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Intellectual Dead Zone
Ho ho lordy, I think the moon was full last night... ><
Right...and?
You were charged twice the normal strata fee this month. You are enraged. This part I understand. The part of your plan I do not understand however is why you thought 3am would be a fantastic time to call and try to resolve this. Now, perhaps you very well did just roll out of bed and for some ill apparent reason glanced at your bank statement. Upon seeing this injustice, you flew into a terrible rage like a chimp on the tail end of a 3 day bender with a flat of Red Bull. However, rather than let the firm, gentle barrier of common sense fence off your simian flaying, you jumped your corral and made a beeline for the phone and called the emergency line.
This course of action was ill advised and literally nothing will come of it. You will have to return to your corral, hunker over in the corner and take deep breaths to try and calm yourself until Monday when the office is actually open.
Behold!
( This is a bit of inside joke with my coworkers..... >.> )
SC: “Ya, you know the reason you’re losing in Afghanistan and Iraq and all that is cus you’re using the wrong troops.”
Ah, yes. So I’m sure you than have a theory on what the correct battalion we should deploy than?
SC: “You should send like the Dirty Dozen you know? Like the Hells Angels and the Dirty Dozen.”
Dammit, I’ve already seen this episode. Numerous times. I hate summer repeats. When are we going to get some new episodes? If you keep this up your ratings are going to start to slip, you know.
SC: “You have all these inmates and prisons, so you should send the Dirty Dozen.”
Me: “What about Air Wolf?”
SC: “Wha?”
Me: “What if we sent Air Wolf? Airwolf would totally work.”
SC: “Um, maybe.”
See? See? The sheer overwhelming glory that is Air Wolf was even able to pierce the haze of psychedelic drugs and mental instability of a certifiable lunatic. Even he was forced to admit that a lone helicopter contained enough awesome to potentially stabilize two countries.
Air Wolf is just that good. Er….wait, this was the 80’s. So Air Wolf is just that radical.
Bit Too High
Me: “Alright, do you have your customer ID number?”
SC: “I don’t got nothin’!”
Ah yes, “I don’t got nothing”. The second most common phrase ever uttered to a police officer just below “I didn’t do nothin’!” and above “Don’t taze me, bro!” which took the crown away from “I got’s ma rights!” in 2008.
Me: “Ok, and your name please?”
SC: "Tyler Jimbob"
Me: “Alright, how is your last name spelled?”
SC: “J-I-M-B-O-B.”
Me: “Ok, so J-I-M-B-O-B?”
SC: “Yes.”
Me: “Alright, and T-Y-L-E-R, right?”
SC: “No, J-I-M-B-O-B.”
Hmmm, silly me. I thought I had pitched that one rather low. But apparently I had neglected to compensate for my caller’s ape like hunch. Thus my gentle toss still sailed clear over his head without disturbing a hair. No worries, I shall aim for the face next time.
Honesty!
Me: “Good morning, <company>.”
SC: “Um, I’ve kind of gone and done something stupid.”
Finally! Some honesty! If only all my callers could be this upfront at the beginning of a call. It would make my life so much easier. Most of my callers try to hide it or refuse to admit idiocy until absolutely forced to. Really, all that does is waste both our time. I know you’re an idiot. You know you’re an idiot. Let’s just come to an agreement on your lack of mental faculties and move on with life.
Blinding Idiocy
This morning on my way home, on the <route>, which is surely becoming the cursed bus, the driver drove straight past my stop. Despite my firm pulling of the dangling bing stop cord. Which in turned, binged and made the big “Stop” light at the front of the bus light up. Hence the technical term “Dangling bing stop cord’. This of course indicated that I wished to depart this doomed voyage before it found the iceberg. But he just merrily drove on by. So I was forced to go to the front to get his attention and politely ask “WHY NO STOP, HAIRY NIMROD WHEEL TURNER MAN?”. Politely of course.
