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Misery Loves Company. And Pants. ( Epic )
I do not use such tags lightly. This was honestly one of the worst weeks I've ever had at my office. While I can't mention all the reasons, I can mention enough. >.>
Setting The Tone
( Just so you can get an idea of my mood this week. This happened on my first fscking night back )
Ahhhh…Monday. Well, my Monday anyway. How was your Monday? Good? Bad? I bet I can top it. On my way in this evening, just outside the Skytrain station. There’s this little wooded path to the station. Quite nice, walking stones and everything. But also very, very dark. Thus I was quite surprised when my foot hit something and I heard that something skitter away under the fence in a panic. At first I thought I had inadvertently struck a cat. But then the smell wafted my way. I just booted a skunk in the face! Go me! While my cunning, terrified little girl reflexes ensured I didn’t get sprayed directly you don’t really have too with a smell of that magnitude. Much to my horror I realized it had adhered to me quite intensely.
I couldn’t return home to change and bath as that would make me at least hour or two late ( I’m not sure if this is dedication or stupidity. Whichever one looks better on my employee evaluations. ). Nor could I call in and lament my misfortune ( We still do not have a replacement graveyard person for the guy that left. Its been 2 months or so now. So no one can cover for me if I'm sick, and I can't go on vacation right now. ) Its only through sheer miracle that 7/11 sells novelty shirts, tomato juice and horrific order slaying chemicals. Allowing me to rid myself of some contaminated articles by throwing half my clothes in the dumpster and washing myself in tomato juice in a public restroom ( Because I still had some shred of dignity left, can't have that. ). Than spraying down everything else in horrifically toxic ordour eating chemicals which are currently burning my skin through my legs. But hey at least you can only smell me from 3 feet away instead of 10.
Mondays are fucking awesome.
( In the end I had to throw out everything I was wearing, and everything in my pockets, including my wallet. Still trying to save my boots. But I'm out a good $120 worth of my work clothes and was fairly ill for the following couple days. >< )
The Northern Onslaught
( They were on the god damn war march against me this week. )
Me: “And the item number please?”
SC: “xxxx”
Me: “Al-“
SC: “IS DAT ON SALE!?”
……depends, if I say it is, will you spare my life? You sound a tad too excited at the prospect of obtaining a pair of pants for less than they are labeled for. Almost…..ravenous. I’m not precisely sure it’s wise of me to be standing between you and the underoos you desire so. I’ve already had one encounter with an aromatic, nocturnal monster this evening and I’m quite keen on avoiding another. So yes, the pants are sale…….for exactly the same price listed in my system, but on sale none the less!
Hot Tips - A Challenger Appears
Me: “Good eveni-”
SC: “What?! Jesus Christ all God damn mighty?! Where am I?!”
…..I don’t know, but I have a sneaking suspicious it’s not on this planet.
SC: “Hello?!”
Me: “Yes-“
SC: “2 tornados in New York city?! Jesus Christ all god damn mighty!”
Me: “Al-“
SC: “What? WHAT?! All god damn mighty?! Obama! OBAMA GOOD TO LOVE YOU!”
Holy crap you are out there aren’t you? Normally, I would have been the first to welcome you into the ranks of my nocturnal crazies. As I so rarely get new blood or fresh material. But damn, dude. I have two other guys that call this line. One of them thinks Jesus is his roommate and wants him to help the Queen grow a beard and the other thinks he chased Al-Qaeda off of his sister in law’s couch in Surrey. Yet both of them are more lucid than you are.
SC: “But you better listen! What? What was that? All god damn mighty?”
Wait, are you hearing “All god damn mighty”? Is God yelling tips at you? Look, I don’t mean to be rude here. But if you seriously think God is shouting stuff at you, maybe you should get off the phone and talk to him. I mean, I have good self-esteem and all, but compared to God I’m willing to step aside here and let you continue your “chat”. Really, it’s no trouble. You go right ahead and finish your little talk. I’ll be right here if and/or when “God” leaves you alone.
The Northern Onslaught 2
Me: “And your phone number, please?”
SC: “8<mumble>-515-xxxx”
Me: “I’m sorry, what was the area code for the phone number again?”
