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Synthetic Tit Cushions
Gather round kids, I've got a few more tales to tell... ><
I Suppose That Was "Humour"?
Me: “Alright, your tickets should arrive in a week or so."
SC: “Great, thanks, and I just wanted to congratulate you!”
Me: “….al…right? For what?”
SC: “For being up this late and selling me the winning ticket!”
Seeing as I do not fully understand why you would possibly say this, I have had to resort to listening to the call several times in an effort to construct a handful of working theories. Upon much scientific debate mainly between me, myself and the stapler, I have settled on 3 possibilities:
Number One:
You think you’re funny and living an empty life devoid of friends, family or any sort of loved ones has deprived you of an external opinion to bluntly tell you otherwise. Or perhaps stage some sort of intervention in an effort to attempt to stop you from ever rendering a “joke” in the presence of human beings.
Number Two:
The bar of accomplishment is so low in your life that me managing to get through placing your order without attempting to chew my desk is truly worthy of praise by your standards.
Number Three:
You’re psychic. In which case, um, congratulations on your winnings?
Just a Suggestion
If I might make a novel suggestion: Perhaps you should skim through the whole catalog in a single go and compile a list of items that you would like to order. To ensure that you are consciously aware of every item you desire to grasp and rub against your genitals under a waning moon, thus you can request it. This whole plan of yours where you call, order 2-3 items, hang up, go through the catalog some more than call back 10-15 minutes later to place another order for another couple of items does not strike me as wise. Considering you are ordering by COD every time and thus incurring fantastic shipping costs amounting to over $100 so far.
Conversation Starter
( Yes I realize its probably a funny bachelor party gift. I also realize your new bride would throw it out inside of a week. ;p )
Right. Ok. <Electronics store>. I walk by this store every night when I come in to work. Like any store, they have a variety of shiny products in their window with which to entice you into their lair. A collection of headsets, laptops, cameras, and other gizmowhickadoos. Nothing particularly unusual. However, they seem to have added a new product. That I caught sight of as I was walking by, admiring the eeePCs.
Mouse pads. Porn star mouse pads. Porn star mouse pads where their breasts are the wrist cushion. My God. Even now I still can’t quite grasp that. At what point do you lose that much dignity to walk into a store and purchase such an item. How do you even bring it up to the counter, thus admitting you want to purchase it? Heck, how does the person behind the register not look at you in a mixture of amusement and pity. Never mind actually keeping it in your house. There is no possible way you could explain it to friends or family.
It's probably easier to explain way getting caught masturbating than getting caught with your wrist gently nestled in Jenna Jamison's synthetic tit cushions.
Of course, I suppose it could work as a great conversation starter. Technically. The mouse pad that is. Not masturbating. Though I guess you could try that if you're really desperate.
Actually....
SC: : “Hey where can I buy tickets?”
Me: “You can order them over the phone with me or by going to store A, B or C”
SC: “Ok than, I’ll run out and get em in person in the morning. Its more lucky that way.”
You know I almost poked fun at him until I thought about for a minute and to be honest, I can’t entirely say he’s wrong. Whenever a caller is rude or acts like a stuck up jerk on this line, I will admit that the first thing I do is concentrate whatever mental powers I might have on trying to bend the fates and curse their fortune in the hopes that they will lose horribly or at the very least win nothing more than a $20 Best Buy gift certificate.
Granted, I have no statistics one way or another to prove I can effectively bend anyone’s destiny. But just to be on the safe side yeah, you might want to just go buy them at Store A. I can’t guarantee the cashier there isn’t having a bad day and won’t be mentally stabbing you in the face with a pencil throughout the entire transaction, but at the very least they won’t specifically be hoping you lose. Only that you get set upon by wild dogs on your way home.
…..On second thought, maybe you should let me place the order.
Yay
C: “Great, thanks. Bye!”
Me: “Bye bye.”
C: “<to the background> well, that was easy! <click>”
Thank you. I shall take that as a compliment. As they are extremely rare, hard to come by and bind on equip. It’s not very often we get them, you know. Typically you guys just throw the verbal equivalent of rocks and hubcaps at us all the time. So when one you suddenly tosses in a free t-shirt or a coupon for a Happy Meal it comes as a most pleasant surprise.
