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Blaze Of Glory ( Epic )
I am officially on vacation as of a few hours ago. So this shall be my glorious finale which precedes the next two weeks of me doing absolutely nothing.
Still, they did not let me go without a fight.
The Term Continues to Elude
SC: “It says here on the catalog that you get free shipping, but only with online orders. Right?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “I don’t have a computer, can I still get free shipping?”
Me: “I’m afraid it’s only for online orders.”
SC: “Well than I just won’t order at all!”
Despite how brief this exchange was the purpose of it is eluding me even now. You specifically read “online only” than asked if you could receive said free shipping offline. This does not compute. It says online only. Only. As in the singular method by which it may be obtained. “Only” rules out all other possibilities. That is its purpose and function in the English language. It is the slayer of alternate choices. How does this elude you?
Granted, I do detect the faintest whiff of the sour aroma of entitlement in your approach. Were you trying to reason that because you cannot go online, you still deserve any online only perks. This does not make sense. Just because you do not possess a computer does not entitle you to all the perks and services a computer would provide you. If you do not possess a car, no one is obligated to drive you to the store simply because it’s possible to drive to said store. You will have to buy your own damn car. Than you may drive to the store yourself.
Twit.
SC: “I’m calling about your job ad”
And your need to respond to this ad was so overwhelming dire that you called at 3:30am? Does the message indicate it will self destruct momentarily after being read? Can you not just pin it to the fridge and call at a more sane time of day? You know, you’re rather lucky that it is I here to screen your call and not the company itself. I’m not sure phoning about a job ad at 3 in the morning is a good first impression to make on a potential employer unless that employer owns a bordello.
A Slight Delay
A momentary delay at Broadway Station this evening as the police dragged some primate off of the train. Apparently the correct answer to “Can I see your fare please?” is not “*(&@ YOU PIGS”.
Sorry, Kid
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “I calling order cap.”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “Hat”
Alright. Hmm. Ok, how to put this…..alright, look. I know the desire for head gear up there is incredibly deep seeded and permeates every level of your culture. It may even be genetic if this call is any indication. However, you sound to be about 5 years old. I can appreciate your wanting of a skull cap, but I am afraid I cannot comply.
SC: “Hat!”
Me: “What was that sorry?”
SC: “Hat! Hat! Order da hat!”
Me: “Alright…how old are you?”
SC: “My mom’s gonna pay!”
Me: “Alright….is she there? May I speak with her?"
SC: “She’s not here. But she said I could.”
Ah, yes, how convenient. I’m sorry to say but you’ll find the explanation “Mom said I could” is rather ineffectual beyond your immediate siblings.
Duck King
I saw a spectacular individual on the Skytrain this evening. He must have snuck onto the train at Broadway, as he wasn’t there when I got on. There is absolutely no way I would have missed him. It wasn’t until we were coming into Granville and Skytrain Control suddenly realized “Oh crap we’re doing tunnel maintenance and this train is hurling into it at top speed”. Upon which they slammed the breaks on so hard the train ground along the track on locked wheels for a few metres. I guess despite doing this nightly for weeks they still haven’t quite got the hang of it.
Once the train had lurched to a stop and people were nursing injury, I heard a burst of cackling behind me which prompted me to turn and look. And oh my God the spectacle I be held. In all my years living here I have never seen someone that looked quite this ridiculous yet was still under the impression they were incredibly cool. Hell, I’ve never seen someone that looked like this period. I’m not even sure where to begin.
He was……basically the fashion equivalent of epilepsy. An eye searing aberration of neon colours that dragged the gaze kicking and screaming to his person. I will attempt to describe it in detail, though some features were somewhat blurred by the chromatic intensity bombarding my optic nerves. First of all he, yes he, was wearing tights and a miniskirt. Cept the tights were two different colours. One leg was neon green, the other was neon pink. The neon pink leg had a neon green shoe, and the neon green leg had a neon pink shoe. You know, you have to make sure to coordinate your outfits.
He had furnished these Crayola chicken legs with a baby blue miniskirt and what appeared to be the upper half of his mom’s bath robe. Over top of that he was wearing a black vest and, just for accents, neon pink and green gloves. But it did not end there. Oh no. He had firmly grasped his passport and crossed the border into the land of freak, but he had not yet applied for permanent residency. That’s where the matching neon pink and green eye shadow came in. Never mind the lipstick and the glitter. Of course he had numerous facial piercings as well. Than, just to top the whole look off, he was wearing a black fedora.