Instead I found him with one hand on the wheel, looking down at his cell phone. Texting. Oh my Lord. Nevermind the last shreds of safety I felt while on public transit evaporating, but there is a level of audacity here that I could not quite comprehend. I mean, you are a bus driver. This is your job. You drive. A bus. Hence the occupation title of “Bus driver”. If your life is to drive would you not than be fairly skilled at driving? And thus be aware that you must, oh, I don’t know, look at the farking road while you’re driving? Would that not help?
I mean you’re not driving a little pedestrian catapult sedan that just explodes into a shower of glass, Starbucks and Blackberry whenever it touches one of the city’s many many fine SUVs that have never so much as driven near mud. You’re driving what is essentially a land submarine through a farkin' SCHOOL ZONE. A vehicle quite capable of annihilating most other vehicles, pedestrians, children, house pets, tennis courts or even houses it may inadvertently careen into. Whilst its captain is busy posting about Twilight winning 5 MTV awards on his Facebook page with one thumb.
My Bad
SC: “Yeah, I wanna leave a message for Gabbo!”
Me: “For who, sorry?”
SC: “I wanna leave a fuckking message for Gabbo!”
I see we’ve abandoned civility 7 seconds into the call. Not quite a new record, mind you. But a worthy attempt none the less. You’ll have to forgive me for daring to talk back in the face of your dribbling magnificence, but Gabbo is a rather peculiar name and one that I can only mentally attribute to a puppet off of the Simpsons. So I only wished to verify the absurdity of the person you were seeking.
That said, there is no Gabbo here.
Me: “I’m afraid there is no one by that name here-"
SC: “JUST TELL GABBO TO F**KING CALL RYAN-“
Oh, I’m sorry. My index finger has apparently slipped and hit F4 ( disconnect key ). I assure you I was completely willing to sit here and be screamed obscenities at for several minutes. For I enjoy that sort of thing. Truly. It makes me feel alive. My finger, however, I must admit is a bit of a rebel and just goes off and does its own thing sometimes.
Again, terribly sorry.
Put In My Place
I had left a message for this client to call in to retrieve an emergency call. So he called in on our *main* corporate number, rather than his office number....
Me: “Good evening, <company>. How may I help you?”
SC: “<States his name....nothing else>”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Me: “………ooookay, I had a message for you to call <company> a-”
SC: “Thanks <click>”
Apparently, I am officially a sub-human man servant now. I love how he called our main line and just proclaimed who he was without any request or explanation than sat there, expecting me to know exactly who he was, what he wanted and how best I might please him in the hopes he would praise me or give me a candy. Whilst I sat there waiting for him to say something, anything, that might indicate why he had called or that he acknowledged I was in fact a human being.
The only reason this brilliant plan of his worked was because I’m the only operator here. I imagine this scenario plays out much less favourably earlier in the evening before graveyard shift. I’m sure operators that do not immediately meet his expectations are absently dispatched by him early in the movie as an example to the rest.
Lower....
Me: “Ok, and what is your first name please?”
SC: “Bob. Bob MacDonald.”
Me: “Alri-“
SC: “B-O-B than M-A-C-D-O-N-A-L-D”
Me: “Alright, so it was B-O-B t-”
SC: “No, M-A-C-D-O-N-A-L-D”
Right…it seems I’m still pitching too high. Gotta aim lower still. Like the groin perhaps.
Oneness
Me: “Good morning, <company that is not VISA and sounds nothing like VISA>”
SC: “Yeah, I forgot the pin number to my VISA”
Me: “…….”
SC: “It’s xxxx or something.”
Ah, I see we’re playing the “I’m Not Listening~” game again today. Whereby you ignore the first thing I say regardless and plow on forward with your wanton desires. I love this game. Ever so much. Truly, it is a fantasbulawesome game that brings me such an immense amount of enjoyment that I could not possibly frame it into mere words as they would not do them justice regardless. The best I could possibly muster is that it is like an explosion of puppies, rainbows and unicorns that sends tremors across all five of my senses and opens up my sixth to the vast embrace of the cosmos where I literally become one with that which is pleasure.
