterer
Caller: “Hi, it’s the Night Waterer here. Just checking in.”
The Night Waterer, you say? That sounds like a rather….low grade superhero. What precisely do you do? Tend people’s lawns under the cover of night? Or are you more like a dollar store knock off of Aquaman? Which is even sadder, really, as Aquaman himself is a rather low grade superhero to begin with. I mean, you can breathe underwater and talk to fish? Woohoo. That does all of what, exactly? Award you honorary credit for one semester of your marine biology degree?
Of course, I could be mistaken. Tragically mistaken. Perhaps you are in fact a super villain. A dire nocturnal evil doer who lurks I the shadows of the city only to suddenly and swiftly relieve himself on public property.
You and every other guy downtown on the weekend if the smell is any indication.
Alas
Me: “Ok, do you have your customer ID?"
SC: “I do but I don’t have it with me. What does it do anyway?”
Me: “It just allows me to pull up your name, address and what not”
SC: “Oh. That would be a lot easier, wouldn’t it?
Why yes, yes it would. Hence your moment of absent mindedness has robbed both of us of the convenient glory that we could have basked in. A soft, heartwarming light that would have easily cured at least 30-45 seconds worth of pox from this call. But alas, you have cast us down into the darkness. Where we shall writhe and twist over your payment details for the next minute and a half.
Alas, why have you forsaken us?
You Ass.
SC: “Yeah, the website said you were 24 hours. I wanted to find out just how 24 hours you were.”
Yeah, the little voice in my had said you were probably kind of a cocksparrow. I didn’t want to find out just how much of a cocksparrow you were.
It seems we both found the answers to our inquiries, didn’t we?
Oh God
I saw a gentleman on the Skytrain this evening. A very….unique, gentleman. Yes, unique. That will suffice and is much more polite than “Pathetic husk of human sadness”. Anyway, this gentleman….I’m not sure what happened to him. I don’t know if he asked his 14 year old nephew for fashion advice or if he really thought his fashion choices were cool and contemporary. But his fashion selections were highly questionable. Even for this city, and this is a city where I don’t bat an eyelash when I see girls wearing thongs and cat ears.
Anyway, this fine gentleman was attired in hardcore emo. He had the tight, tight, tight black leather pants. “I can tell you’re Jewish” tight. The big arse studded leather belt with complimenting sad pony skull belt buckle. The tight, tight, tight, tight black tube top. “I can tell you’re a C cup” tight ( Yes, C cup. Moobs are involved in this tale. ). Than the mascara. Oh the mascara…and eye shadow. Finally, he had that little sadness flap. You know, that one gelled up flap up of hair that covers half their face. The Sadness Flap(tm). But than the rest is all spiked up in the back.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “But GK, that sounds like fairly standard Emo Gear™ I don’t see what the problem is?”. Well, that’s a good question my little space cadets.
The problem, was this guy was at least 45 years old. At least. And I’m being generous.
Yes, I'm a Nerd.
Badly slammed from the get go this evening, I wasn’t able to clear the call backlog till 12:40 meaning I had almost an hour of straight call queue. With an average answer time of 586 seconds according to my status window. Do you know how angry some people are when they’ve been on hold for over half an hour? >.<
And it takes forever to get that 586 to come back down again too. It takes so much time to heal the wounds. It’s like I was hewed down with a Morgul-blade.
!
Me: “Ok, and your name please?”
SC: “Hermander.”
Hermander! I choose you!
The Fark?
Me: “Ok, and how do you spell your first name?”
SC: “PAHTARAKAASAAR”
Me: “….was that the first name and the last name?”
SC: “Yes.”
Me: “The first name was P-A-H-T-A?”
SC: “No! H. H. As in Helen.”
Me: “H-A-T-“
SC: No, Helen, my name is Helen!”
….ok, “Helen”. What exactly happened there? Did you briefly rest mental control back from your nefarious alien overlords? Where has Lord Pahtarakaasaar gone? I need to speak with him again, he wanted to place an order for some tickets. If you would be so kind as surrender your mind and soul back to him for 5 minutes so I can finish this order it would be greatly appreciated.