It might have been slightly less absurd if he looked like he had any sort of shame or was at least somewhat aware that he was a throbbing blight on the landscape. However, he appeared to believe himself incredibly cool. How he came to this conclusion eludes me. That outfit would make you an social outcast in Teletubbyland.
AJKdhabfasbblah
SC: “Merry Christmas!”
Whoa, whoa, ok, too early. Trust me, I can tell. See if you say Merry Christmas too me in December my brain will formulate the response "Merry Christmas to you too". However, if you ask too early it formulates a mostly incoherent response that involves your rectum and a traffic cone. Which was what just occurred.
Northern Pride
Me: “Alright, and your phone number please?”
SC: “AREA CODE XXX!”
Me: “…..”
SC: “…..”
…yes, that’s very nice. How do I put this….I know you and your ilk have had many, many problems with communicating ( or even being dimly aware of ) your area code before. However, you do not get extra brownie points for having finally learned it. You sound rather proud that you’ve figured it out. But I’m afraid I will offer you no praise nor bacon flavoured treat for having simply learned part of the basic information you should already have prepared beforehand.
Me: “Is there a PO box number?”
SC: “Yes!”
Me: “What is it please?”
SC: “No, that was ma phone number.”
I’m aware of that. That was not the question I asked. You seem really hung up on having finally learned your entire phone number. I realize that this was perhaps a big step forward for you and that it may have taken many a moon of feverish study to remember it. However, we must move on beyond it now. The time for it has come and past. You will receive no praise nor commendation from me. You may be proud of yourself, but I am not proud of you. Merely less disgruntled by your presence than I normally would be. Though that will change momentarily if you persist.
Not Cause For Alarm
SC: “Ok it’s xxxx-xx, er, xx. Sorry, its hard to read. I’m driving and its dark and raining outside.”
I love how none of that remotely concerns you in regards to your personal safety, but only in regards to not being able to read your Mastercard. Drifting into oncoming traffic or hurdling off the road to a fiery death is perfectly fine. But not being able to order a lottery ticket? Now that’s a problem.
Of Course
SC: “Give me the luckiest ticket, ok?”
Sure, no problem. We just happened to set it aside in the event someone specifically asked for it. All the other tickets are relatively equal in the amount of fortune they possess. But there’s always one ticket that was hand scribed by an old blind nun that only speaks in tongues living in a remote monastery in the foot hills of Italy before being shipped to Ireland nestled in the lap of a new born golden calf where it was painstakingly woven into the fabric of a pair of tiny underwear which is left out in a fairy ring in the high lands beneath a single gold coin to lure a Leprechaun into wearing them for a fortnight. Once it’s had a few moons to really absorb the aroma of luck, its deposited along the moors where a young lad with a lightning bolt shared scar on his forehead hunts it down with a dousing rod. Than, and only than, is it shipped to us upon a bed of velvet sealed within a iron box forged from the horseshoe’s of King Arthur’s steed.
Normally we keep it the break room underneath one of the table legs ( It stops the wobble ). But since you asked, sure, we’ll send it right out.
I Don't Care
SC: “I was going to do it after I got off work on my way ta Walmart. Place an order that is. You know, get it all done in one swoop. But I forgot all about it. So after I got home I wasn’t thinking about-“
Ok, stop. Look, there are many things I need from you in this call. Things such as your name, address and credit card information. However, exposition is not one of those things. I do not require a bedtime story of any fashion. Please cease spinning this horrifically bland tale of your mundane life. Nothing you could have possibly done at Walmart would interest me in the slightest unless it managed to single handled raise the US’s terrorist alert level.
Missing the Point
Me: “Do you have your account number?”
SC: “Yeah, but it’s out in the mail box and I’m not going to go get it.”
In order to possess this information you must have looked in the mail box, read the letter to observe the account number, than put it all back in the mailbox before entering your home. So I must ask: Why do you do this? Is it common practice to read your mail than put it back in the mailbox? Why? So the mailman can pick it up? It is not a DVD rental. You do not have to give it back. It’s yours. You can keep it. Go ahead. Bring it inside. Love it. Caress it. It belongs to you and only you. You don’t have to let anyone else have it.