Please sir, may I have some more?
Its Not My End
SC: “You really need to get a better connection. You keep cutting out. Are you on a cell?”
Yes, I am on a cell. You have figured me out. We don’t even have a call centre. I was actually napping in a shipping crate I found next to the parking lot across the street when I was awoken by the soothing tones of “Baby Got Back” and answered your call. I do not actually have a computer, order form or anything to that effect. I have scribbled your information and Visa number down on the back of a McDonalds napkin with a tube of Lavender Dream lipstick I found on the sidewalk.
Every morning around 7am I take all the orders I have down to <client> and they give me a sandwich. If I sell more than $100 in an evening than I get a doughnut. Every time there’s a sale deadline, I get a doughnut and a bottle of hooch.
This Guy....
Did you know a service call afterhours on the weekend costs about $700? Yet I still have this idiot calling in and placing service calls because he can't figure out how to get into his email? Yes, $700 to help some primate figure out how to open his email. This happens almost every week to the same office at the same time to the same guy. To the point where I don’t even have to tell the on call tech what the problem is anymore. I just tell him whose calling and he goes “Can't open his email?".
I would estimate, based on call frequency, that this office spends just over $17,000 a year having a technician go down there and remind this one guy how to operate Outlook.
<3
Me: “Good morning, <company> tech support.”
SC: “Yes, I’d like to book one room”
Aw yeah, that’s the stuff.
Intellectual Dead Zone
This call was 10 minutes long. 10 minutes. The vast majority of which was long stretches of confused silence I like to call intellectual dead zones or IDZs.
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “….Ya.”
Me: “Ok, which catalog do you have there?”
SC: “<company name>.”
Me: “Alright, but which one is it?"
SC: “Um, Spring."
Me: “Ok, and the product ID please?”
SC: “…..wha?”
Me: “What’s the product ID number of what you would like to order?”
SC: “6..uh…”
Me: “…….”
SC: “….what’s that?”
Me: “The ID number of the product?”
SC: “1234?”
Me: "1234?"
SC: “….2”
Me: “12342?"
SC: "123422"
Me: "I’m afraid I don’t have that in stock.”
SC: “Uh………”
Me: “……..”
SC: “……..<sound of page flipping>. Da….um…..”
Me: “……?”
SC: “…..how did you want?”
Me: “What was that sorry?”
SC: “What did you want?”
Me: “I need the ID number of the product”
SC: “………”
Me: “………”
SC: “I don’t know what that.”
Me: “The number next to the picture in the catalog?”
SC: “………..”
Me: “………..”
SC: “Next to da……what?”
Me: “The number next to it in the catalog?”
SC: “….ya, catalog.”
Me: “…..ok, but-“
SC: “<company name again>”
Me: “....Ok, but what’s the number of the item?”
SC: “Oh, uh....1.”
Me: “It should be at least 6 numbers."
SC: “Oh….um……123422”
Me: “As I said before, I’m afraid I don’t have that in stock..”
I believe I said I did not have that item. Thus you cannot have it. Because I don’t have it. If I had it, I would give it to you in order to make you go away and buy myself a reprieve from your presence. But alas, I do not have it. So I must endure your company and continue trotting in a circle with you at this half-wit pony show.
SC: “ummm, 11111?”
Me: “11111?”
SC: “Ya”
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: "22222"
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “Um…..”
Me: “………”
SC: “……..<page flipping>”
Me: “…….”
SC: “<37 second IDZ>”
Me: “……”
SC: “What…..dis”
Me: “……..?”
SC: “<23 second IDZ> ummm…….123422.”