Right-o
Me: “Good morning, <company>. How may I help you?”
SC: “Dis da after hour?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “I DUN'T NEED YEW"
Seeing as I am neither a pig nor an unusually affectionate first cousin, I imagine no, no you don’t.
Of Course!
SC: “Can you tell the computer to spit out the lucky ticket for us?”
Sure! Why it just so happens that this year everyone at the <client> was completely incapable of handling the pressure of reaching into a box and pulling out a piece of paper. So they decided to pass along all the responsibility of prize drawing straight to us. Upper management had a meeting on it, and I guess at some point someone just went “Hey, you know what would be funny….”. So now my call script actually has a “Award Grand Prize” button right at the bottom. Just next to “Token Gift Certificate Prize” and “Everybody Gets A Car”.
Lucky you asked me. I don’t push any of them unless someone specifically asks you know.
I Don't Think You Thought This Through
I can’t believe I have to point this out again this year but hey: Maybe, just maybe standing around on the Skytrain with your cellphone is NOT the best place to be reading your credit card number out loud. I know, I know, call me crazy. But it just seems to me that, especially at the volume you’re barking the numbers out like a rabid dog, everyone on the train probably knows your name, billing information and Visa number now.
I hope for your sake you have a relatively low credit limit on it.
Muah
C: “Thank you, you are very kind.”
Excellent. I appear to be blending in. They suspect nothing.
A Few More Pointers
Alright, guys. Look. I swear. Lets try this again. Just listen to me for a moment. You guys could quite literally avoid about 75% of the problems you have when calling me if you would just employ even a shred of planning. The other 25% seems largely due to genetics or chemical abuse so I can’t really help you there. However, the other 75% I can take a crack at.
Number 1: Paper is your friend.
For the love of chocolate Timbits, which are really the best ones but are always picked clean by the time I get to work, as you’re going through our fanciful tome known as the catalog write everything you want down. Or scribble it down. Or scrawl it badly on the wall in finger paints. Whatever works for you. But the important part is you’re trying to, in some way, record it so that when the other 25% of your problem kicks in and your mind blanks you’ll still have a point of reference.
Because currently I estimate at least 1-3 minutes of every call I take is spent sitting here quietly while I listen to you wildly flipping through the catalog trying to find the next item you vaguely remembered wanting to order.
Number 2: Measure yourself, your loved ones, friends, pets or whomever you are ordering for.
Now, this may come as a shock, but cloths actually come in different sizes and shapes to fit different sizes and shapes of people, dogs and monkeys that think they’re people. In order to ensure your shiny new garments fit properly, its highly advised that you find a measuring tape or bluntly honest friend to tell you what size you are. This will save you a lot of headaches down the road.
It will also prevent you from having to call back and change the sizes on every single item you ordered yesterday like you’re trying to do right now. Which I can't do btw because that order was sent out *gasp* yesterday when you ordered it.
Number 3: Figure out who you are and where you live.
This seems like a pretty simple task for the layman, but the layman has never encountered the likes of which calls me on this line in the deep of the night. You would think the answers to who are you and where are you would be pretty straight forward. But remember, we’re still dealing with that 25% problem. So sometimes these remarkably simple facts of life get muddied when a heavy chemical abuse or a missing chromosome is involved. I can’t count the number of times I’ve asked these simple questions and got a response that was some variation of “Uhhhh…..” and then 10-30 seconds of dead silence. If I’m lucky.
But that once again brings us back to step 1. Paper! If you truly have a problem grasping and holding on too these simple little tidbits of your life than write them down. Again, so you have a point of reference. The larger and more obvious the easier it will be to remind you. Consider penning it i spot that’s in plain sight or frequently visited such as a wall, the ceiling above your bed or the back of the liquor cabinet.
Geez
Me: “Alright, would you like to order anything else?”
SC: “YES!!!”
Gah! That was….odd. Like I just tried to take a bone way from a dog.
Mhmm
SC: “I called over an hour ago and no one has called me back! I demand to speak to someone RIGHT NOW!”
Me: “Yes, you called just under 15 minutes ago and a tech just picked your case up a few minutes ago. He should be calling you shortly.”