Make Use Of It
As you may know, I am now officially on vacation and you may now be free of my dark, sinister shadow of my presence hovering over your every move for a week. I will be blind to your actions in my absence. I suggest you use this time wisely to get the one ring as close to Mount Doom as possible.
The Parkade(tm)
SC: “We’re all stuck in a parkade down at yadda yadda.”
Ah, the parkade has struck yet again has it? Well worry not, others from the “We’re all” you speak of have already called to notify us of this and the proper authorities have likewise been notified to head down there to release you from your imprisonment. Do not be alarmed.
SC: “Someone is on his way down?”
Me: “Yes. Someone already called us from there to let us know so someone is on his way.”
SC: “Ok, so someone is on their way down?”
Me: “Yes. We let the maintenance guy know so h-“
SC: “No, my question to you is not whether you let him know but is someone on his way?”
Me: “Yes-“
“I’m not trying to be rude-”
Than stop being rude? I answered your inquiry 3 times already.
SC: “Is there someone on their way to let us all out?”
Me: “Yes. We have notified the maintenance guy and he is on his way down.”
SC: “And is HE on his way TO this LOCATION?”
Me: “Yes-“
SC: “So my question to YOU is, is someone on their way here?”
Me: “Yes.”
You know for someone that isn’t trying to be rude you’re awfully good at it.
SC: “Do you know how long?”
Me: “I’m afraid I don’t have an ETA yet, but it shouldn’t be too long now”
SC: “Well could you get in touch with them and call us back and let us know? Because there’s about 6 of us and we’ve called the police.”
Me: “He should be there shortly. I fully understand where you’re coming from but we’re already received calls from there regarding situation. So he’s already aware of the problem, on his way and should be there soon. I don’t want really want to be contacting him for every call when he already knows and should be there in a few minutes-“
SC: “Yes of course you can! Because you have 6 people stuck in this parkade and YOUR security guard decided to leave early and trap us here! It’s YOUR responsibility so you should call him for every-“
Ugh, right. Silly me. I tried to use reason. When will I ever learn? I should know better by now. Just for the record, it’s not our security guard and it’s likely the parkade closed because you didn’t read a sign. We’re just coming to free you out of the kindness of our hearts because we happen to have keys to the building. Also, you called the cops over your car being stuck in a parkade after hours? Seriously? And they didn’t laugh you off the phone? Or did they and you’re just not admitting it?
SC: “I’m not trying to be difficult-“
No, no you’re not. You seem to have a natural gift for it. I doubt it’s taking you any effort at all.
<3
SC: “I wanna know, ya’ll have the men’s….ya’ll know who makes the cape coat? Ya’ll have a lotta women cape coat but not the men’s”
The…what?
SC: “I trynna find out, all different places. Gots the women’s capecoat, but never the men’s. Think it’s Scotland or someone use ta make them. Cashmere capecoat.”
Tell me, my good sir. When you barely keep ahead of natural selection, do you jog or is it more of a sprint?
SC: “They don’ make mens no more I guess. Way back when, what’s that guy. Detective man. What was that detective man? You know Scotland? Member that guy that use to be a detective man a while back? Guy use to where dem. Was a detective. Know that guy? Had a funny lookin’ hat on?”
Me: “….Sherlock Holmes?”
SC: “Yea!”
Hahahahah. Ahhh. Thank you my primitive friend. Your belief that Sherlock Holmes was not only real, but adorned himself in 100% cashmere, a look you wish to emulate, has given me amusement I sorely needed. I sincerely hope you only have to jog.
Argh, So Rude
Me: “Alright, and what is your name please?”
SC: “<snarf chomp> mhmm……oh, its Lisa-“
Hey, Betsy. I don’t suppose you could find the willpower to stop eating for 30 seconds, could you? Or at the very least close your mouth?
Me: “And the card number?”
SC: “It’s xxxx <snarf goggle> xx <chew> x <cow like noises> xx”
Ok, seriously, put the sandwich down and walk away. If you can’t pry yourself away from it for 30 seconds to order a lottery ticket I have my doubts as to whether or not I should be allowing to gamble to begin with. Don’t make me an enabler.
Me: “And your address?”
