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Oh. My. God. Why...how are people so fscking stupid? <sob>
Lockjaw > Crying Game
This evening I was intercepted by large, waddling raccoons in the exact same area where I met a more fearsome beast a scant couple weeks ago. But you know what? I’m perfectly fine with this. Raccoons are fat, slow and generally do not give a rat’s arse about anything in their immediate vicinity that is not some sort of Hostess snack cake. Skunk’s are paranoid little rat monsters that spray a foul curse in liquid form upon the unsuspecting. Raccoons though? I could toss them a cupcake and probably get a high five.
I might need a rabies shot after words but hey. I’ll take a rabies shot over an hour of scrubbing myself down in the shower with tomato juice.
Dear God
Me: “And your name please?”
SC: “HERYAXGRUBLOOOK!!!!!!!!!!"
JESUS CHRIST?! What the fuck!? My god, what was that? What just happened? Everything was going fine. Everything was normal. Then I asked you another question and suddenly, EWOKS. I have absolutely no idea what you just said. What it was suppose to be. Or if it was even suppose to be anything. It spurned only a sudden image of savage, buck toothed teddy bears screeching murderously from the trees above me.
Let us try that again.
Me: “I’m sorry, can you spell your first name please?”
SC: “H……….E-R-Y-A-X”
….wait, seriously? Half of that alphabet holocaust was your name? Heryax? …..really? Your name is Heryax? As in “Yaks which belong to a female”?
Me: “And the last name?”
SC: “G-R-U...B-L....O-O…uh-O-K”
Really? 3 O’s? In a row no less? I never thought I’d have to ask this question in a literal sense but: What planet are you from? And don't say Endor, I'm not falling for that. Even Ewoks were smart enough for simple tool use.
A Cunning Ruse
Me: “And your name please?”
SC: “Charlotte.”
Charlotte, you say? Hmm….most curious. You don’t sound like a Charlotte. Unless it’s suppose to be Charlotte after the surgery. Otherwise, me thinks thou art deceiving me.
Me: “You’re ordering for Charlotte?”
SC: “Uh, y-yeah.”
Then go, find me this Charlotte. I will not hear her words through you. You have enough trouble with your own words. Fetch her, at once, I say.
Me: “May I speak with her, please? I can’t place the order in her name unless I speak with her.”
SC: “Um...sure.”
Me: “Thank you.”
SC: “Uh........um...……<click>.”
……did you just hang up on me? Was this all a ruse? There was no Charlotte, was there? She was little more than a construct of your rather bland and seemingly dull witted imagination. Did you get black listed after ordering $5000 worth of pants COD and not paying for it? ( You'd be surprised how often this happens. ) So now you must assume an alias? If so, then might I ask about the one glorious flaw in this scheme of yours? Why did you select a woman’s name to place the order in when you so obviously hang low?
If you had just called yourself Steve, you’d be well on your way to enjoying another opportunity to fail at paying for leg garments.
Technology
Yes, there are actual tickets. No, I am not just writing your name down on a piece of paper and putting it in a box. No, we will not lose your ticket or forget to put it in the “box”. Look, this lottery is dealing with near 300,000 tickets and this is the year 2010. So we’re relying on technology a tad more advanced than your bridge club’s bake sale raffle. Relax. Your ticket will be fine. As will your miniscule chance of winning anything of significance. There is nothing to worry about save the inevitable, looming sense of defeat and dejection.
I shouldn’t say that. I’m sorry, I’m being mean again. I do hope you win something for your $250 investment ( A $25 Starbucks gift card for example ).
....what?
( This is a wrong number. >< )
Me: "Good morning, <company that quite obviously sells web services>"
SC: “Do ya’ll have a referral service?”
Me: “I’m sorry?”
SC: “Like could you tell me where to go to get a vasectomy?”
…….no, no I could not. In fact out of all of the knowledge currently possessed by the human race, “Where can I find someone to cut me in the groin” is the absolute lowest on my list of information I wish to possess. I could do quite well and live a rather happy life never, ever knowing that one little tidbit.
Hot Tips: SO LONELY
SC: “Hi, my name is Vick.”
<sigh>, hello Vick.
