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CAKE TO AMERICA ( Reprise! )
Ugh, there were some spectacular high points this week. ><
Why Ask Me?
Me: “Do you have your account number??”
SC: “Oh, I’m not sure. Do I?”
Me: “……..?”
SC: “……..”
Wait, you’re seriously asking me whether or not you have it? Do I appear to be encased in a glass box at a carnival with a crystal ball in my hands and a coin slot where groin should be? I cannot answer questions that would require any sort of divination or the insertion of quarters. You’re kind of on your own with this one. It’s going to be up to you to ascertain whether or not you have your account number. Now, I know this is a rather dangerous sounding quest to undertake and may take several days in the faces of unspeakable danger. So you may wish to form some sort of adventuring party or fellowship to see it through. I’m sure there must be many like minded ( IE weak minded ) kindred souls that would be willing to join in your quest. If you can just combine your strength and venture forward into the great unknown that is checking your mailbox for your last statement then we may someday discover the answer to great mystery.
Buwha?
C: “Yeah I can’t connect to your wifi”
Me: “Alright, I can page a tech for you-”
C: “Oh, no, that’s ok. I was just trying to get on the Internet. I’ll just go to bed and do it in the morning.”
That’s.....that’s reasonable. I….I don’t know what to say. It’s been so long since I’ve encountered reason that I’d almost forgotten it existed. Bless you my child, for you have shown me the light of basic cognitive function has not yet been completely sniffed from this dark world. Though I fear I am merely trying to shield this tiny flicker of hope from the unending hurricane of stupidity that howls around us. It will not last long. We can only hope the light lasts long enough for us to get the survivors and the power cells back to the shuttle.
ARjhfashda
Me: “and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “Just one. The LUCKY one!”
Ah, yes. Another “joke”. Truly droll, thank you. Once again I would like to point out that I have heard this joke before as well as so many mentally stunted variations of it that not even Tegmark’s theories of the multiverse could encompass them all. You are beating a horse so dead it has fossilized and been declared a national heritage site.
JADHJADHG!
Me: "How many tickets would you like?"
SC: "Just one, but make sure it’s a lucky one, alright!”
Ok, seriously, please stop this already. It is weak, it is lame, it is stupid and you are stupid for believing there is any shred of originality in your attempt at humour. I cannot take this or any variation of this “joke” anymore. Really, I can’t. I’ve endured it so many times that I am running out of ways to write it up in my reports in alternating forms of mockery and contempt. You are bleeding my creative well dry by forcing me to dig ever and ever deeper to try and find yet new, unfound ways to mock and deride your lack of creativity. It’s like I’m being subjected to an ongoing parade of some sort of imagination vampires. Except I’m quite positive none of you are actually managing to successfully drain away my abilities to strength your own. So it’s more like imagination vampires that can’t manage to eat with their mouth closed and are dribbling away all my creative juices down my shirt where it dries and gets uncomfortably sticky like when you use to spill Coca Cola down your chin as a kid.
*&@*$(&!!!!
SC: “Make sure it’s a winner!”
Oh, no worries. I’ll just pencil that in on the ticket right now and mark your order as such. Because of course they leave the complete power of prize distribution solely in the hands of the call centre that sells them. I have full control over any prizes awarded and can both grant and completely deny any such rewards at a whim. It’s quite easy, really. If I want someone to win something I just mark a little happy face next to their name and they do the rest after spotting my cleverly hidden secret code. A happy face wins you a secondary prize, a sad face means you get nothing and Kirby here: <(^.^)> means you win the grand prize.
More Specific, Please
Me: “And your postal code please?”
SC: “It’s XXX 1D3”
Me: “Alright, so XXX 1D3?”
SC: “Or maybe it was 3D1….”
Me: “……”
SC: “Oh well its one of those two.”
I need an answer that is a tad more concrete then that if you would. I believe the question was “What is your postal code” not “Please present me with a verbal list of possibilities of your postal code”. Believe it or not swapping the numbers around in a postal code can trigger surprisingly different locations. So unless you have somehow transcended physics and are occupying two locations simultaneously, one of which has requested the other to order it pants, then you’re going to have to narrow it down to a single point for me.