SC: “It’s <chew gobble hork> xxx <snarf>-“
Ok, fuck this. I don’t suppose you have a muppet on a leash there that can translate Hutt to English for me, do you?
Effort
Me: “Alright, and the item number please?”
SC: “The what?”
Me: “The item number? It should be next to the item in the catalog.”
SC: “Oh, I don’t know. I’d have to actually look in the catalog.”
Yes, novel idea that. Looking in the catalog to figure out what you want. Truly a stunning breakthrough in consumer economics.
Kill Me.
It’s official. Tonight I recognized a caller’s name. Which means I have finally spoken to and sent merchandise for every single person in Nunanvut. So now the list is beginning to repeat. I feel only despair.
&YHFQH!!@!
SC: "Yeah I called yesterday bout exchangin' this jacket. It doesn't fit!"
Me: "Alright, did you receive an RMA from customer service?"
SC: "Yeah."
Oookay, so, what than? You've already completed every step required to perform the exchange. Simply send it back and we will send you the other one.
Me: "Ok, what can I help you with than?"
SC: "Well when are you coming to get it!?"
Me: "I'm sorry?"
SC: "Aren't you coming to pick it up!? Don't you stand by your products?!"
Bwah? You ordered it online. The item was imported from Nepal. Why the fuck would....how the....just, what? Has any clothing company in the history of the world had a policy of "Oh yeah sure if it doesn't fit will come to your house and get it, no prob"?
Me: "I'm afraid you'll have to send it back to us, than we'll send you the new one."
SC: "What?! Don't you stand by your service?! Why should I have to SEND it back to you!!! IT DOESN'T FIT!!!"
Me: "Yes, but you'll have to ship it back for us to exchange it."
SC: "Well are you doing to send me a cheque first?!"
Me: "....pardon?"
SC: "To pay for the shipping!!!!"
Me: "You will have to cover the cost of shipping yourself, but we will ship it back for free."
You seem to be expecting a remarkably high level of service, or rather catering from an online clothing company. I'm not sure what sort of distorted view of the world of customer service you have, but it seems grossly overinflated. If you're demanding this much from an online company I can't imagine what you do to retail outlets. Do you refuse to shop at 7/11 unless someone gently cups your balls while you're at the slurpee machine?
SC: "THAT'S UNACCEPTABLE!!!"
Ah, fuck, here it comes.
SC: "What sort of rinky dinky shit operation is this!?"
Me: "......."
SC: "Where you, huh?! Are you at HOME? Are you running this shit out of your HOUSE?"
Me: "I'm at a call centre, sir."
SC: "WHERE?!"
Me: "In Vancouver."
SC: "WHAT'S YOUR NAME?!"
Me: "GK."
SC: "Your FULL name! Whats your LAST NAME?!?"
Me: "That is confidential. I am operator xx if you need to identify me."
SC: "You won't give me your last name?! HOLY SHIT! What kind of shady business is this!?
It's not shady, its a security policy. It protects me from bumper chewing chewing fuckholes like yourself.
Me: "I'm sorry you feel that way."
No I'm not, fuck you. And your shirt.
Me: "But you will have to contact customer service directly during business hours if you wish to pursue this. The item must be shipped back to us, I cannot reimburse you for it."
SC: "Hey! Maybe you aren't listening to me"
Me: "......"
SC: "Hey, when did you become fucking braindead? Were you in an accident? Or were you BORN fucking braindead? Huh?! You clearly aren't understanding me."
Me: "I understand you fine. However, if you wish to pursue this any further you will have to speak with customer service. I am no longer going to speak with you."
SC: "FUC-"
Me: "Good DAY, sir."
ALJhdjalh. Argh! Look, asshole. I am a CSR. A Customer Service Representative. My job is to provide you with customer service to the best of my abilities. My job is not to sit here with my mouth wide open while some undulating fuckcow such as yourself manages to burst free from his corral, run me down, squat over me and feverishly squirt the unpasteurized milk of organic asshole directly into my face like some sort of glorious douchebag bukkake because he's incapable of coming to terms with the inadequate size of his genitalia.
Fuck you. Get off my line.
( He immediately called back and harrassed another operator. Who shut him down quick, apparently she had talked to him yesterday too. This was his third time calling and being told the exact same fucking thing. She even gave him exactly what numbers to call and what time he should call. When she told him this..again, and asked him if he had called like she told him too he went "Uh...no.". ARGH. )
Argh, rest.....for a long time.