Strange how callers tend to perceive time, isn’t it? 13 minutes somehow magically extrapolated itself to over an hour on his end. He appears to be living at over 4x real time! No wonder he’s so upset. I’d be high strung too if I was hurdling towards the grave at that rate of speed. Poor guy probably only has a few years left to live. Must suck going from puberty to your first hip replacement in the span of a decade.
The Grand Finale
Wow…I’m not even sure where to start with this. Normally, when stricken in awe by the gaping maw of stupidity, I would simply transcribe the call, blow by blow. Recording every brutal impact as it landed against the soft tissue of my intellect. But to do so with this….epic….would likely take me most of my shift. I endured, quite literally, near 15 minutes of staring into this abyss. And indeed it did stare back into me.
It started simply enough, a call on the <line for real estats>. A little odd for this time of night, but whatever. It was a young lady whom I can only refer to as Princess. Because she is, indeed, the Princess. The Princess of a universe that revolves solely and inexplicable around her and her alone in which the rest of us are but unenlightened specs trapped in the massive gravitation pull of her majesty. A universe that apparently no one thus far in her life has pointed out to her doesn’t really exist. However, she seems utterly convinced that it does and I’m sure if I were to Google her name I would find countless pages devoted to conspiracy theories for why NASA is hiding the existence of the Ego 72 system all stemming from a single MySpace page with Barbie Girl embedded as background music.
But, I’m getting off track here. I must explain my encounter with this….galactic mass. You see, Princess is calling because she has a complaint. Something very upsetting has occurred that has affected her personally and she doesn’t feel that it is fair or right. What is this incident you ask? Well she didn’t actually explain in our first encounter. Since she’s calling the <real estate line> I was forced to explain precisely what the line is actually for ( ...real estate ). This further tipped the balance of her delicate feelings and I’m sure every interstellar body caught within the cruel stars of her universe was suddenly bombarded with meteor showers of self pity and Twitter updates.
So I quietly endured near 3 minutes of diatribe about how she just couldn’t believe I couldn’t help her with her unnamed complaint and how she just didn’t understand what this line was for and why would they dare post this number on the interwebs if it couldn’t help her in any way. Yes, damn them. They did this specifically to spite her and she just can’t understand why everyone is so mean and doesn’t understand why she is the most important human being currently breathing on this very earth. By Gods the human race should be on its knees as a whole, naked, oiled and fighting tooth and nail over who gets to be the one to furiously gargle the very dirt she walks upon.
After much effort I managed to disengage the writhing ball of entitlement she had thrown at me by deferring her to the company's actual property emergency line. Which…..sadly it appears we also answer for afterhours. So when that appeared on my screen I knew my life was pretty much forfeit at this point and I should brace myself to waste away the next several minutes of my existence. Unfortunately, my predictions turned out quite accurate.
Round #2 had an initial warm up session of where several minutes were spent complaining to me about me on the <real estate line>. Yes, she spent about 2-3 minutes complaining about the <real estate line>, on which she had just spoken to me, and how inept I was and how she didn’t understand why the I couldn’t help her, and why we would dare post the number to the <real estate line> if it couldn’t help her. Etc, etc. Normally this would be annoying, but seeing as she was complaining about me to myself, it was somewhat amusing. I of course feigned total innocence of my other self.
But then came the main event. The real reason we had come to this crossroads. This incident she wanted to complain about that had hurt her feelings and just wasn’t fair. I braced myself for the worst……annnd instead got a near 10 minute temper tantrum worthy of a 4 year old girl in a Toys R Us. Only embodied in an allegedly adult woman.
Here’s what happened: The resident manager of her building was pulling into the parkade around a corner…..and almost hit her. He saw her at the last second and slammed the breaks on, thus avoiding any impact. But that’s unimportant. The important part is he almost hit our precious little cuntflake here. Despite the fact there’s no way he could see through a cement wall to anticipate her presence in the middle of the road in the parkade at 2 in the morning. But again, unimportant. The only important part is that Princess was almost hit.