Hot Tips
SC: “You know Charles Manson was reading books about Hitler and he looked at Prince Charles and thought I’m a Charles and he’s a Charles and I’m a Manson and he’s a Manson so it’s Prince Charles Manson and Prince Charles and Charles Manson are the same, right?”
Me: “……..”
SC: “Hello?”
Me: “………”
SC: “……awwww. <click>”
I see the Cone of Silence tactic is equally effective on you as it is on the Fangirl. Perhaps I’m on to something here. I’ll have to try it on Uncle Vick this evening too if he calls…..of course, knowing Vick if I use it on him he’ll actually begin to cry.
You jer-
Me: “Ok, well, th-“
SC: “Excellent, thanks a lot. Bye.”
Just an FYI: Impatiently mashing the B button to skip needless dialogue only works in select video games.
Hot Tips
SC: “Hey, who do you like better? Me or Charles Manson?”
Me: “………what?!”
SC: “Who do you like better, me or Charles Manson?”
Me: “……….”
SC: “…..hello?”
Me: “I have absolutely no idea how to respond to that.”
SC: “Oh.”
That will go down as the strangest question I’ve been asked so far this year. So far, anyway. The absolute worst part about it is I couldn’t answer it. I drew a blank. Seriously, you know you have issues when you ask someone “Hey do you like me more than an infamous psychotic murderer?” and they actually have to take a minute to think about it.
The Fangirl
Time for this week’s stalker update. Tonight she called and attempted to convince me she’s all better now because she’s behaving and taking her medication…..thaaaan she went on to rant about how she’s the middle child of something like 17 children because her mom apparently gave birth to litters rather than children. But all of her family were going to live longer than she was because she would probably die before them.
She didn’t specify what from. Only that her lifespan was shorter than all those around her.
Hot Tips
( Yes they were farkin' alternating calling me every 15 minutes >< )
SC: “Hey, did you know god created Satan with two heads?”
Me: “…..”
SC: “Than one head looked at the other head and it was like love at first sight you know.”
Me: “……..”
SC: “So now Satan is married and that’s why he’s a two headed snake.”
Me: “…………”
SC: “But Jesus is still single so he’s cool. He’s like King Cool.”
Me: “…………..<snerk>”
SC: “So I mean who would you rather be like? King Cool or a two headed snake?”
My God. Where did you come from anyway and why have you need be apprehended and incarcerated or admitted in some form yet? You have to be smoking, sniffing, injecting or taking as a suppository some truly impressive chemicals to achieve this kind of thought pattern.
And why does being single make Jesus cool? I mean, sure Satan is kind of a dink, but at least he’s happily married(?)…..to himself….or something….I guess. Cripes, I don’t even want to stand near the rails of this particular train of thought.
The Fangirl
Stalker update #2: She is laying on her sofa with the front door open and the police took her away. Now they want to go to the hospital but she doesn’t want to go to the hospital because the hospital wants to kill her. Because that’s what hospitals do. They all plot to kill her. The whole helping people, treating injuries, performing operations etc is all just a front for a grand plot to kill her. The police are trying to make her go but she doesn’t want to go. She wants to stay on the sofa. Because the sofa stops the hospital from killing her and makes the voices stop or something.
She actually ranked hospitals in order of killness as well. Vancouver General is quite dangerous. But Richmond Hospital is a virtual death pit. There is no more dangerous a place in the entire lower mainland than Richmond Hospital. For her that is.
The rest of us are safe. They’ll still treat us because they need to maintain their guise in order to lure her in and slay her.
<cough>
SC: “Yeah, I can’t git ma computer ta work”
Me: “Alright, are you calling from the US?”
SC: “Wha?”
Me: “Are you calling from the US?”
SC: “The what now?”
Me: “Are you calling from the United States of America?”
SC: “Oh, no. I’m calling from Mississippi.”
Umm….hmmm. Damn, this is a bit awkward. Geez, how do I put this. Ok, here goes: I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but you lost the war.