Still, they did not let me go without a fight.
The Term Continues to Elude
SC: “It says here on the catalog that you get free shipping, but only with online orders. Right?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “I don’t have a computer, can I still get free shipping?”
Me: “I’m afraid it’s only for online orders.”
SC: “Well than I just won’t order at all!”
Despite how brief this exchange was the purpose of it is eluding me even now. You specifically read “online only” than asked if you could receive said free shipping offline. This does not compute. It says online only. Only. As in the singular method by which it may be obtained. “Only” rules out all other possibilities. That is its purpose and function in the English language. It is the slayer of alternate choices. How does this elude you?
Granted, I do detect the faintest whiff of the sour aroma of entitlement in your approach. Were you trying to reason that because you cannot go online, you still deserve any online only perks. This does not make sense. Just because you do not possess a computer does not entitle you to all the perks and services a computer would provide you. If you do not possess a car, no one is obligated to drive you to the store simply because it’s possible to drive to said store. You will have to buy your own damn car. Than you may drive to the store yourself.
Twit.
SC: “I’m calling about your job ad”
And your need to respond to this ad was so overwhelming dire that you called at 3:30am? Does the message indicate it will self destruct momentarily after being read? Can you not just pin it to the fridge and call at a more sane time of day? You know, you’re rather lucky that it is I here to screen your call and not the company itself. I’m not sure phoning about a job ad at 3 in the morning is a good first impression to make on a potential employer unless that employer owns a bordello.
A Slight Delay
A momentary delay at Broadway Station this evening as the police dragged some primate off of the train. Apparently the correct answer to “Can I see your fare please?” is not “*(&@ YOU PIGS”.
Sorry, Kid
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “I calling order cap.”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “Hat”
Alright. Hmm. Ok, how to put this…..alright, look. I know the desire for head gear up there is incredibly deep seeded and permeates every level of your culture. It may even be genetic if this call is any indication. However, you sound to be about 5 years old. I can appreciate your wanting of a skull cap, but I am afraid I cannot comply.
SC: “Hat!”
Me: “What was that sorry?”
SC: “Hat! Hat! Order da hat!”
Me: “Alright…how old are you?”
SC: “My mom’s gonna pay!”
Me: “Alright….is she there? May I speak with her?"
SC: “She’s not here. But she said I could.”
Ah, yes, how convenient. I’m sorry to say but you’ll find the explanation “Mom said I could” is rather ineffectual beyond your immediate siblings.
Duck King
I saw a spectacular individual on the Skytrain this evening. He must have snuck onto the train at Broadway, as he wasn’t there when I got on. There is absolutely no way I would have missed him. It wasn’t until we were coming into Granville and Skytrain Control suddenly realized “Oh crap we’re doing tunnel maintenance and this train is hurling into it at top speed”. Upon which they slammed the breaks on so hard the train ground along the track on locked wheels for a few metres. I guess despite doing this nightly for weeks they still haven’t quite got the hang of it.
Once the train had lurched to a stop and people were nursing injury, I heard a burst of cackling behind me which prompted me to turn and look. And oh my God the spectacle I be held. In all my years living here I have never seen someone that looked quite this ridiculous yet was still under the impression they were incredibly cool. Hell, I’ve never seen someone that looked like this period. I’m not even sure where to begin.
He was……basically the fashion equivalent of epilepsy. An eye searing aberration of neon colours that dragged the gaze kicking and screaming to his person. I will attempt to describe it in detail, though some features were somewhat blurred by the chromatic intensity bombarding my optic nerves. First of all he, yes he, was wearing tights and a miniskirt. Cept the tights were two different colours. One leg was neon green, the other was neon pink. The neon pink leg had a neon green shoe, and the neon green leg had a neon pink shoe. You know, you have to make sure to coordinate your outfits.
He had furnished these Crayola chicken legs with a baby blue miniskirt and what appeared to be the upper half of his mom’s bath robe. Over top of that he was wearing a black vest and, just for accents, neon pink and green gloves. But it did not end there. Oh no. He had firmly grasped his passport and crossed the border into the land of freak, but he had not yet applied for permanent residency. That’s where the matching neon pink and green eye shadow came in. Never mind the lipstick and the glitter. Of course he had numerous facial piercings as well. Than, just to top the whole look off, he was wearing a black fedora.