So the first thing she did was swore him out. Yes, that’s right. Our delicate little flower cursed the manager out before realizing who he was. The manager, being a little unhappy at being sworn out by some girl standing in the middle of the parkade in the middle of the night that he had to slam the breaks on to avoid killing, asked her if she lived in the building and what she was doing in the middle of the parkade. This offended Princess ( Yes, she specifically said offended ) because he did not apologize first. That’s the entire crux of the issue. The manager didn’t immediately apologize to her after she stormed over and tore his face off. So now her feelings are hurt. Hurt feelings are an issue so important at 2am on a Sunday that they must be called into the emergency line.
But wait! There’s more! We haven’t escaped the Princess star cluster just yet. That was only one offense. Naturally now she has to spent the next 8 minutes detailing every single little thing the manager has done before and since that has somehow affected her, hurt her feelings or made her think that things are unfair despite the fact not a single incident on her laundry list of Stuff That Affects Me And Why It’s Important really had anything to specifically do with her.
Chief amongst which was she left her clothes in the dryer in the laundry room too late. As the laundry room gets locked up at night and any clothes left inside are taken out, bagged and placed in the manager’s office. This is of course totally not fair because even though she’s breaking the rules it’s, and I am quoting her, not fair to her that she has to deal with a person that she has personal issues with to get her clothes back. Yes, that’s right. Her majesty’s importance is so great that she should not even have to deal with a person that she does not like even if that person is only doing his job and it’s her fault to begin with. Doesn’t matter. She doesn’t like him so the rest of the world should alter itself to compensate for her precious feelings.
Also the building rules should totally be posted everywhere in the building because it’s not her fault that she left her clothes in there because there’s no sign that says don’t leave your clothes in there and it’s not her responsibility to actually have to learn all the rules for the building she lives in. Its totally our fault for not plastering the rules throughout the entire building.
Of course, every aspect of this was about her and how it affected her and just in case I forgot I would be reminded as she repeated the exact same reasons why it affected her and her feelings about it. This was all repeated over and over, in varying forms, for over 10 minutes. Literally, my call logger is clocking this lone call at 10 minutes and 33 seconds long. That’s how long I had to endure this self obsessed prima donna’s narrated Live Journal post.
Just for the icing on the cake, you can’t take non-urgent calls on this line either. So it’s not like this entire call amounted to anything anyhow.
Argh....rest now. >.>
I Suppose That Was "Humour"?
Me: “Alright, your tickets should arrive in a week or so."
SC: “Great, thanks, and I just wanted to congratulate you!”
Me: “….al…right? For what?”
SC: “For being up this late and selling me the winning ticket!”
Seeing as I do not fully understand why you would possibly say this, I have had to resort to listening to the call several times in an effort to construct a handful of working theories. Upon much scientific debate mainly between me, myself and the stapler, I have settled on 3 possibilities:
Number One:
You think you’re funny and living an empty life devoid of friends, family or any sort of loved ones has deprived you of an external opinion to bluntly tell you otherwise. Or perhaps stage some sort of intervention in an effort to attempt to stop you from ever rendering a “joke” in the presence of human beings.
Number Two:
The bar of accomplishment is so low in your life that me managing to get through placing your order without attempting to chew my desk is truly worthy of praise by your standards.
Number Three:
You’re psychic. In which case, um, congratulations on your winnings?
Just a Suggestion
If I might make a novel suggestion: Perhaps you should skim through the whole catalog in a single go and compile a list of items that you would like to order. To ensure that you are consciously aware of every item you desire to grasp and rub against your genitals under a waning moon, thus you can request it. This whole plan of yours where you call, order 2-3 items, hang up, go through the catalog some more than call back 10-15 minutes later to place another order for another couple of items does not strike me as wise. Considering you are ordering by COD every time and thus incurring fantastic shipping costs amounting to over $100 so far.
Conversation Starter
( Yes I realize its probably a funny bachelor party gift. I also realize your new bride would throw it out inside of a week. ;p )
Right. Ok. <Electronics store>. I walk by this store every night when I come in to work. Like any store, they have a variety of shiny products in their window with which to entice you into their lair. A collection of headsets, laptops, cameras, and other gizmowhickadoos. Nothing particularly unusual. However, they seem to have added a new product. That I caught sight of as I was walking by, admiring the eeePCs.