Why Do You Hate Me So?
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “Alright, what is your name please?”
SC: “But I can’t order it right now.”
Me: “…pardon?”
SC: “I can’t order it yet.”
Me: “…all…right?”
SC: “Bye.”
….what? Alright, Skippy. I just have one singular glorious screaming question for you: Then why did you call!? Well? Why? You’re calling to place an order that you can’t order. Do you not grasp how that plan of action defeats itself? Your call was completely and utterly pointless. There was absolutely no reason for it to even exist and you should be ashamed for even enacting it. What were you hoping to accomplish? Just giving me a heads up that you wanted to place an order some day? Just not today? You know, just so I would be prepared for when the glorious dawn of that day arrived? Are you laboring under the false impression that you are the singular reason for this phone number to exist? That it has waited dormant for years awaiting its true master to come along and pull it from the stone thus crowning him King of Pants?
I'm On To You
C: “I’m calling from Tim Horton’s”
Me: “Alright.”
C: “It’s T-I-M H-“
Me: “That’s alright, I know how to spell it.”
C: “Oh, ok”
Do you know how I know that one of us isn’t really Canadian?
<SOB>
SC: “Just send me one ticket.”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “One really lucky one!”
Argh, that’s it! I swear! I need a knife, something sharp so that I may whittle myself a stake. I might have to saw a piece of my desk off with a bread knife first to obtain sufficient materials. But I will craft myself a crude weapon by which you and your ilk may be vanquished after I drive it through your cold black hearts mid way through giving me your Visa number. It is the only hope I have at this point seeing as I neglected to remember to purchase garlic on my way in this evening.
I Have No Tears Left
Me: “Alright, your tickets should arrive in-"
SC: “Well aren’t you going to tell me I’m going to win?!”
I’m about to tell you something alright, however it has nothing to do with winning or losing and more to do with refreshingly long jog off an alarming short pier. As is becoming par for the course, I have absolutely no idea what would possess you to say such a thing. Even at my most pleasant, an elusive state which you eroded several minutes ago, the best I could wish you would be a remarkably insincere “good luck”. Why you could even begin to believe I would actually reassure you of impending victory is beyond me. I could not even do so in jest, as I fully believe if I did so and you subsequently lost you would immediately call to complain that an operator told you that you would win and how this is all totally false advertising or some such raging stupidity.
After which I would wait with baited breath for the furiously typed email to PlanetFeedback.com about how we are soiled lot of bandits, liars and thieves who were rude to you at every turn after failing to fulfill an illogical set of promises we supposedly made to you insuring the swift deposit of the moon and the sun in your bank account. This unquestionable brilliant piece of scathing literature would of course be typed as a singular wall of text with no detectable paragraph structure, punctuation or capital letters aside from those repeatedly used to construct the word “LIES”.
Not likely
SC: “Hopefully this one will be the winner!”
=(
Sigh
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yes, ma’am!”
I see my ovaries are showing again. I really need to be careful about that. I could have sworn I left them at home on the kitchen counter where the cat couldn't get at them.
Me: “Alright it should arrive in 2 weeks-“
SC: “Thank you, sir!”
....great, now I’m apparently wired for both Audio In and Audio Out.
Nope
SC: “So will that get in for the sales deadline?”
No, I just pretended to place the entire order for you as an elaborate hoax. Hell, I don’t even work for <company>. You actually misdialed and reached Lloyd’s Break & Lube. We were just sitting around here breakin’ & lubin’ things when you called and we thought we’d just play along. You seemed so excited and we didn’t really want to go and break your heart like that. I suppose you’ll want us to be throwin’ away your credit card number now. Don’t worry, we’ll shred it. I promise.
!!!!
Me: “And your name please?”
C: “Gozer.”
……right....um, well then, so I’m assuming that appears as “Gozer T. Destroyer” on your Mastercard then?