SC: “Area code….phone number?”
Me: “Yes, what was the area code for your phone number again?”
SC: “1178118”
….you just said it. I know you said it. I know you know what it is. Just repeat the phone number again! You know it! It’s not hard! I know it’s highly unlikely your brain can shift up gear wise, but you should be able to at least downshift into reverse. In fact I’m sure you spent half your day in it.
Me: “….no, what is the area code for your phone number, please?”
SC: “Oh………….<town she's in>”
Number, number! I said number. At the very least stay in the same ballpark with me here, dear lord. I’m standing on the mound, pitching softballs at you. Underhand. And in you’re in the parking lot snickering and drawing a penis on the pavement with chalk.
Me: “No, the area code for your phone number please. The first 3 numbers of your phone number.”
SC: “515”
Me: “Before that.”
SC: “Oh, xxx.”
HALLEJUAH.
The Northern Onslaught 3
$1070.35 worth of pants. You tried to buy over a grand worth of pants. Oh my god. What is wrong with you? Really, I need some sort of explanation for this. I’ve witnessed it far too much from the dark reaches of this country and I must know why if I am to sleep at night. Is this some sort of mental condition or is it more like a fetish? Dear lord. They were all in the same size too so it’s not like you were ordering for your entire family + extended family either. Oh no. You want these luscious leggings all for yourself. I assume to just throw in a big pile so you can roll around naked in them or something.
Sadly, you were thwarted by the $900 COD limit and forced to settle for a mere $800 worth of pants instead. Truly this is a dark day.
The Northern Onslaught: D-Day
Me: “Alright, which catalog would you like to order from?”
SC: “Uh…….wait……..women’s jacket.”
Me: “Which catalog is it in, please?”
SC: “Wait……………sub…..zero parka.”
Me: “Which catalog are you looking in?”
SC: “…uh…..”
Background: “<whisper> 21.”
SC: 21……….page 21”
Me: “In which catalog?”
SC: “Uhhhhhh…….<whispered to background> which catalog?……”
Background: “<whisper> Which catalog? Uh…….What dat mean?”
SC: “What does dat mean?”
There are two of them there. Two. And between the two of them they cannot unravel this incredibly simple question. Instead they’re both defaulting to the TEIK Self Defense Mechanism that was devised in, by and is exclusive to northern reaches of the globe. TEIK, or Tell Everything I Know, is a psychological self defense mechanism that seems to exist only at the consistently low temperatures of the northern hemisphere. This is where an inhabitant of this barren mental wasteland will collapse under the pressure of simple inquiry and just start randomly tossing out every useless bit of information they can think of in the desperate hope that something they say will be the right answer. It never is.
You can randomly pull any call I’ve taken on this account in the last 6 years and they’ll be a good 50% chance you will see the TEIK mechanism at work. It is there first, last and only psychological coping mechanism when confronted by an intellectual superior. Be that superior animal, vegetable or mineral. I’m quite confident that if you handed them a can of soup without a can opener, they would study it frantically for 10-15 minutes and then begin to yell out the ingredients on the side of the can to the can in an attempt to solve the conundrum.
Me: “What catalog do you have there that you’re looking in?”
SC: “Yes?”
Me: “Which catalog is it?”
SC: “Catalog?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “I don’t know that.”
Me: “…what does the catalog say on the front?”
SC: “…..uh….sub zero parka?”
Me: “….no, you’re looking in the catalog right?”
SC: “Yes.”
Me: “Alright, close the catalog and look at the front. The very front of the catalog and tell me what it says. Is it the a Fall catalog?”
SC: “Uh….<comp-<company>?……”
Me: “Alright, does it say Fall?”
SC: “Yes.”
Me: “It says Fall 2010 on the front of the catalog?”
SC: “Yes.”
You’ll note I had to physically walk her through the steps required to obtain this information. We are dealing with brain cells so dense that science would have to add a new row to the Periodic Table to quantify her IQ.
Me: “And the item number you'd like to order, please?”
SC: “I don’t have an item number.”
You mean you don’t have the one piece of information you actually need? Well, stick your grubby paws in the crayon box, yank one out and colour me Fucking Shocked Fuchsia.