SC: “I found a couple of listening devices in my house. I’m not sure who they belong too.”
Do you really, honestly think your house is bugged? I mean, really? You really think that anyone has any sort of interest in anything you say or do? Because honestly, think about this for a second. I’m not a federal agent this or any other country or agency. I’m just the guy that stays awake in to take messages for them. I’m little more than a glorified secretary. And even I’m not interested in anything you say or do.
I know that in your own mind you think of yourself as kind of like the Robin to our Batman. A plucky, wisecracking, Al-Qaeda punchin’ boy wonder side kick dressed like he just wandered away from a pride parade in Vegas ( See: Robin ). Always on hand to help out and bail us, the hero, out of a tight predicament often enough to prevent us from taking you for granted. While letting you bask in our glory and play with all of our toys.
But the reality is you’re an annoying, persistent tag along that makes me groan with every appearance and does little but boast about his own supposed achievements or offer what you think is important and relevant assistance. So basically, you’re Scrappy-Doo.
SC: “I’m moving at the end of the month, I’ll leave em where I found them or maybe at the storage room at my parent’s place in case you want to come by and get them.”
…..look, Vick. Don’t take this the wrong way but my God you need to go out and make some friends. If you really found listening devices in your house ( and not just an old button or stale Cheeto under the couch that you are mistaking for such ) the appropriate course of action isn’t to call us to let and advise us that you’re moving. You know, just to give us the heads up that we need to move the bugs to your new residence so we can continue monitoring your banality. You’re so desperate for attention, real or perceived, that you’re telling the people you think are spying on you where you’re going so they can keep spying on you.
Besides, if we really did bug your house it’s not like you actually have to call and tell us any of this. We already know.
Hot Tips: A Challenger Appears
( That needs a laptop )
SC: “I know you deal mostly with stuff in the US-“
-and despite knowing this you’re about to ask me something or tell me something that has absolutely nothing to do with it. Correct?
SC: “I realize that’s your primary objective.”
Ooh, big words. Yes, you are correct. That is my primary objective. My secondary objective is to make fun of people such as yourself that do not comprehend my primary objective.
SC: “But I want to get a message through somehow to someone that would be able to ascertain the status and situation regarding miss Tokyo Rose who is maybe still alive and living in California.”
She’s dead and was living in Illinois. Learn to use the Internet. If she was still alive she’d be 94. Give the old girl a break.
SC: “This would require a little bit of investigation and may be very worthwhile.”
15 Seconds with Google to be precise. I did not find it very worthwhile, however.
SC: “I would like that to get into the hands of somebody that would be able to deal with it and investigate that situation.”
Such as anyone with an Internet connection? You really seem to be lagging behind the technological curve here, my daft friend. Even if you had no access to such wondrous technology I hear libraries tend to have something called “books” which contain information sorted by title and topic. Ironically, they too have the Internet and will even let you use it!
Me: “This really isn’t something we can help you with.”
SC: “Oh, I know that. But anyway-“
….if you know this, why do you persist? Clearly this endeavour will be ultimately unsuccessful and you fully acknowledge this, yet you persist. Are you some sort of weird failure sadist? It doesn’t matter that defeat looms on the horizon, you need to taste the succulent pain of its tainted waters no matter the cost? Look, I put up with a lot of silliness and stupidity on this shift. I tolerate all comers regardless of IQ or sobriety. But I simply will not condone any calls being placed to me while having more than 4 inchs of rubber jammed any oriface. I have to draw the line somewhere, you know.
Seriously?
SC: “I’m callin’ ta pay ma power bill.”
Me: “I’m afraid you have the wrong number.
SC: “Oh, can you just connect me then?”
…..no. In fact, you know what? Fuck no. I’ve gotten quite a few dull witted responses to “You’ve called the wrong number” but never one quite as, well, honestly rude, as that one. Did you really just ask me if I could connect you to the right number? Never mind the fact that short of omni-sentience I have absolutely no way of knowing what that number is. But you just asked a complete stranger to find and connect you to that number. Instead of doing the proper thing. Which is apologizing, hanging up, and fucking yourself.
And Again
SC: “Yeah I wanna know about your training classes”
Me: “I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”
SC: “Oh….is there any way you have the right number?”