Yes, that’s the same item I don’t have again. At this point I believe I shook my fist at the ceiling and spoke words. I don’t clearly remember what they were. But I believe it was something to the effect of “buffalo cock terrier.”.
Me: “Like I said, I do not have that in stock.”
SC: “Da O’neil.”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “xxxx”
Me: “Ok, what page is it on?”
SC: “Ummmm……14. Only….women’s disk. Shirt. It shirt. 123422”
Women’s…..disk? And again, I don’t have that item in stock. NO. HAS. YOU NO CAN HAVE. I cannot give you what we do not have nor can I produce the item from my bowels as you seem to want me to do.
Me: “I don’t have that in stock.”
SC: “It says me.”
…what does, the catalog? Is the catalog speaking to you? Ok, look, seriously. When your reading something and you hear it in your head that doesn’t mean it’s actually talking to you. That’s just your own mental voice reading the words.
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “On da….thing, it says Neil.”
Me: “Yes, I don’t have that.”
SC: “Uh…..so I got 2 items?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “And dar hoodie?”
Me: “Yes, was there anything else?”
SC: “Um…….<page flipping>”
Me: “……..”
SC: “<Quite literally over 3 MINUTES of IDZ according to the call recording>”
At this point I began to fear she was retreating into the dark, cavernous confines of her own mind. A descent into a vast, dank labyrinth system of tunnels and caves with no exit sparsely populated by malevolent man goblins of thought which her consciousness would spent the next couple of hours desperately trying to escape the clutches of. Least she be caught, savaged and devoured by basic comprehension.
Me: “…..was there anything else?”
SC: Um……..”
Me: “………”
SC" <Another 30 second IDZ>……um, no dats it.”
Hallelujah. That only took 7 minutes just to communicate two items.
Me: “Ok, that will come to xxx and should arrive in about 2 weeks-“
SC: "xxx?”
Me: "xxx"
SC: “and I gots 2 item?”
Me: “Yes.”
Yes, dammit, you "gots" two items. Did you forget already? Well let me refresh your memory: You shall receive two items, both of which shall be “Dar hoodie”’s. I have no idea what exactly a Dar Hoodie is. But, I assume it goes well with Das Boot.
I Have Not The Words
Me: “Good evening, <corporate main line>. How may I help you?”
SC: “Hi, I parked downtown at xxxx. I paid my ticket. I came back and my car was towed. It’s gone.”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “It was at xxxx”
Me: “No, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “Do I have the wrong number?”
Me: "Yes, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “You mean my phone?”
Me: “No, this is <company>, we have nothing to do with parking or towing. You’ve called the wrong number.”
SC: “Oh. Well, do you know where my car would be than?”
Are you quite done nibbling hungrily at the very scrotum of human failure yet or do you want me to give you another moment or two to finish up?
...?
Me: “Ok, what’s your phone number please?”
SC: “OH SHI-<click>“
And bam, velociraptors. See? That’s what happens when you let your guard down.
Damn you!
Yet again this morning, the bus breezed right on past my stop. Despite my pulling of the dangly bing stop cord. However, this morning it was not due to texting, but rather that the bus driver was just blind, deaf and perhaps stoned. I’m not sure. The expression on his face when I went to the front to inform him could have indicated anything from blunt force cranial trauma ( Perhaps recently. Perhaps as a child. ) to an uncontrolled Nyquil addiction to simply that he was quietly enjoying the sound of wind passing through his ears.
Today, I’m just going to walk me thinks.
Again? Really?
Me: “Ok, and what’s the problem?”
SC: “I can't get into my email.”
That’s another $700 you’ve cost your boss this weekend, Steve. He must love you. I mean really, dude. With the minimum wage there you make about what, $75 a day before taxes? Yet you’re costing him $700 a day? Does it not bother you that he could hire someone and pay them per hour what you make per shift to replace you and actually end up costing him less?
I would bow my head in shame. Bad Steve, bad.
annnd rest.....for now.
Right...and?