Me: “No, what’s the item number you’d like to order?”
SC: “21”
Me: “….no, there should be a number next to the item you’d like to order. What is that number?”
SC: “xxxx-xxx”
Thank you, my God. Its only taken 10 minutes to get the first fucking item out of you. There's only 7 hours left in my shift you know. So I hope your shopping list is rather brief.
Me: “By credit card or COD?”
SC: “……uh………money order.”
Me: “…by COD?”
SC: “Y….yes.”
Me: “Alright, by COD it will come to xxx.xx and should arrive in about 2 weeks.”
SC: “How long it gonna stay?”
Me: “….how long what, sorry?”
SC: “How long dey gonna stay in north, our northern.”
Me: “I don’t understand, sorry.”
SC: “What…….is the first part?”
Me: “I don’t understand what you’re asking, sorry.”
SC: “ummmmm...<literally a 3 minute pause of dead silence>……………………I’m finished.”
Me: “…….Alright.”
Ok, you know what? No. That’s right. No. You can’t have this jacket. This jacket has done nothing to deserve you and you do not deserve this jacket. It is a rather nice, $250 jacket and judging by the level of intellect you have displayed so far I fear you will get it, try it on and then wonder why it doesn’t fit as well as the rest of your pants.
The Northern Onslaught: Reinforcements
SC: “It me again. I jus called a little while ago?”
Oh for God sakes, why have you forsaken me, Lord?
SC: “My friend want to order.”
You mean that brain trust you kept in reserve to help you during the last call? Wonderful.
Me: “Alright, and the item number please?”
SC2: “………….I….got nothing.”
Don’t take this the wrong way but you and your friend should be dead. Or to be more precise: How are you still alive? I simply do not understand how you have managed to survive for this long without gloves, a helmet, a padded room and 24/7 professional supervision. Never mind in the arctic tundra where the process of triage involves blood alcohol level and the number of wild animals involved. You should have been dragged off into the night by any number of land roving predators before the age of 6. The fact you’re both still alive is borderline miraculous and should be the inspiration for a made for TV movie.
The Northern Onslaught: Supply Lines
How To Waste 15 Minutes Of My Time:
Step 1: Order $700 worth of pants.
Step 2: Realize you can’t afford that.
Step 3: Remove some. Order $500 worth of pants.
Step 4: Realize you can’t afford that.
Step 5: Say the following: “Um, can I just remove them all and start over? I forgot what I ordered.”
Step 6: End up ordering $500 worth of pants anyway.
I never thought I’d ever fantasize about having venom sacks in my mouth that would allow me to spit some sort of blinding, toxic chemical into the faces of other people. For the express purpose of watching them scream and writhe on the ground, clawing at their face. But, well, there you go.
Least Someone's Having A Good Time
C: “Yes, its <officer> here. I have a client of <lawyer>'s in custody here. He’s being charged with possession of cocaine, carrying a concealed weapon, two counts of assault and four counts of breach of peace.”
Well, sounds like somebody had a much better Friday night than I did.
A Clue, Sherlock
You encountered a “suspicious man” in the elevator and would like me to notify the property manager. This “suspicious man” is wearing work overalls, has the keys to the building, knows his way around the building, has a clipboard of documents for the building and says he’s from <elevator company> which services the building. You encountered him in the elevator and he said he was there to service the elevator. Yet this entire list of not so cleverly concealed clues has led you to the conclusion that he is suspicious and must be some sort of criminal mastermind that has cunningly crafted the most convincing costume possible to……do what exactly? If he was going to break into someone’s apartment he already has the keys so it’s not like he needs the disguise to lull you into a false sense of security. He could just wait till you were asleep.
Also, I appreciate the warning that this is all on my head now should he turn out to actually be some sort of James Bond villain. All because I would not page the property manager and ask him what a guy from <elevator company>, dressed as an elevator technician with keys to the building and service documents for the elevator was doing in the elevator.
Hot Tips
SC: “Hi, my name is Vick.”
Oh joy, Uncle Vick. How can I help you?
SC: “Listen, I just got let out.”
Me: “….Wait....let out?”
SC: “The police locked me up because I had a feeling about something that was going to happen.”