Mouse pads. Porn star mouse pads. Porn star mouse pads where their breasts are the wrist cushion. My God. Even now I still can’t quite grasp that. At what point do you lose that much dignity to walk into a store and purchase such an item. How do you even bring it up to the counter, thus admitting you want to purchase it? Heck, how does the person behind the register not look at you in a mixture of amusement and pity. Never mind actually keeping it in your house. There is no possible way you could explain it to friends or family.
It's probably easier to explain way getting caught masturbating than getting caught with your wrist gently nestled in Jenna Jamison's synthetic tit cushions.
Of course, I suppose it could work as a great conversation starter. Technically. The mouse pad that is. Not masturbating. Though I guess you could try that if you're really desperate.
Actually....
SC: : “Hey where can I buy tickets?”
Me: “You can order them over the phone with me or by going to store A, B or C”
SC: “Ok than, I’ll run out and get em in person in the morning. Its more lucky that way.”
You know I almost poked fun at him until I thought about for a minute and to be honest, I can’t entirely say he’s wrong. Whenever a caller is rude or acts like a stuck up jerk on this line, I will admit that the first thing I do is concentrate whatever mental powers I might have on trying to bend the fates and curse their fortune in the hopes that they will lose horribly or at the very least win nothing more than a $20 Best Buy gift certificate.
Granted, I have no statistics one way or another to prove I can effectively bend anyone’s destiny. But just to be on the safe side yeah, you might want to just go buy them at Store A. I can’t guarantee the cashier there isn’t having a bad day and won’t be mentally stabbing you in the face with a pencil throughout the entire transaction, but at the very least they won’t specifically be hoping you lose. Only that you get set upon by wild dogs on your way home.
…..On second thought, maybe you should let me place the order.
Yay
C: “Great, thanks. Bye!”
Me: “Bye bye.”
C: “<to the background> well, that was easy! <click>”
Thank you. I shall take that as a compliment. As they are extremely rare, hard to come by and bind on equip. It’s not very often we get them, you know. Typically you guys just throw the verbal equivalent of rocks and hubcaps at us all the time. So when one you suddenly tosses in a free t-shirt or a coupon for a Happy Meal it comes as a most pleasant surprise.
Right-o
Me: “Good morning, <company>. How may I help you?”
SC: “Dis da after hour?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “I DUN'T NEED YEW"
Seeing as I am neither a pig nor an unusually affectionate first cousin, I imagine no, no you don’t.
Of Course!
SC: “Can you tell the computer to spit out the lucky ticket for us?”
Sure! Why it just so happens that this year everyone at the <client> was completely incapable of handling the pressure of reaching into a box and pulling out a piece of paper. So they decided to pass along all the responsibility of prize drawing straight to us. Upper management had a meeting on it, and I guess at some point someone just went “Hey, you know what would be funny….”. So now my call script actually has a “Award Grand Prize” button right at the bottom. Just next to “Token Gift Certificate Prize” and “Everybody Gets A Car”.
Lucky you asked me. I don’t push any of them unless someone specifically asks you know.
I Don't Think You Thought This Through
I can’t believe I have to point this out again this year but hey: Maybe, just maybe standing around on the Skytrain with your cellphone is NOT the best place to be reading your credit card number out loud. I know, I know, call me crazy. But it just seems to me that, especially at the volume you’re barking the numbers out like a rabid dog, everyone on the train probably knows your name, billing information and Visa number now.
I hope for your sake you have a relatively low credit limit on it.
Muah
C: “Thank you, you are very kind.”
Excellent. I appear to be blending in. They suspect nothing.
A Few More Pointers
Alright, guys. Look. I swear. Lets try this again. Just listen to me for a moment. You guys could quite literally avoid about 75% of the problems you have when calling me if you would just employ even a shred of planning. The other 25% seems largely due to genetics or chemical abuse so I can’t really help you there. However, the other 75% I can take a crack at.
Number 1: Paper is your friend.
For the love of chocolate Timbits, which are really the best ones but are always picked clean by the time I get to work, as you’re going through our fanciful tome known as the catalog write everything you want down. Or scribble it down. Or scrawl it badly on the wall in finger paints. Whatever works for you. But the important part is you’re trying to, in some way, record it so that when the other 25% of your problem kicks in and your mind blanks you’ll still have a point of reference.