It might have been slightly less absurd if he looked like he had any sort of shame or was at least somewhat aware that he was a throbbing blight on the landscape. However, he appeared to believe himself incredibly cool. How he came to this conclusion eludes me. That outfit would make you an social outcast in Teletubbyland.
AJKdhabfasbblah
SC: “Merry Christmas!”
Whoa, whoa, ok, too early. Trust me, I can tell. See if you say Merry Christmas too me in December my brain will formulate the response "Merry Christmas to you too". However, if you ask too early it formulates a mostly incoherent response that involves your rectum and a traffic cone. Which was what just occurred.
Northern Pride
Me: “Alright, and your phone number please?”
SC: “AREA CODE XXX!”
Me: “…..”
SC: “…..”
…yes, that’s very nice. How do I put this….I know you and your ilk have had many, many problems with communicating ( or even being dimly aware of ) your area code before. However, you do not get extra brownie points for having finally learned it. You sound rather proud that you’ve figured it out. But I’m afraid I will offer you no praise nor bacon flavoured treat for having simply learned part of the basic information you should already have prepared beforehand.
Me: “Is there a PO box number?”
SC: “Yes!”
Me: “What is it please?”
SC: “No, that was ma phone number.”
I’m aware of that. That was not the question I asked. You seem really hung up on having finally learned your entire phone number. I realize that this was perhaps a big step forward for you and that it may have taken many a moon of feverish study to remember it. However, we must move on beyond it now. The time for it has come and past. You will receive no praise nor commendation from me. You may be proud of yourself, but I am not proud of you. Merely less disgruntled by your presence than I normally would be. Though that will change momentarily if you persist.
Not Cause For Alarm
SC: “Ok it’s xxxx-xx, er, xx. Sorry, its hard to read. I’m driving and its dark and raining outside.”
I love how none of that remotely concerns you in regards to your personal safety, but only in regards to not being able to read your Mastercard. Drifting into oncoming traffic or hurdling off the road to a fiery death is perfectly fine. But not being able to order a lottery ticket? Now that’s a problem.
Of Course
SC: “Give me the luckiest ticket, ok?”
Sure, no problem. We just happened to set it aside in the event someone specifically asked for it. All the other tickets are relatively equal in the amount of fortune they possess. But there’s always one ticket that was hand scribed by an old blind nun that only speaks in tongues living in a remote monastery in the foot hills of Italy before being shipped to Ireland nestled in the lap of a new born golden calf where it was painstakingly woven into the fabric of a pair of tiny underwear which is left out in a fairy ring in the high lands beneath a single gold coin to lure a Leprechaun into wearing them for a fortnight. Once it’s had a few moons to really absorb the aroma of luck, its deposited along the moors where a young lad with a lightning bolt shared scar on his forehead hunts it down with a dousing rod. Than, and only than, is it shipped to us upon a bed of velvet sealed within a iron box forged from the horseshoe’s of King Arthur’s steed.
Normally we keep it the break room underneath one of the table legs ( It stops the wobble ). But since you asked, sure, we’ll send it right out.
I Don't Care
SC: “I was going to do it after I got off work on my way ta Walmart. Place an order that is. You know, get it all done in one swoop. But I forgot all about it. So after I got home I wasn’t thinking about-“
Ok, stop. Look, there are many things I need from you in this call. Things such as your name, address and credit card information. However, exposition is not one of those things. I do not require a bedtime story of any fashion. Please cease spinning this horrifically bland tale of your mundane life. Nothing you could have possibly done at Walmart would interest me in the slightest unless it managed to single handled raise the US’s terrorist alert level.
Missing the Point
Me: “Do you have your account number?”
SC: “Yeah, but it’s out in the mail box and I’m not going to go get it.”
In order to possess this information you must have looked in the mail box, read the letter to observe the account number, than put it all back in the mailbox before entering your home. So I must ask: Why do you do this? Is it common practice to read your mail than put it back in the mailbox? Why? So the mailman can pick it up? It is not a DVD rental. You do not have to give it back. It’s yours. You can keep it. Go ahead. Bring it inside. Love it. Caress it. It belongs to you and only you. You don’t have to let anyone else have it.