…..the police locked you up because you had a feeling? ( That tonight’s going to be a good night? )
SC: “They locked me up and I told my mom about it. My mom called the police. She thought I was getting a firearm and going to kill a bunch of people and commit suicide or something like that.”
Hahahah, seriously? Your mom thought you were going to go on a shooting spree? Bahahahaha. But, Vick, you’ve always been such a perfect model of a well adjusted, stable human being. I can’t imagine how she would have gotten that impression.
SC: “I managed to convince the doctor I was suffering from post traumatic stress. But regardless of that I’ve been watching the media and Al Qaeda and Europe. I got locked up about 2 weeks ago so I wasn’t able to tell you about my feeling.”
You’re apologizing because being in jail prevented you from calling and informing us of your psychic premonitions? Well, no worries. I mean, it was a dark couple of weeks without your prophetic insight. But now that you’re back out again, we can all once again can benefit from your keen insights and loving guidance.
Hot Tips
SC: “Hi, my name is Victor”
What now, Vick?
SC: “I was wondering, should I get involved-, the A-Team took a hit off my life, a hit on my life. I was wondering if I should get involved-“
Wait wait wait, the A-Team put a hit out for you? The A-Team? I don't know Vick, if Mr T is involved I can't really do much to help you. Except perhaps to offer pity.
Me: “Wait…wait, did you say A-Team?”
SC: “Huh?”
Me: “Who put out a hit on your life?”
SC: “The Hells Angels, I owe them one for taking the hit off my life.”
Wait, the A-Team put a hit on your life, and the Hells Angels took it off? So the Hells Angels saved you from the A-Team? I’m confused. Not as much as you are, granted. But confused none the less.
SC: “I got hit with a baseball bat in 1997.”
Really? I never would have associated you with a severe head injury.
SC: “So I’m wondering if I should get involved and solve this murder case-“
Me: “No….I don’t think you should be involved in anything really.”
SC: “No?”
Me: “No.”
SC: "Oh, ok then."
Really, it’s probably best for you and everyone around you that you never become involved in anything more complicated than dressing yourself in the morning.
annnnd rest. Desperately needed rest.
Setting The Tone
( Just so you can get an idea of my mood this week. This happened on my first fscking night back )
Ahhhh…Monday. Well, my Monday anyway. How was your Monday? Good? Bad? I bet I can top it. On my way in this evening, just outside the Skytrain station. There’s this little wooded path to the station. Quite nice, walking stones and everything. But also very, very dark. Thus I was quite surprised when my foot hit something and I heard that something skitter away under the fence in a panic. At first I thought I had inadvertently struck a cat. But then the smell wafted my way. I just booted a skunk in the face! Go me! While my cunning, terrified little girl reflexes ensured I didn’t get sprayed directly you don’t really have too with a smell of that magnitude. Much to my horror I realized it had adhered to me quite intensely.
I couldn’t return home to change and bath as that would make me at least hour or two late ( I’m not sure if this is dedication or stupidity. Whichever one looks better on my employee evaluations. ). Nor could I call in and lament my misfortune ( We still do not have a replacement graveyard person for the guy that left. Its been 2 months or so now. So no one can cover for me if I'm sick, and I can't go on vacation right now. ) Its only through sheer miracle that 7/11 sells novelty shirts, tomato juice and horrific order slaying chemicals. Allowing me to rid myself of some contaminated articles by throwing half my clothes in the dumpster and washing myself in tomato juice in a public restroom ( Because I still had some shred of dignity left, can't have that. ). Than spraying down everything else in horrifically toxic ordour eating chemicals which are currently burning my skin through my legs. But hey at least you can only smell me from 3 feet away instead of 10.
Mondays are fucking awesome.
( In the end I had to throw out everything I was wearing, and everything in my pockets, including my wallet. Still trying to save my boots. But I'm out a good $120 worth of my work clothes and was fairly ill for the following couple days. >< )
The Northern Onslaught
( They were on the god damn war march against me this week. )
Me: “And the item number please?”
SC: “xxxx”
Me: “Al-“
SC: “IS DAT ON SALE!?”