Your Parents Are Cruel
Me: “Ok, and your name please?”
SC: “Kim SuchAndSuch”
Me: “Alright, and is the name different on the card?”
SC: “It’s KIMBERLEY on the card.”
Whoa, easy there lad. You were beaten up a lot as a kid, weren’t you?
Rawr!
Me: “Ok, and what’s the address please?”
SC: “Huh?”
Me: “Can I have the address please?”
SC: “Wha? Address?”
Me: “Yes, do you know what the address is, please?”
SC: “I’m not sure what you’re asking….”
Me: “The address, do you know the address of the building?”
SC: “The what?”
Dammit. Look, I’m from the Maritimes. I know you people have addresses back there. I lived at many houses during my youth in the Maritimes and each of those houses had an address by which one could locate them else we’d have never been able to order pizza. So this is not a complicated question. It’s actually rather simple. Just tell me where you are, you damnable herring chok-…er……um <cough>. Sorry.
I'm from the west coast. Really, I am... >.>
Um...what?
SC: “I haven’t heard back yet, can we escalate this to a supervisor?”
Me: “I’m afraid I’ll have to page the tech one more time first.”
SC: “We can’t escalate this?”
Me: “This is the escalation procedure we normally follow.”
SC: “Alright, fine. I guess I’ll just have to escalate this myself than…..<click>”
…..er….o…kay? …..pardon me a moment while I go make sure I locked the elevator…..he hasn’t called back since this call either….....I think I'll take a cab home today.
Jesus!
( I called up a duty manager because his building is ON FIRE )
Me: “Ok, the call is from <fire dept> regarding the<building>.”
DM: “One moment.”
Me: “Alright.”
( I foolishly assume he wants me to hold on a moment while he gets a pen or something.. )
DM: “…….”
Me: “…….”
DM: “WELL WHAT IS IT?!"
Me: “Alright, the phone number is-“
DM: “Yeah I know the number.”
Me: “Ok, it’s for <addres-“
DM: “I KNOW WHERE IT IS!!!!"
Me: “Ok, it's a fir-“
DM: “Yeah, GO ON!!"
Cripes! Keep your spittle frothed maw closed for more than 2 seconds and let me finish a sentence please. I’m not sure what sort of large, poorly coordinated land mammal squatted daintily over your Corn Flakes this morning but perhaps you should call whatever professional service is required to remove it from your living space.
!?!?
( Same duty manager....a little while later. A pipe has burst in a suite. )
Me: “They have a water leak in the ceiling”
DM: “What, and they called just NOW?!”
Me: “Yes.”
DM: “How could they have a water leak, it’s not even raining!”
Um…because it’s a pipe…leak?
Me: “Well, they called just a few minutes ago.”
DM: “FINE!!! I'll call them!"
Deep breaths, dude. Deep breaths. Take a deep breath and count to 10. Let the anger flow out of you. Go to your happy place. Please, before you show up at the tenant’s suite to fix a problem and end up beating them to death with a salad bowl.
!!!!!!
( ...same manager, 10 minutes later )
DM: “What was that number again?”
Me: “xxx-xxx-xxxx?”
DM: “That’s it. Well they’re not answering. I mean really, why call at this hour if you’re not even going to answer your phone!”
Me: “……”
DM: "If they call back just leave it.”
Me: “....Alright”
That seems....unwise. Considering the scope and cost of damage that could result.
DM: “Don’t call me again tonight!!”
...but...its....your job to be on duty for emergencies....this is why they pay you....
Me: “...Ok.”
DM: “<click>”
Ho-lee-carp. Why is there so much whizz in everyone’s collective cereal bowls this morning? What the heck is going on out there? ……..wait…….wait just a minute……..THE NIGHT WATERER! It all makes sense!
CURSE YOU, VILLAIN!!
annnnd free.
I lol'd so hard at this. No I haven't been playing way to much Pokemon Platinum, why do you ask? 
Best. Gravekeeper. Line. Ever. Unfortunately, slightly too long for a sig line, so...
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