You were charged twice the normal strata fee this month. You are enraged. This part I understand. The part of your plan I do not understand however is why you thought 3am would be a fantastic time to call and try to resolve this. Now, perhaps you very well did just roll out of bed and for some ill apparent reason glanced at your bank statement. Upon seeing this injustice, you flew into a terrible rage like a chimp on the tail end of a 3 day bender with a flat of Red Bull. However, rather than let the firm, gentle barrier of common sense fence off your simian flaying, you jumped your corral and made a beeline for the phone and called the emergency line.
This course of action was ill advised and literally nothing will come of it. You will have to return to your corral, hunker over in the corner and take deep breaths to try and calm yourself until Monday when the office is actually open.
Behold!
( This is a bit of inside joke with my coworkers..... >.> )
SC: “Ya, you know the reason you’re losing in Afghanistan and Iraq and all that is cus you’re using the wrong troops.”
Ah, yes. So I’m sure you than have a theory on what the correct battalion we should deploy than?
SC: “You should send like the Dirty Dozen you know? Like the Hells Angels and the Dirty Dozen.”
Dammit, I’ve already seen this episode. Numerous times. I hate summer repeats. When are we going to get some new episodes? If you keep this up your ratings are going to start to slip, you know.
SC: “You have all these inmates and prisons, so you should send the Dirty Dozen.”
Me: “What about Air Wolf?”
SC: “Wha?”
Me: “What if we sent Air Wolf? Airwolf would totally work.”
SC: “Um, maybe.”
See? See? The sheer overwhelming glory that is Air Wolf was even able to pierce the haze of psychedelic drugs and mental instability of a certifiable lunatic. Even he was forced to admit that a lone helicopter contained enough awesome to potentially stabilize two countries.
Air Wolf is just that good. Er….wait, this was the 80’s. So Air Wolf is just that radical.
Bit Too High
Me: “Alright, do you have your customer ID number?”
SC: “I don’t got nothin’!”
Ah yes, “I don’t got nothing”. The second most common phrase ever uttered to a police officer just below “I didn’t do nothin’!” and above “Don’t taze me, bro!” which took the crown away from “I got’s ma rights!” in 2008.
Me: “Ok, and your name please?”
SC: "Tyler Jimbob"
Me: “Alright, how is your last name spelled?”
SC: “J-I-M-B-O-B.”
Me: “Ok, so J-I-M-B-O-B?”
SC: “Yes.”
Me: “Alright, and T-Y-L-E-R, right?”
SC: “No, J-I-M-B-O-B.”
Hmmm, silly me. I thought I had pitched that one rather low. But apparently I had neglected to compensate for my caller’s ape like hunch. Thus my gentle toss still sailed clear over his head without disturbing a hair. No worries, I shall aim for the face next time.
Honesty!
Me: “Good morning, <company>.”
SC: “Um, I’ve kind of gone and done something stupid.”
Finally! Some honesty! If only all my callers could be this upfront at the beginning of a call. It would make my life so much easier. Most of my callers try to hide it or refuse to admit idiocy until absolutely forced to. Really, all that does is waste both our time. I know you’re an idiot. You know you’re an idiot. Let’s just come to an agreement on your lack of mental faculties and move on with life.
Blinding Idiocy
This morning on my way home, on the <route>, which is surely becoming the cursed bus, the driver drove straight past my stop. Despite my firm pulling of the dangling bing stop cord. Which in turned, binged and made the big “Stop” light at the front of the bus light up. Hence the technical term “Dangling bing stop cord’. This of course indicated that I wished to depart this doomed voyage before it found the iceberg. But he just merrily drove on by. So I was forced to go to the front to get his attention and politely ask “WHY NO STOP, HAIRY NIMROD WHEEL TURNER MAN?”. Politely of course.