Make Use Of It
As you may know, I am now officially on vacation and you may now be free of my dark, sinister shadow of my presence hovering over your every move for a week. I will be blind to your actions in my absence. I suggest you use this time wisely to get the one ring as close to Mount Doom as possible.
The Parkade(tm)
SC: “We’re all stuck in a parkade down at yadda yadda.”
Ah, the parkade has struck yet again has it? Well worry not, others from the “We’re all” you speak of have already called to notify us of this and the proper authorities have likewise been notified to head down there to release you from your imprisonment. Do not be alarmed.
SC: “Someone is on his way down?”
Me: “Yes. Someone already called us from there to let us know so someone is on his way.”
SC: “Ok, so someone is on their way down?”
Me: “Yes. We let the maintenance guy know so h-“
SC: “No, my question to you is not whether you let him know but is someone on his way?”
Me: “Yes-“
“I’m not trying to be rude-”
Than stop being rude? I answered your inquiry 3 times already.
SC: “Is there someone on their way to let us all out?”
Me: “Yes. We have notified the maintenance guy and he is on his way down.”
SC: “And is HE on his way TO this LOCATION?”
Me: “Yes-“
SC: “So my question to YOU is, is someone on their way here?”
Me: “Yes.”
You know for someone that isn’t trying to be rude you’re awfully good at it.
SC: “Do you know how long?”
Me: “I’m afraid I don’t have an ETA yet, but it shouldn’t be too long now”
SC: “Well could you get in touch with them and call us back and let us know? Because there’s about 6 of us and we’ve called the police.”
Me: “He should be there shortly. I fully understand where you’re coming from but we’re already received calls from there regarding situation. So he’s already aware of the problem, on his way and should be there soon. I don’t want really want to be contacting him for every call when he already knows and should be there in a few minutes-“
SC: “Yes of course you can! Because you have 6 people stuck in this parkade and YOUR security guard decided to leave early and trap us here! It’s YOUR responsibility so you should call him for every-“
Ugh, right. Silly me. I tried to use reason. When will I ever learn? I should know better by now. Just for the record, it’s not our security guard and it’s likely the parkade closed because you didn’t read a sign. We’re just coming to free you out of the kindness of our hearts because we happen to have keys to the building. Also, you called the cops over your car being stuck in a parkade after hours? Seriously? And they didn’t laugh you off the phone? Or did they and you’re just not admitting it?
SC: “I’m not trying to be difficult-“
No, no you’re not. You seem to have a natural gift for it. I doubt it’s taking you any effort at all.
<3
SC: “I wanna know, ya’ll have the men’s….ya’ll know who makes the cape coat? Ya’ll have a lotta women cape coat but not the men’s”
The…what?
SC: “I trynna find out, all different places. Gots the women’s capecoat, but never the men’s. Think it’s Scotland or someone use ta make them. Cashmere capecoat.”
Tell me, my good sir. When you barely keep ahead of natural selection, do you jog or is it more of a sprint?
SC: “They don’ make mens no more I guess. Way back when, what’s that guy. Detective man. What was that detective man? You know Scotland? Member that guy that use to be a detective man a while back? Guy use to where dem. Was a detective. Know that guy? Had a funny lookin’ hat on?”
Me: “….Sherlock Holmes?”
SC: “Yea!”
Hahahahah. Ahhh. Thank you my primitive friend. Your belief that Sherlock Holmes was not only real, but adorned himself in 100% cashmere, a look you wish to emulate, has given me amusement I sorely needed. I sincerely hope you only have to jog.
Argh, So Rude
Me: “Alright, and what is your name please?”
SC: “<snarf chomp> mhmm……oh, its Lisa-“
Hey, Betsy. I don’t suppose you could find the willpower to stop eating for 30 seconds, could you? Or at the very least close your mouth?
Me: “And the card number?”
SC: “It’s xxxx <snarf goggle> xx <chew> x <cow like noises> xx”
Ok, seriously, put the sandwich down and walk away. If you can’t pry yourself away from it for 30 seconds to order a lottery ticket I have my doubts as to whether or not I should be allowing to gamble to begin with. Don’t make me an enabler.
Me: “And your address?”
SC: “It’s <chew gobble hork> xxx <snarf>-“
Ok, fuck this. I don’t suppose you have a muppet on a leash there that can translate Hutt to English for me, do you?