Because currently I estimate at least 1-3 minutes of every call I take is spent sitting here quietly while I listen to you wildly flipping through the catalog trying to find the next item you vaguely remembered wanting to order.
Number 2: Measure yourself, your loved ones, friends, pets or whomever you are ordering for.
Now, this may come as a shock, but cloths actually come in different sizes and shapes to fit different sizes and shapes of people, dogs and monkeys that think they’re people. In order to ensure your shiny new garments fit properly, its highly advised that you find a measuring tape or bluntly honest friend to tell you what size you are. This will save you a lot of headaches down the road.
It will also prevent you from having to call back and change the sizes on every single item you ordered yesterday like you’re trying to do right now. Which I can't do btw because that order was sent out *gasp* yesterday when you ordered it.
Number 3: Figure out who you are and where you live.
This seems like a pretty simple task for the layman, but the layman has never encountered the likes of which calls me on this line in the deep of the night. You would think the answers to who are you and where are you would be pretty straight forward. But remember, we’re still dealing with that 25% problem. So sometimes these remarkably simple facts of life get muddied when a heavy chemical abuse or a missing chromosome is involved. I can’t count the number of times I’ve asked these simple questions and got a response that was some variation of “Uhhhh…..” and then 10-30 seconds of dead silence. If I’m lucky.
But that once again brings us back to step 1. Paper! If you truly have a problem grasping and holding on too these simple little tidbits of your life than write them down. Again, so you have a point of reference. The larger and more obvious the easier it will be to remind you. Consider penning it i spot that’s in plain sight or frequently visited such as a wall, the ceiling above your bed or the back of the liquor cabinet.
Geez
Me: “Alright, would you like to order anything else?”
SC: “YES!!!”
Gah! That was….odd. Like I just tried to take a bone way from a dog.
Mhmm
SC: “I called over an hour ago and no one has called me back! I demand to speak to someone RIGHT NOW!”
Me: “Yes, you called just under 15 minutes ago and a tech just picked your case up a few minutes ago. He should be calling you shortly.”
Strange how callers tend to perceive time, isn’t it? 13 minutes somehow magically extrapolated itself to over an hour on his end. He appears to be living at over 4x real time! No wonder he’s so upset. I’d be high strung too if I was hurdling towards the grave at that rate of speed. Poor guy probably only has a few years left to live. Must suck going from puberty to your first hip replacement in the span of a decade.
The Grand Finale
Wow…I’m not even sure where to start with this. Normally, when stricken in awe by the gaping maw of stupidity, I would simply transcribe the call, blow by blow. Recording every brutal impact as it landed against the soft tissue of my intellect. But to do so with this….epic….would likely take me most of my shift. I endured, quite literally, near 15 minutes of staring into this abyss. And indeed it did stare back into me.
It started simply enough, a call on the <line for real estats>. A little odd for this time of night, but whatever. It was a young lady whom I can only refer to as Princess. Because she is, indeed, the Princess. The Princess of a universe that revolves solely and inexplicable around her and her alone in which the rest of us are but unenlightened specs trapped in the massive gravitation pull of her majesty. A universe that apparently no one thus far in her life has pointed out to her doesn’t really exist. However, she seems utterly convinced that it does and I’m sure if I were to Google her name I would find countless pages devoted to conspiracy theories for why NASA is hiding the existence of the Ego 72 system all stemming from a single MySpace page with Barbie Girl embedded as background music.
But, I’m getting off track here. I must explain my encounter with this….galactic mass. You see, Princess is calling because she has a complaint. Something very upsetting has occurred that has affected her personally and she doesn’t feel that it is fair or right. What is this incident you ask? Well she didn’t actually explain in our first encounter. Since she’s calling the <real estate line> I was forced to explain precisely what the line is actually for ( ...real estate ). This further tipped the balance of her delicate feelings and I’m sure every interstellar body caught within the cruel stars of her universe was suddenly bombarded with meteor showers of self pity and Twitter updates.