……depends, if I say it is, will you spare my life? You sound a tad too excited at the prospect of obtaining a pair of pants for less than they are labeled for. Almost…..ravenous. I’m not precisely sure it’s wise of me to be standing between you and the underoos you desire so. I’ve already had one encounter with an aromatic, nocturnal monster this evening and I’m quite keen on avoiding another. So yes, the pants are sale…….for exactly the same price listed in my system, but on sale none the less!
Hot Tips - A Challenger Appears
Me: “Good eveni-”
SC: “What?! Jesus Christ all God damn mighty?! Where am I?!”
…..I don’t know, but I have a sneaking suspicious it’s not on this planet.
SC: “Hello?!”
Me: “Yes-“
SC: “2 tornados in New York city?! Jesus Christ all god damn mighty!”
Me: “Al-“
SC: “What? WHAT?! All god damn mighty?! Obama! OBAMA GOOD TO LOVE YOU!”
Holy crap you are out there aren’t you? Normally, I would have been the first to welcome you into the ranks of my nocturnal crazies. As I so rarely get new blood or fresh material. But damn, dude. I have two other guys that call this line. One of them thinks Jesus is his roommate and wants him to help the Queen grow a beard and the other thinks he chased Al-Qaeda off of his sister in law’s couch in Surrey. Yet both of them are more lucid than you are.
SC: “But you better listen! What? What was that? All god damn mighty?”
Wait, are you hearing “All god damn mighty”? Is God yelling tips at you? Look, I don’t mean to be rude here. But if you seriously think God is shouting stuff at you, maybe you should get off the phone and talk to him. I mean, I have good self-esteem and all, but compared to God I’m willing to step aside here and let you continue your “chat”. Really, it’s no trouble. You go right ahead and finish your little talk. I’ll be right here if and/or when “God” leaves you alone.
The Northern Onslaught 2
Me: “And your phone number, please?”
SC: “8<mumble>-515-xxxx”
Me: “I’m sorry, what was the area code for the phone number again?”
SC: “Area code….phone number?”
Me: “Yes, what was the area code for your phone number again?”
SC: “1178118”
….you just said it. I know you said it. I know you know what it is. Just repeat the phone number again! You know it! It’s not hard! I know it’s highly unlikely your brain can shift up gear wise, but you should be able to at least downshift into reverse. In fact I’m sure you spent half your day in it.
Me: “….no, what is the area code for your phone number, please?”
SC: “Oh………….<town she's in>”
Number, number! I said number. At the very least stay in the same ballpark with me here, dear lord. I’m standing on the mound, pitching softballs at you. Underhand. And in you’re in the parking lot snickering and drawing a penis on the pavement with chalk.
Me: “No, the area code for your phone number please. The first 3 numbers of your phone number.”
SC: “515”
Me: “Before that.”
SC: “Oh, xxx.”
HALLEJUAH.
The Northern Onslaught 3
$1070.35 worth of pants. You tried to buy over a grand worth of pants. Oh my god. What is wrong with you? Really, I need some sort of explanation for this. I’ve witnessed it far too much from the dark reaches of this country and I must know why if I am to sleep at night. Is this some sort of mental condition or is it more like a fetish? Dear lord. They were all in the same size too so it’s not like you were ordering for your entire family + extended family either. Oh no. You want these luscious leggings all for yourself. I assume to just throw in a big pile so you can roll around naked in them or something.
Sadly, you were thwarted by the $900 COD limit and forced to settle for a mere $800 worth of pants instead. Truly this is a dark day.
The Northern Onslaught: D-Day
Me: “Alright, which catalog would you like to order from?”
SC: “Uh…….wait……..women’s jacket.”
Me: “Which catalog is it in, please?”
SC: “Wait……………sub…..zero parka.”
Me: “Which catalog are you looking in?”
SC: “…uh…..”
Background: “<whisper> 21.”
SC: 21……….page 21”
Me: “In which catalog?”
SC: “Uhhhhhh…….<whispered to background> which catalog?……”
Background: “<whisper> Which catalog? Uh…….What dat mean?”
SC: “What does dat mean?”