Importance
Alright, you seem to be really struggling with the concept of “importance”. Namely you appear to be having great difficulty differentiating between things that are actually important or relevant, and things that are not. So let me see if I can give you at least a bit of a nudge in the right direction:
Important:
There is something wrong with the dryer there. It is not accepting coins and cannot be used as a result. The coin return has been jammed in. It requires service. This is important and relevant, as that is the purpose of this line: to collect information for follow up service calls. Where a large, hairy gentleman in a faded plaid sweater and unsettling stained sweat pants with an assortment of tools and a lazy eye is dispatched to correct these faults and if required, bring a refund like some sort of lost change fairy.
Not-Important:
The fact you think the dryer’s lint trap is badly designed and believe its construction could be improved upon. It’s all nice and dandy that you have such an utterly banal opinion and wish to share it with the world, however it is totally, utterly and completely irrelevant and is in no way important to me or my function here. I do not care about your opinions on its engineering, nor your suggestions on how to improve this apparently flawed design. All of this information is quite firmly lodged in the category of “Whoop-dee-fucking-doo”.
OH GOD EVERYTHING IS MADNESS
SC: “There’s a leak in the pipe in the basement, it’s really small and I don’t know if it’s really a problem or not. It’s just a drip.”
Me: “Alright, is it something that needs to be attended to immediately?”
SC: “I DON'T KNOW!! I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT PIPES! I DON'T KNOW IF THEY LEAK OR BURST OR WHAT! I'M ONLY 25 AND I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING! I ONLY KNOW WATER'S COMING OUT OF WHERE IT SHOULDN'T BE! OH GOD!"
Oh I believe you, trust me. I just don’t think it has anything to do with your age. Most people can comprehend “Water leak from pipe = bad” around the same time they can comprehend “shoelaces”. So I’m pretty sure your ability to grasp a situation is independent of the time you’ve spent on this Earth so far. I’m more concerned that you’re legally capable of both drinking and operating a motor vehicle but cannot seem to scale the level of panic and urgency in direct proportion to the amount of rogue water involved in this situation.
Familiar Faces
Me: "Good e-"
SC: "I'M GLAD AL-QAEDA EXECUTED ALL THOSE CIA AGENTS AND THEY'RE NOT DONE YET BY GOD THERE'S MORE TO COME YOU &@$ING AMERICAN PIGS!$"
Whoa dude, deep breaths, you're going to hurt yourself there.
SC: “Death to the US NARCO-TERRORIST MOTHER&*@#_@ DEATH TO AMEEERRRICA!!!!"
Oh, hey! It's YOU! Oh man, long time no talk! Wow, it’s been months since I’ve heard from you. Where ya been? Wait wait, no, let me guess. Correctional facility? Mental institute? Half-way house without phone privileges? Oh oh, I know: Shuffling back in forth in front of Broadway Station in a terry cloth bathrobe and Snoopy slippers shouting obscenities at passersby while you desperately try to land the plane with your penis?
....ok, what
SC: “I’d like to lodge a complaint please.”
Me: “A complaint?”
SC: “Yes, I’m an American citizen that recently moved here and certain individuals tonight claimed to be Muslim and tried to extort money from me. I would like to make a complaint about that.”
……and what? You think America is Canada’s Customer Feedback line?
Me: “You should contact local authorities-“
SC: “Not really, I don’t want too.”
I find myself even more perplexed at your stupidity, if indeed that is possible. You do not wish to report a crime, but are still taking the time out at 3am to phone me up and lodge a "complaint" in the hopes of what exactly? Having one of Canada’s Michelin Stars revoked?
Me: “This is the jurisdiction of local authorities, n-“
SC: “Nah. Well, at least my complaint is on record now. Bye.”
The only record it’s on is the one I keep where I mock and deride people such as yourself to my peers. I will concede that technically it is “on record”. I just don’t think this is quite the record you were aiming for.
Somebody's Fired
No pun intended.