So I quietly endured near 3 minutes of diatribe about how she just couldn’t believe I couldn’t help her with her unnamed complaint and how she just didn’t understand what this line was for and why would they dare post this number on the interwebs if it couldn’t help her in any way. Yes, damn them. They did this specifically to spite her and she just can’t understand why everyone is so mean and doesn’t understand why she is the most important human being currently breathing on this very earth. By Gods the human race should be on its knees as a whole, naked, oiled and fighting tooth and nail over who gets to be the one to furiously gargle the very dirt she walks upon.
After much effort I managed to disengage the writhing ball of entitlement she had thrown at me by deferring her to the company's actual property emergency line. Which…..sadly it appears we also answer for afterhours. So when that appeared on my screen I knew my life was pretty much forfeit at this point and I should brace myself to waste away the next several minutes of my existence. Unfortunately, my predictions turned out quite accurate.
Round #2 had an initial warm up session of where several minutes were spent complaining to me about me on the <real estate line>. Yes, she spent about 2-3 minutes complaining about the <real estate line>, on which she had just spoken to me, and how inept I was and how she didn’t understand why the I couldn’t help her, and why we would dare post the number to the <real estate line> if it couldn’t help her. Etc, etc. Normally this would be annoying, but seeing as she was complaining about me to myself, it was somewhat amusing. I of course feigned total innocence of my other self.
But then came the main event. The real reason we had come to this crossroads. This incident she wanted to complain about that had hurt her feelings and just wasn’t fair. I braced myself for the worst……annnd instead got a near 10 minute temper tantrum worthy of a 4 year old girl in a Toys R Us. Only embodied in an allegedly adult woman.
Here’s what happened: The resident manager of her building was pulling into the parkade around a corner…..and almost hit her. He saw her at the last second and slammed the breaks on, thus avoiding any impact. But that’s unimportant. The important part is he almost hit our precious little cuntflake here. Despite the fact there’s no way he could see through a cement wall to anticipate her presence in the middle of the road in the parkade at 2 in the morning. But again, unimportant. The only important part is that Princess was almost hit.
So the first thing she did was swore him out. Yes, that’s right. Our delicate little flower cursed the manager out before realizing who he was. The manager, being a little unhappy at being sworn out by some girl standing in the middle of the parkade in the middle of the night that he had to slam the breaks on to avoid killing, asked her if she lived in the building and what she was doing in the middle of the parkade. This offended Princess ( Yes, she specifically said offended ) because he did not apologize first. That’s the entire crux of the issue. The manager didn’t immediately apologize to her after she stormed over and tore his face off. So now her feelings are hurt. Hurt feelings are an issue so important at 2am on a Sunday that they must be called into the emergency line.
But wait! There’s more! We haven’t escaped the Princess star cluster just yet. That was only one offense. Naturally now she has to spent the next 8 minutes detailing every single little thing the manager has done before and since that has somehow affected her, hurt her feelings or made her think that things are unfair despite the fact not a single incident on her laundry list of Stuff That Affects Me And Why It’s Important really had anything to specifically do with her.
Chief amongst which was she left her clothes in the dryer in the laundry room too late. As the laundry room gets locked up at night and any clothes left inside are taken out, bagged and placed in the manager’s office. This is of course totally not fair because even though she’s breaking the rules it’s, and I am quoting her, not fair to her that she has to deal with a person that she has personal issues with to get her clothes back. Yes, that’s right. Her majesty’s importance is so great that she should not even have to deal with a person that she does not like even if that person is only doing his job and it’s her fault to begin with. Doesn’t matter. She doesn’t like him so the rest of the world should alter itself to compensate for her precious feelings.
Also the building rules should totally be posted everywhere in the building because it’s not her fault that she left her clothes in there because there’s no sign that says don’t leave your clothes in there and it’s not her responsibility to actually have to learn all the rules for the building she lives in. Its totally our fault for not plastering the rules throughout the entire building.
Of course, every aspect of this was about her and how it affected her and just in case I forgot I would be reminded as she repeated the exact same reasons why it affected her and her feelings about it. This was all repeated over and over, in varying forms, for over 10 minutes. Literally, my call logger is clocking this lone call at 10 minutes and 33 seconds long. That’s how long I had to endure this self obsessed prima donna’s narrated Live Journal post.
Just for the icing on the cake, you can’t take non-urgent calls on this line either. So it’s not like this entire call amounted to anything anyhow.
Argh....rest now. >.>
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