There are two of them there. Two. And between the two of them they cannot unravel this incredibly simple question. Instead they’re both defaulting to the TEIK Self Defense Mechanism that was devised in, by and is exclusive to northern reaches of the globe. TEIK, or Tell Everything I Know, is a psychological self defense mechanism that seems to exist only at the consistently low temperatures of the northern hemisphere. This is where an inhabitant of this barren mental wasteland will collapse under the pressure of simple inquiry and just start randomly tossing out every useless bit of information they can think of in the desperate hope that something they say will be the right answer. It never is.
You can randomly pull any call I’ve taken on this account in the last 6 years and they’ll be a good 50% chance you will see the TEIK mechanism at work. It is there first, last and only psychological coping mechanism when confronted by an intellectual superior. Be that superior animal, vegetable or mineral. I’m quite confident that if you handed them a can of soup without a can opener, they would study it frantically for 10-15 minutes and then begin to yell out the ingredients on the side of the can to the can in an attempt to solve the conundrum.
Me: “What catalog do you have there that you’re looking in?”
SC: “Yes?”
Me: “Which catalog is it?”
SC: “Catalog?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “I don’t know that.”
Me: “…what does the catalog say on the front?”
SC: “…..uh….sub zero parka?”
Me: “….no, you’re looking in the catalog right?”
SC: “Yes.”
Me: “Alright, close the catalog and look at the front. The very front of the catalog and tell me what it says. Is it the a Fall catalog?”
SC: “Uh….<comp-<company>?……”
Me: “Alright, does it say Fall?”
SC: “Yes.”
Me: “It says Fall 2010 on the front of the catalog?”
SC: “Yes.”
You’ll note I had to physically walk her through the steps required to obtain this information. We are dealing with brain cells so dense that science would have to add a new row to the Periodic Table to quantify her IQ.
Me: “And the item number you'd like to order, please?”
SC: “I don’t have an item number.”
You mean you don’t have the one piece of information you actually need? Well, stick your grubby paws in the crayon box, yank one out and colour me Fucking Shocked Fuchsia.
Me: “No, what’s the item number you’d like to order?”
SC: “21”
Me: “….no, there should be a number next to the item you’d like to order. What is that number?”
SC: “xxxx-xxx”
Thank you, my God. Its only taken 10 minutes to get the first fucking item out of you. There's only 7 hours left in my shift you know. So I hope your shopping list is rather brief.
Me: “By credit card or COD?”
SC: “……uh………money order.”
Me: “…by COD?”
SC: “Y….yes.”
Me: “Alright, by COD it will come to xxx.xx and should arrive in about 2 weeks.”
SC: “How long it gonna stay?”
Me: “….how long what, sorry?”
SC: “How long dey gonna stay in north, our northern.”
Me: “I don’t understand, sorry.”
SC: “What…….is the first part?”
Me: “I don’t understand what you’re asking, sorry.”
SC: “ummmmm...<literally a 3 minute pause of dead silence>……………………I’m finished.”
Me: “…….Alright.”
Ok, you know what? No. That’s right. No. You can’t have this jacket. This jacket has done nothing to deserve you and you do not deserve this jacket. It is a rather nice, $250 jacket and judging by the level of intellect you have displayed so far I fear you will get it, try it on and then wonder why it doesn’t fit as well as the rest of your pants.
The Northern Onslaught: Reinforcements
SC: “It me again. I jus called a little while ago?”
Oh for God sakes, why have you forsaken me, Lord?
SC: “My friend want to order.”
You mean that brain trust you kept in reserve to help you during the last call? Wonderful.
Me: “Alright, and the item number please?”
SC2: “………….I….got nothing.”
Don’t take this the wrong way but you and your friend should be dead. Or to be more precise: How are you still alive? I simply do not understand how you have managed to survive for this long without gloves, a helmet, a padded room and 24/7 professional supervision. Never mind in the arctic tundra where the process of triage involves blood alcohol level and the number of wild animals involved. You should have been dragged off into the night by any number of land roving predators before the age of 6. The fact you’re both still alive is borderline miraculous and should be the inspiration for a made for TV movie.
The Northern Onslaught: Supply Lines
How To Waste 15 Minutes Of My Time:
Step 1: Order $700 worth of pants.
Step 2: Realize you can’t afford that.