Oh, of course. There are many ways I have the right number. The aforementioned omni-sentience, witchcraft, voodoo, runic divination, precognition, possibly some sort of cyborg hivemind. However, I do not technically possess any of these ways. So no, I do not have this “right number” you speak of. ( And no, I can’t connect you to it either. Fuck off. ).
Letters Are Hard
Me: “And the last name please?”
SC: “O’Brian”
Me: “Can you spell it please?”
SC: “…..um…..O.....O?……uh….apostrophe? B-R-I-N-….wait no, B-R-N-...uh“
Are you ok over there? Do you need some alone time to sort this out? I know, figuring out your own damn name can be a difficult and emotionally trying experience. So please, take all the time you need to struggle your way through all of 6 letters and a single mark of punctuation. Though I commend you for being able to barely pronounce the word “apostrophe”.
ARGH
( This is but a snippet, the entire call was actually like 7 minutes of just *this*. )
Me: “By credit card or COD?”
SC: “I’m gonna. Uh. Money order.”
Me: “Did you want COD then?”
SC: “Money order.”
Me: “COD means you pay for it at the post office when it arrives.”
SC: “Ok, yeah.”
Me: “Alright, so by COD it comes to $161 an-“
SC: “I can’ understand, I’m try’n money order. How much I have to pay for money order?”
Me: “I don’t have money order as an option over the phone. Its either by credit card or COD. By COD you just pay for it when it arrives at the post office.”
SC: “Uh….yeah. Yeah…I thought that was money order.”
Me: “No, that’s COD.”
SC: “……uh…..yeah……jus want to know….”
Me: “So, did you want it by COD?”
SC: “Uh……no.”
Me: “Well, what would you like me to do with your order then?”
SC: “I was jus trying to do it by money order.”
Me: “……You can’t order it by money order over the phone. But with COD all you need to do is pay for it when it arrives at the post office. You don’t need a money order.”
SC: “Oh…uh……..ok.”
This isn’t that difficult. I’m actually making this easier for you. You were going to go to the post office to get the money order anyway, and I’m making it so you can just go to the post office and hand over your beer money directly in exchange for the package. I’m cutting out the middle man. Why is this so difficult to comprehend? The only thing you need to do is go to the post office and give them money. They will than give you everything you just asked me for. It’s just that simple.
Look, if it helps, just think of it as magic. You don’t have to understand magic. Magic is magic because its magic. Just accept that its magic and move on. Don’t ask questions because clearly you’re a muggle and will never grasp nor understand the intricacies of magic anyhow.
By the way, shipping it via magic costs $52. Spell components are expensive, you know.
ARGGGGHHH
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah.”
…..you again? Apparently pants are just like Chinese food. You’re hungry again an hour later.
Me: “And the item number please?”
SC: “10”
Me: “….alright, but what’s the item number of what you’d like to order?”
SC: “I want to order…uh…………………………”
Me: “……………………what’s the item number please?”
SC: “Item…..item……..uh…………….”
Me: “……………..”
SC: “I think it’s 20.”
Me: “….what is the item number next to the item you would like to order?”
SC: “Oh, uh, you want the item number?”
YES. DAMMIT. I WANT THE NUMBER. What the fark is wrong with you? Why is this so hard?! You managed to pull it off without incident an hour ago!
SC: “xxxx”
….wait, that’s….the exact same thing you ordered an hour ago. Why are you ordering it again? How the fuck are you failing at it when its the exact same god damn thing.
Me: “…Alright, I’m sorry but didn’t you place this exact order a little while ago?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “…you wanted to order it again?”
SC: “Uh, no. I wanted to, cus it can’t be only 100. 60. 1 plus 20 cents. Cus there’s two. The der ones are 55 dollar plus n' 42 dollar. So it should be 112 dollars.”
…..what? What are you even…….oh sweet Jesus are you trying to do math?! You fool! Arithmetic is far beyond your mental capabilities. As evidenced by the fact it took you an hour to add together the price of two items. An equation I should point out you actually got wrong.
Me: “…I’m sorry, what?”
SC: “Cus its too small to be 161.”
Me: “There’s shipping and tax as well.”