Effort
Me: “Alright, and the item number please?”
SC: “The what?”
Me: “The item number? It should be next to the item in the catalog.”
SC: “Oh, I don’t know. I’d have to actually look in the catalog.”
Yes, novel idea that. Looking in the catalog to figure out what you want. Truly a stunning breakthrough in consumer economics.
Kill Me.
It’s official. Tonight I recognized a caller’s name. Which means I have finally spoken to and sent merchandise for every single person in Nunanvut. So now the list is beginning to repeat. I feel only despair.
&YHFQH!!@!
SC: "Yeah I called yesterday bout exchangin' this jacket. It doesn't fit!"
Me: "Alright, did you receive an RMA from customer service?"
SC: "Yeah."
Oookay, so, what than? You've already completed every step required to perform the exchange. Simply send it back and we will send you the other one.
Me: "Ok, what can I help you with than?"
SC: "Well when are you coming to get it!?"
Me: "I'm sorry?"
SC: "Aren't you coming to pick it up!? Don't you stand by your products?!"
Bwah? You ordered it online. The item was imported from Nepal. Why the fuck would....how the....just, what? Has any clothing company in the history of the world had a policy of "Oh yeah sure if it doesn't fit will come to your house and get it, no prob"?
Me: "I'm afraid you'll have to send it back to us, than we'll send you the new one."
SC: "What?! Don't you stand by your service?! Why should I have to SEND it back to you!!! IT DOESN'T FIT!!!"
Me: "Yes, but you'll have to ship it back for us to exchange it."
SC: "Well are you doing to send me a cheque first?!"
Me: "....pardon?"
SC: "To pay for the shipping!!!!"
Me: "You will have to cover the cost of shipping yourself, but we will ship it back for free."
You seem to be expecting a remarkably high level of service, or rather catering from an online clothing company. I'm not sure what sort of distorted view of the world of customer service you have, but it seems grossly overinflated. If you're demanding this much from an online company I can't imagine what you do to retail outlets. Do you refuse to shop at 7/11 unless someone gently cups your balls while you're at the slurpee machine?
SC: "THAT'S UNACCEPTABLE!!!"
Ah, fuck, here it comes.
SC: "What sort of rinky dinky shit operation is this!?"
Me: "......."
SC: "Where you, huh?! Are you at HOME? Are you running this shit out of your HOUSE?"
Me: "I'm at a call centre, sir."
SC: "WHERE?!"
Me: "In Vancouver."
SC: "WHAT'S YOUR NAME?!"
Me: "GK."
SC: "Your FULL name! Whats your LAST NAME?!?"
Me: "That is confidential. I am operator xx if you need to identify me."
SC: "You won't give me your last name?! HOLY SHIT! What kind of shady business is this!?
It's not shady, its a security policy. It protects me from bumper chewing chewing fuckholes like yourself.
Me: "I'm sorry you feel that way."
No I'm not, fuck you. And your shirt.
Me: "But you will have to contact customer service directly during business hours if you wish to pursue this. The item must be shipped back to us, I cannot reimburse you for it."
SC: "Hey! Maybe you aren't listening to me"
Me: "......"
SC: "Hey, when did you become fucking braindead? Were you in an accident? Or were you BORN fucking braindead? Huh?! You clearly aren't understanding me."
Me: "I understand you fine. However, if you wish to pursue this any further you will have to speak with customer service. I am no longer going to speak with you."
SC: "FUC-"
Me: "Good DAY, sir."
ALJhdjalh. Argh! Look, asshole. I am a CSR. A Customer Service Representative. My job is to provide you with customer service to the best of my abilities. My job is not to sit here with my mouth wide open while some undulating fuckcow such as yourself manages to burst free from his corral, run me down, squat over me and feverishly squirt the unpasteurized milk of organic asshole directly into my face like some sort of glorious douchebag bukkake because he's incapable of coming to terms with the inadequate size of his genitalia.
Fuck you. Get off my line.
( He immediately called back and harrassed another operator. Who shut him down quick, apparently she had talked to him yesterday too. This was his third time calling and being told the exact same fucking thing. She even gave him exactly what numbers to call and what time he should call. When she told him this..again, and asked him if he had called like she told him too he went "Uh...no.". ARGH. )
Argh, rest.....for a long time.
Eric the Grey
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