Step 3: Remove some. Order $500 worth of pants.
Step 4: Realize you can’t afford that.
Step 5: Say the following: “Um, can I just remove them all and start over? I forgot what I ordered.”
Step 6: End up ordering $500 worth of pants anyway.
I never thought I’d ever fantasize about having venom sacks in my mouth that would allow me to spit some sort of blinding, toxic chemical into the faces of other people. For the express purpose of watching them scream and writhe on the ground, clawing at their face. But, well, there you go.
Least Someone's Having A Good Time
C: “Yes, its <officer> here. I have a client of <lawyer>'s in custody here. He’s being charged with possession of cocaine, carrying a concealed weapon, two counts of assault and four counts of breach of peace.”
Well, sounds like somebody had a much better Friday night than I did.
A Clue, Sherlock
You encountered a “suspicious man” in the elevator and would like me to notify the property manager. This “suspicious man” is wearing work overalls, has the keys to the building, knows his way around the building, has a clipboard of documents for the building and says he’s from <elevator company> which services the building. You encountered him in the elevator and he said he was there to service the elevator. Yet this entire list of not so cleverly concealed clues has led you to the conclusion that he is suspicious and must be some sort of criminal mastermind that has cunningly crafted the most convincing costume possible to……do what exactly? If he was going to break into someone’s apartment he already has the keys so it’s not like he needs the disguise to lull you into a false sense of security. He could just wait till you were asleep.
Also, I appreciate the warning that this is all on my head now should he turn out to actually be some sort of James Bond villain. All because I would not page the property manager and ask him what a guy from <elevator company>, dressed as an elevator technician with keys to the building and service documents for the elevator was doing in the elevator.
Hot Tips
SC: “Hi, my name is Vick.”
Oh joy, Uncle Vick. How can I help you?
SC: “Listen, I just got let out.”
Me: “….Wait....let out?”
SC: “The police locked me up because I had a feeling about something that was going to happen.”
…..the police locked you up because you had a feeling? ( That tonight’s going to be a good night? )
SC: “They locked me up and I told my mom about it. My mom called the police. She thought I was getting a firearm and going to kill a bunch of people and commit suicide or something like that.”
Hahahah, seriously? Your mom thought you were going to go on a shooting spree? Bahahahaha. But, Vick, you’ve always been such a perfect model of a well adjusted, stable human being. I can’t imagine how she would have gotten that impression.
SC: “I managed to convince the doctor I was suffering from post traumatic stress. But regardless of that I’ve been watching the media and Al Qaeda and Europe. I got locked up about 2 weeks ago so I wasn’t able to tell you about my feeling.”
You’re apologizing because being in jail prevented you from calling and informing us of your psychic premonitions? Well, no worries. I mean, it was a dark couple of weeks without your prophetic insight. But now that you’re back out again, we can all once again can benefit from your keen insights and loving guidance.
Hot Tips
SC: “Hi, my name is Victor”
What now, Vick?
SC: “I was wondering, should I get involved-, the A-Team took a hit off my life, a hit on my life. I was wondering if I should get involved-“
Wait wait wait, the A-Team put a hit out for you? The A-Team? I don't know Vick, if Mr T is involved I can't really do much to help you. Except perhaps to offer pity.
Me: “Wait…wait, did you say A-Team?”
SC: “Huh?”
Me: “Who put out a hit on your life?”
SC: “The Hells Angels, I owe them one for taking the hit off my life.”
Wait, the A-Team put a hit on your life, and the Hells Angels took it off? So the Hells Angels saved you from the A-Team? I’m confused. Not as much as you are, granted. But confused none the less.
SC: “I got hit with a baseball bat in 1997.”
Really? I never would have associated you with a severe head injury.
SC: “So I’m wondering if I should get involved and solve this murder case-“
Me: “No….I don’t think you should be involved in anything really.”
SC: “No?”
Me: “No.”
SC: "Oh, ok then."
Really, it’s probably best for you and everyone around you that you never become involved in anything more complicated than dressing yourself in the morning.
annnnd rest. Desperately needed rest.
I feel bad you got sick, though. Drink lots of water to help get rid of toxins. 
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