This isn't even funny, just incredibly stupid. We handle a lot of property management companies that have afterhours emergency lines. These lines typically have a manager or maintenance guy on call for them that I pass along the info too. This is the sale of one such manager, who I imagine will not be one for very much longer.
When I first got on shift I received a call regarding Building A about a fire alarm. Never a good thing but usually a false alarm so not typically a biggie either. I try and reach Manager. No response. Oh well, I page him and wait for him to return my call.......no response. I try his home, cell and basically every contact I have for him....no response. Well crud.
A little bit later I get a call, its the fire dept this time. Confirming Building A is indeed on fire. Uh oh, now things have taken a bit of a turn. I try and reach Manager again, most furiously and still he ignores my pleas. More people continue to call me about Building A being quote unquote "engulfed". Manager ignores meh.
A while later I get another call about a fire, I say "Oh, at Building A?" and am informed no, at Building B. Oh shi-, you have got to be kidding. But nope, another building is on fire. I redouble my efforts to reach Manager. No luck.
Calls keep pouring in regarding the whole "raging inferno" problem and the fire dept is getting increasingly agitated that they can't even get a hold of Manager to tell him things are aflame let alone get him on site to attend. Where he should be.
I keep trying to get a hold of Manager for 5 hours calling him on every number he has, every 15 minutes. Leaving pages, voice mails, you name it. No response. Then just after the 5 hour mark I try to call him again and discover...he has turned his cell phone off to stop me from calling. Oh my GOD. Dude, you idiot.
By the time I got off shift I'd be trying to reach him for 7 hours and the final tally was Building A: Completely gutted. Total write off. Unsalvagable. Building B: One suite completely gutted due to tenant's horribly inept cooking skills or some such. Grease fire.
And this tard of a Manager STILL doesn't know what's going on. His boss is going to come in Monday morning and noticed oh, hey, by the way you have hundreds of thousands of dollars of property damage that no one told you about. I cannot even envision the scenario that will play out once Manager arrives at work. I can imagine however that it will involve fisting.
aaaaaand rest.
Why Ask Me?
Me: “Do you have your account number??”
SC: “Oh, I’m not sure. Do I?”
Me: “……..?”
SC: “……..”
Wait, you’re seriously asking me whether or not you have it? Do I appear to be encased in a glass box at a carnival with a crystal ball in my hands and a coin slot where groin should be? I cannot answer questions that would require any sort of divination or the insertion of quarters. You’re kind of on your own with this one. It’s going to be up to you to ascertain whether or not you have your account number. Now, I know this is a rather dangerous sounding quest to undertake and may take several days in the faces of unspeakable danger. So you may wish to form some sort of adventuring party or fellowship to see it through. I’m sure there must be many like minded ( IE weak minded ) kindred souls that would be willing to join in your quest. If you can just combine your strength and venture forward into the great unknown that is checking your mailbox for your last statement then we may someday discover the answer to great mystery.
Buwha?
C: “Yeah I can’t connect to your wifi”
Me: “Alright, I can page a tech for you-”
C: “Oh, no, that’s ok. I was just trying to get on the Internet. I’ll just go to bed and do it in the morning.”
That’s.....that’s reasonable. I….I don’t know what to say. It’s been so long since I’ve encountered reason that I’d almost forgotten it existed. Bless you my child, for you have shown me the light of basic cognitive function has not yet been completely sniffed from this dark world. Though I fear I am merely trying to shield this tiny flicker of hope from the unending hurricane of stupidity that howls around us. It will not last long. We can only hope the light lasts long enough for us to get the survivors and the power cells back to the shuttle.
ARjhfashda
Me: “and how many tickets would you like?”
SC: “Just one. The LUCKY one!”
Ah, yes. Another “joke”. Truly droll, thank you. Once again I would like to point out that I have heard this joke before as well as so many mentally stunted variations of it that not even Tegmark’s theories of the multiverse could encompass them all. You are beating a horse so dead it has fossilized and been declared a national heritage site.
JADHJADHG!