Instead I found him with one hand on the wheel, looking down at his cell phone. Texting. Oh my Lord. Nevermind the last shreds of safety I felt while on public transit evaporating, but there is a level of audacity here that I could not quite comprehend. I mean, you are a bus driver. This is your job. You drive. A bus. Hence the occupation title of “Bus driver”. If your life is to drive would you not than be fairly skilled at driving? And thus be aware that you must, oh, I don’t know, look at the farking road while you’re driving? Would that not help?
I mean you’re not driving a little pedestrian catapult sedan that just explodes into a shower of glass, Starbucks and Blackberry whenever it touches one of the city’s many many fine SUVs that have never so much as driven near mud. You’re driving what is essentially a land submarine through a farkin' SCHOOL ZONE. A vehicle quite capable of annihilating most other vehicles, pedestrians, children, house pets, tennis courts or even houses it may inadvertently careen into. Whilst its captain is busy posting about Twilight winning 5 MTV awards on his Facebook page with one thumb.
My Bad
SC: “Yeah, I wanna leave a message for Gabbo!”
Me: “For who, sorry?”
SC: “I wanna leave a fuckking message for Gabbo!”
I see we’ve abandoned civility 7 seconds into the call. Not quite a new record, mind you. But a worthy attempt none the less. You’ll have to forgive me for daring to talk back in the face of your dribbling magnificence, but Gabbo is a rather peculiar name and one that I can only mentally attribute to a puppet off of the Simpsons. So I only wished to verify the absurdity of the person you were seeking.
That said, there is no Gabbo here.
Me: “I’m afraid there is no one by that name here-"
SC: “JUST TELL GABBO TO F**KING CALL RYAN-“
Oh, I’m sorry. My index finger has apparently slipped and hit F4 ( disconnect key ). I assure you I was completely willing to sit here and be screamed obscenities at for several minutes. For I enjoy that sort of thing. Truly. It makes me feel alive. My finger, however, I must admit is a bit of a rebel and just goes off and does its own thing sometimes.
Again, terribly sorry.
Put In My Place
I had left a message for this client to call in to retrieve an emergency call. So he called in on our *main* corporate number, rather than his office number....
Me: “Good evening, <company>. How may I help you?”
SC: “<States his name....nothing else>”
Me: “…….”
SC: “…….”
Me: “………ooookay, I had a message for you to call <company> a-”
SC: “Thanks <click>”
Apparently, I am officially a sub-human man servant now. I love how he called our main line and just proclaimed who he was without any request or explanation than sat there, expecting me to know exactly who he was, what he wanted and how best I might please him in the hopes he would praise me or give me a candy. Whilst I sat there waiting for him to say something, anything, that might indicate why he had called or that he acknowledged I was in fact a human being.
The only reason this brilliant plan of his worked was because I’m the only operator here. I imagine this scenario plays out much less favourably earlier in the evening before graveyard shift. I’m sure operators that do not immediately meet his expectations are absently dispatched by him early in the movie as an example to the rest.
Lower....
Me: “Ok, and what is your first name please?”
SC: “Bob. Bob MacDonald.”
Me: “Alri-“
SC: “B-O-B than M-A-C-D-O-N-A-L-D”
Me: “Alright, so it was B-O-B t-”
SC: “No, M-A-C-D-O-N-A-L-D”
Right…it seems I’m still pitching too high. Gotta aim lower still. Like the groin perhaps.
Oneness
Me: “Good morning, <company that is not VISA and sounds nothing like VISA>”
SC: “Yeah, I forgot the pin number to my VISA”
Me: “…….”
SC: “It’s xxxx or something.”
Ah, I see we’re playing the “I’m Not Listening~” game again today. Whereby you ignore the first thing I say regardless and plow on forward with your wanton desires. I love this game. Ever so much. Truly, it is a fantasbulawesome game that brings me such an immense amount of enjoyment that I could not possibly frame it into mere words as they would not do them justice regardless. The best I could possibly muster is that it is like an explosion of puppies, rainbows and unicorns that sends tremors across all five of my senses and opens up my sixth to the vast embrace of the cosmos where I literally become one with that which is pleasure.