Me: "How many tickets would you like?"
SC: "Just one, but make sure it’s a lucky one, alright!”
Ok, seriously, please stop this already. It is weak, it is lame, it is stupid and you are stupid for believing there is any shred of originality in your attempt at humour. I cannot take this or any variation of this “joke” anymore. Really, I can’t. I’ve endured it so many times that I am running out of ways to write it up in my reports in alternating forms of mockery and contempt. You are bleeding my creative well dry by forcing me to dig ever and ever deeper to try and find yet new, unfound ways to mock and deride your lack of creativity. It’s like I’m being subjected to an ongoing parade of some sort of imagination vampires. Except I’m quite positive none of you are actually managing to successfully drain away my abilities to strength your own. So it’s more like imagination vampires that can’t manage to eat with their mouth closed and are dribbling away all my creative juices down my shirt where it dries and gets uncomfortably sticky like when you use to spill Coca Cola down your chin as a kid.
*&@*$(&!!!!
SC: “Make sure it’s a winner!”
Oh, no worries. I’ll just pencil that in on the ticket right now and mark your order as such. Because of course they leave the complete power of prize distribution solely in the hands of the call centre that sells them. I have full control over any prizes awarded and can both grant and completely deny any such rewards at a whim. It’s quite easy, really. If I want someone to win something I just mark a little happy face next to their name and they do the rest after spotting my cleverly hidden secret code. A happy face wins you a secondary prize, a sad face means you get nothing and Kirby here: <(^.^)> means you win the grand prize.
More Specific, Please
Me: “And your postal code please?”
SC: “It’s XXX 1D3”
Me: “Alright, so XXX 1D3?”
SC: “Or maybe it was 3D1….”
Me: “……”
SC: “Oh well its one of those two.”
I need an answer that is a tad more concrete then that if you would. I believe the question was “What is your postal code” not “Please present me with a verbal list of possibilities of your postal code”. Believe it or not swapping the numbers around in a postal code can trigger surprisingly different locations. So unless you have somehow transcended physics and are occupying two locations simultaneously, one of which has requested the other to order it pants, then you’re going to have to narrow it down to a single point for me.
Why Do You Hate Me So?
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “Alright, what is your name please?”
SC: “But I can’t order it right now.”
Me: “…pardon?”
SC: “I can’t order it yet.”
Me: “…all…right?”
SC: “Bye.”
….what? Alright, Skippy. I just have one singular glorious screaming question for you: Then why did you call!? Well? Why? You’re calling to place an order that you can’t order. Do you not grasp how that plan of action defeats itself? Your call was completely and utterly pointless. There was absolutely no reason for it to even exist and you should be ashamed for even enacting it. What were you hoping to accomplish? Just giving me a heads up that you wanted to place an order some day? Just not today? You know, just so I would be prepared for when the glorious dawn of that day arrived? Are you laboring under the false impression that you are the singular reason for this phone number to exist? That it has waited dormant for years awaiting its true master to come along and pull it from the stone thus crowning him King of Pants?
I'm On To You
C: “I’m calling from Tim Horton’s”
Me: “Alright.”
C: “It’s T-I-M H-“
Me: “That’s alright, I know how to spell it.”
C: “Oh, ok”
Do you know how I know that one of us isn’t really Canadian?
<SOB>
SC: “Just send me one ticket.”
Me: “Alright.”
SC: “One really lucky one!”
Argh, that’s it! I swear! I need a knife, something sharp so that I may whittle myself a stake. I might have to saw a piece of my desk off with a bread knife first to obtain sufficient materials. But I will craft myself a crude weapon by which you and your ilk may be vanquished after I drive it through your cold black hearts mid way through giving me your Visa number. It is the only hope I have at this point seeing as I neglected to remember to purchase garlic on my way in this evening.
I Have No Tears Left
Me: “Alright, your tickets should arrive in-"
SC: “Well aren’t you going to tell me I’m going to win?!”
I’m about to tell you something alright, however it has nothing to do with winning or losing and more to do with refreshingly long jog off an alarming short pier. As is becoming par for the course, I have absolutely no idea what would possess you to say such a thing. Even at my most pleasant, an elusive state which you eroded several minutes ago, the best I could wish you would be a remarkably insincere “good luck”. Why you could even begin to believe I would actually reassure you of impending victory is beyond me. I could not even do so in jest, as I fully believe if I did so and you subsequently lost you would immediately call to complain that an operator told you that you would win and how this is all totally false advertising or some such raging stupidity.
After which I would wait with baited breath for the furiously typed email to PlanetFeedback.com about how we are soiled lot of bandits, liars and thieves who were rude to you at every turn after failing to fulfill an illogical set of promises we supposedly made to you insuring the swift deposit of the moon and the sun in your bank account. This unquestionable brilliant piece of scathing literature would of course be typed as a singular wall of text with no detectable paragraph structure, punctuation or capital letters aside from those repeatedly used to construct the word “LIES”.
Not likely
SC: “Hopefully this one will be the winner!”
=(
Sigh
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yes, ma’am!”
I see my ovaries are showing again. I really need to be careful about that. I could have sworn I left them at home on the kitchen counter where the cat couldn't get at them.
Me: “Alright it should arrive in 2 weeks-“
SC: “Thank you, sir!”
....great, now I’m apparently wired for both Audio In and Audio Out.
Nope
SC: “So will that get in for the sales deadline?”
No, I just pretended to place the entire order for you as an elaborate hoax. Hell, I don’t even work for <company>. You actually misdialed and reached Lloyd’s Break & Lube. We were just sitting around here breakin’ & lubin’ things when you called and we thought we’d just play along. You seemed so excited and we didn’t really want to go and break your heart like that. I suppose you’ll want us to be throwin’ away your credit card number now. Don’t worry, we’ll shred it. I promise.
!!!!
Me: “And your name please?”
C: “Gozer.”
……right....um, well then, so I’m assuming that appears as “Gozer T. Destroyer” on your Mastercard then?
Importance
Alright, you seem to be really struggling with the concept of “importance”. Namely you appear to be having great difficulty differentiating between things that are actually important or relevant, and things that are not. So let me see if I can give you at least a bit of a nudge in the right direction:
Important:
There is something wrong with the dryer there. It is not accepting coins and cannot be used as a result. The coin return has been jammed in. It requires service. This is important and relevant, as that is the purpose of this line: to collect information for follow up service calls. Where a large, hairy gentleman in a faded plaid sweater and unsettling stained sweat pants with an assortment of tools and a lazy eye is dispatched to correct these faults and if required, bring a refund like some sort of lost change fairy.
Not-Important:
The fact you think the dryer’s lint trap is badly designed and believe its construction could be improved upon. It’s all nice and dandy that you have such an utterly banal opinion and wish to share it with the world, however it is totally, utterly and completely irrelevant and is in no way important to me or my function here. I do not care about your opinions on its engineering, nor your suggestions on how to improve this apparently flawed design. All of this information is quite firmly lodged in the category of “Whoop-dee-fucking-doo”.
OH GOD EVERYTHING IS MADNESS
SC: “There’s a leak in the pipe in the basement, it’s really small and I don’t know if it’s really a problem or not. It’s just a drip.”
Me: “Alright, is it something that needs to be attended to immediately?”
SC: “I DON'T KNOW!! I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT PIPES! I DON'T KNOW IF THEY LEAK OR BURST OR WHAT! I'M ONLY 25 AND I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING! I ONLY KNOW WATER'S COMING OUT OF WHERE IT SHOULDN'T BE! OH GOD!"
Oh I believe you, trust me. I just don’t think it has anything to do with your age. Most people can comprehend “Water leak from pipe = bad” around the same time they can comprehend “shoelaces”. So I’m pretty sure your ability to grasp a situation is independent of the time you’ve spent on this Earth so far. I’m more concerned that you’re legally capable of both drinking and operating a motor vehicle but cannot seem to scale the level of panic and urgency in direct proportion to the amount of rogue water involved in this situation.