Please sir, may I have some more?
Its Not My End
SC: “You really need to get a better connection. You keep cutting out. Are you on a cell?”
Yes, I am on a cell. You have figured me out. We don’t even have a call centre. I was actually napping in a shipping crate I found next to the parking lot across the street when I was awoken by the soothing tones of “Baby Got Back” and answered your call. I do not actually have a computer, order form or anything to that effect. I have scribbled your information and Visa number down on the back of a McDonalds napkin with a tube of Lavender Dream lipstick I found on the sidewalk.
Every morning around 7am I take all the orders I have down to <client> and they give me a sandwich. If I sell more than $100 in an evening than I get a doughnut. Every time there’s a sale deadline, I get a doughnut and a bottle of hooch.
This Guy....
Did you know a service call afterhours on the weekend costs about $700? Yet I still have this idiot calling in and placing service calls because he can't figure out how to get into his email? Yes, $700 to help some primate figure out how to open his email. This happens almost every week to the same office at the same time to the same guy. To the point where I don’t even have to tell the on call tech what the problem is anymore. I just tell him whose calling and he goes “Can't open his email?".
I would estimate, based on call frequency, that this office spends just over $17,000 a year having a technician go down there and remind this one guy how to operate Outlook.
<3
Me: “Good morning, <company> tech support.”
SC: “Yes, I’d like to book one room”
Aw yeah, that’s the stuff.
Intellectual Dead Zone
This call was 10 minutes long. 10 minutes. The vast majority of which was long stretches of confused silence I like to call intellectual dead zones or IDZs.
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “….Ya.”
Me: “Ok, which catalog do you have there?”
SC: “<company name>.”
Me: “Alright, but which one is it?"
SC: “Um, Spring."
Me: “Ok, and the product ID please?”
SC: “…..wha?”
Me: “What’s the product ID number of what you would like to order?”
SC: “6..uh…”
Me: “…….”
SC: “….what’s that?”
Me: “The ID number of the product?”
SC: “1234?”
Me: "1234?"
SC: “….2”
Me: “12342?"
SC: "123422"
Me: "I’m afraid I don’t have that in stock.”
SC: “Uh………”
Me: “……..”
SC: “……..<sound of page flipping>. Da….um…..”
Me: “……?”
SC: “…..how did you want?”
Me: “What was that sorry?”
SC: “What did you want?”
Me: “I need the ID number of the product”
SC: “………”
Me: “………”
SC: “I don’t know what that.”
Me: “The number next to the picture in the catalog?”
SC: “………..”
Me: “………..”
SC: “Next to da……what?”
Me: “The number next to it in the catalog?”
SC: “….ya, catalog.”
Me: “…..ok, but-“
SC: “<company name again>”
Me: “....Ok, but what’s the number of the item?”
SC: “Oh, uh....1.”
Me: “It should be at least 6 numbers."
SC: “Oh….um……123422”
Me: “As I said before, I’m afraid I don’t have that in stock..”
I believe I said I did not have that item. Thus you cannot have it. Because I don’t have it. If I had it, I would give it to you in order to make you go away and buy myself a reprieve from your presence. But alas, I do not have it. So I must endure your company and continue trotting in a circle with you at this half-wit pony show.
SC: “ummm, 11111?”
Me: “11111?”
SC: “Ya”
Me: “Ok, anything else?”
SC: "22222"
Me: “Alright, anything else?”
SC: “Um…..”
Me: “………”
SC: “……..<page flipping>”
Me: “…….”
SC: “<37 second IDZ>”
Me: “……”
SC: “What…..dis”
Me: “……..?”
SC: “<23 second IDZ> ummm…….123422.”
Yes, that’s the same item I don’t have again. At this point I believe I shook my fist at the ceiling and spoke words. I don’t clearly remember what they were. But I believe it was something to the effect of “buffalo cock terrier.”.
Me: “Like I said, I do not have that in stock.”
SC: “Da O’neil.”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “xxxx”
Me: “Ok, what page is it on?”
SC: “Ummmm……14. Only….women’s disk. Shirt. It shirt. 123422”
Women’s…..disk? And again, I don’t have that item in stock. NO. HAS. YOU NO CAN HAVE. I cannot give you what we do not have nor can I produce the item from my bowels as you seem to want me to do.
Me: “I don’t have that in stock.”
SC: “It says me.”
…what does, the catalog? Is the catalog speaking to you? Ok, look, seriously. When your reading something and you hear it in your head that doesn’t mean it’s actually talking to you. That’s just your own mental voice reading the words.
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “On da….thing, it says Neil.”
Me: “Yes, I don’t have that.”
SC: “Uh…..so I got 2 items?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “And dar hoodie?”
Me: “Yes, was there anything else?”
SC: “Um…….<page flipping>”
Me: “……..”
SC: “<Quite literally over 3 MINUTES of IDZ according to the call recording>”
At this point I began to fear she was retreating into the dark, cavernous confines of her own mind. A descent into a vast, dank labyrinth system of tunnels and caves with no exit sparsely populated by malevolent man goblins of thought which her consciousness would spent the next couple of hours desperately trying to escape the clutches of. Least she be caught, savaged and devoured by basic comprehension.
Me: “…..was there anything else?”
SC: Um……..”
Me: “………”
SC" <Another 30 second IDZ>……um, no dats it.”
Hallelujah. That only took 7 minutes just to communicate two items.
Me: “Ok, that will come to xxx and should arrive in about 2 weeks-“
SC: "xxx?”
Me: "xxx"
SC: “and I gots 2 item?”
Me: “Yes.”
Yes, dammit, you "gots" two items. Did you forget already? Well let me refresh your memory: You shall receive two items, both of which shall be “Dar hoodie”’s. I have no idea what exactly a Dar Hoodie is. But, I assume it goes well with Das Boot.
I Have Not The Words
Me: “Good evening, <corporate main line>. How may I help you?”
SC: “Hi, I parked downtown at xxxx. I paid my ticket. I came back and my car was towed. It’s gone.”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “It was at xxxx”
Me: “No, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “Do I have the wrong number?”
Me: "Yes, you have the wrong number.”
SC: “You mean my phone?”
Me: “No, this is <company>, we have nothing to do with parking or towing. You’ve called the wrong number.”
SC: “Oh. Well, do you know where my car would be than?”
Are you quite done nibbling hungrily at the very scrotum of human failure yet or do you want me to give you another moment or two to finish up?
...?
Me: “Ok, what’s your phone number please?”
SC: “OH SHI-<click>“
And bam, velociraptors. See? That’s what happens when you let your guard down.
Damn you!
Yet again this morning, the bus breezed right on past my stop. Despite my pulling of the dangly bing stop cord. However, this morning it was not due to texting, but rather that the bus driver was just blind, deaf and perhaps stoned. I’m not sure. The expression on his face when I went to the front to inform him could have indicated anything from blunt force cranial trauma ( Perhaps recently. Perhaps as a child. ) to an uncontrolled Nyquil addiction to simply that he was quietly enjoying the sound of wind passing through his ears.
Today, I’m just going to walk me thinks.
Again? Really?
Me: “Ok, and what’s the problem?”
SC: “I can't get into my email.”
That’s another $700 you’ve cost your boss this weekend, Steve. He must love you. I mean really, dude. With the minimum wage there you make about what, $75 a day before taxes? Yet you’re costing him $700 a day? Does it not bother you that he could hire someone and pay them per hour what you make per shift to replace you and actually end up costing him less?
I would bow my head in shame. Bad Steve, bad.
annnd rest.....for now.
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