Familiar Faces
Me: "Good e-"
SC: "I'M GLAD AL-QAEDA EXECUTED ALL THOSE CIA AGENTS AND THEY'RE NOT DONE YET BY GOD THERE'S MORE TO COME YOU &@$ING AMERICAN PIGS!$"
Whoa dude, deep breaths, you're going to hurt yourself there.
SC: “Death to the US NARCO-TERRORIST MOTHER&*@#_@ DEATH TO AMEEERRRICA!!!!"
Oh, hey! It's YOU! Oh man, long time no talk! Wow, it’s been months since I’ve heard from you. Where ya been? Wait wait, no, let me guess. Correctional facility? Mental institute? Half-way house without phone privileges? Oh oh, I know: Shuffling back in forth in front of Broadway Station in a terry cloth bathrobe and Snoopy slippers shouting obscenities at passersby while you desperately try to land the plane with your penis?
....ok, what
SC: “I’d like to lodge a complaint please.”
Me: “A complaint?”
SC: “Yes, I’m an American citizen that recently moved here and certain individuals tonight claimed to be Muslim and tried to extort money from me. I would like to make a complaint about that.”
……and what? You think America is Canada’s Customer Feedback line?
Me: “You should contact local authorities-“
SC: “Not really, I don’t want too.”
I find myself even more perplexed at your stupidity, if indeed that is possible. You do not wish to report a crime, but are still taking the time out at 3am to phone me up and lodge a "complaint" in the hopes of what exactly? Having one of Canada’s Michelin Stars revoked?
Me: “This is the jurisdiction of local authorities, n-“
SC: “Nah. Well, at least my complaint is on record now. Bye.”
The only record it’s on is the one I keep where I mock and deride people such as yourself to my peers. I will concede that technically it is “on record”. I just don’t think this is quite the record you were aiming for.
Somebody's Fired
No pun intended.
This isn't even funny, just incredibly stupid. We handle a lot of property management companies that have afterhours emergency lines. These lines typically have a manager or maintenance guy on call for them that I pass along the info too. This is the sale of one such manager, who I imagine will not be one for very much longer.
When I first got on shift I received a call regarding Building A about a fire alarm. Never a good thing but usually a false alarm so not typically a biggie either. I try and reach Manager. No response. Oh well, I page him and wait for him to return my call.......no response. I try his home, cell and basically every contact I have for him....no response. Well crud.
A little bit later I get a call, its the fire dept this time. Confirming Building A is indeed on fire. Uh oh, now things have taken a bit of a turn. I try and reach Manager again, most furiously and still he ignores my pleas. More people continue to call me about Building A being quote unquote "engulfed". Manager ignores meh.
A while later I get another call about a fire, I say "Oh, at Building A?" and am informed no, at Building B. Oh shi-, you have got to be kidding. But nope, another building is on fire. I redouble my efforts to reach Manager. No luck.
Calls keep pouring in regarding the whole "raging inferno" problem and the fire dept is getting increasingly agitated that they can't even get a hold of Manager to tell him things are aflame let alone get him on site to attend. Where he should be.
I keep trying to get a hold of Manager for 5 hours calling him on every number he has, every 15 minutes. Leaving pages, voice mails, you name it. No response. Then just after the 5 hour mark I try to call him again and discover...he has turned his cell phone off to stop me from calling. Oh my GOD. Dude, you idiot.
By the time I got off shift I'd be trying to reach him for 7 hours and the final tally was Building A: Completely gutted. Total write off. Unsalvagable. Building B: One suite completely gutted due to tenant's horribly inept cooking skills or some such. Grease fire.
And this tard of a Manager STILL doesn't know what's going on. His boss is going to come in Monday morning and noticed oh, hey, by the way you have hundreds of thousands of dollars of property damage that no one told you about. I cannot even envision the scenario that will play out once Manager arrives at work. I can imagine however that it will involve fisting.
aaaaaand rest.
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