SC: “Uh…how much is shippin'?”
Me: “Shipping is an additional $52-”
SC: “Uh…k….imma money order. I money order on Weds.”
Me: “…you’re going to mail an order in?”
SC: “I dunno. I’m gonna money order on Weds. Order dis. COD.”
Me: “As I explained, COD means you just pay for it when it arrives at the post office. You don’t need a money order. Alright?”
SC: “Uh….ok.”
<twitch>
Oh. My. God. I…just. You know what? No. There’s no jokes or funny little quips I can make that will make this better. You are a fucking idiot. You were born a fucking idiot. Raised by fucking idiots. Surrounded by fucking idiots. Likely live in a town comprised almost entirely of fucking idiots and you will die a fucking idiot. Probably with your head stuck in a fence. The mere fact you live and have managed to reach this age is both a miracle and a tragedy of Biblical proportions. Your mere existence should embarrass all of us as a species. There should be a dedicated team of scientists somewhere with international funding whose only purpose is to find a way to ensure that no one like yourself ever walks this earth ever again if only to maintain the dignity of the human race. You and you alone are the reason why aliens have not yet contacted us.
<Deep breath>, ok, I’m better now.
Of Tiny Penii
Me: “How can I help you?”
SC: “Hello? ( In that obvious "I'm 12 trying to sound grown up voice" )”
Me: “.....Hi.”
SC: “Ok, what.”
Me: “….pardon?”
SC: “What is ya’lls website called?”
Me: “This is <company>-“
SC: “Oh, I’m sorry-YO MOTHER FUCKER WANNA SUCK MA DICK, BITCH?! SUCK MY DICK! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUUUUCK YOU!!!!!!!"
Me: “Have a bit of repressed rage over there, do we?”
I should also point out that despite your feeble attempt here, profanity screamed by a squeaky 12 year old whose parents were clearly related is in no way intimidating. It’s actually kind of funny. Like being yelled at by one of Donald Duck’s nephews. And I’m sure amusing me wasn’t your objective here. Though, honestly, I’m not sure what your objective here is-
SC: “...uh.....uhhh......You wanna suck ma little d**k!?”
-unless it is to inform me about the inadequate size of your masculinity? I wouldn’t think that’d be something you’d just want to throw out there at random like that. But very well. While I did not exactly want to be introduced into this particular club. I guess that makes two of us now that are aware you couldn't please a Fruit Loop.
annnnnd rest.
Lockjaw > Crying Game
This evening I was intercepted by large, waddling raccoons in the exact same area where I met a more fearsome beast a scant couple weeks ago. But you know what? I’m perfectly fine with this. Raccoons are fat, slow and generally do not give a rat’s arse about anything in their immediate vicinity that is not some sort of Hostess snack cake. Skunk’s are paranoid little rat monsters that spray a foul curse in liquid form upon the unsuspecting. Raccoons though? I could toss them a cupcake and probably get a high five.
I might need a rabies shot after words but hey. I’ll take a rabies shot over an hour of scrubbing myself down in the shower with tomato juice.
Dear God
Me: “And your name please?”
SC: “HERYAXGRUBLOOOK!!!!!!!!!!"
JESUS CHRIST?! What the fuck!? My god, what was that? What just happened? Everything was going fine. Everything was normal. Then I asked you another question and suddenly, EWOKS. I have absolutely no idea what you just said. What it was suppose to be. Or if it was even suppose to be anything. It spurned only a sudden image of savage, buck toothed teddy bears screeching murderously from the trees above me.
Let us try that again.
Me: “I’m sorry, can you spell your first name please?”
SC: “H……….E-R-Y-A-X”
….wait, seriously? Half of that alphabet holocaust was your name? Heryax? …..really? Your name is Heryax? As in “Yaks which belong to a female”?
Me: “And the last name?”
SC: “G-R-U...B-L....O-O…uh-O-K”
Really? 3 O’s? In a row no less? I never thought I’d have to ask this question in a literal sense but: What planet are you from? And don't say Endor, I'm not falling for that. Even Ewoks were smart enough for simple tool use.
A Cunning Ruse
Me: “And your name please?”
SC: “Charlotte.”
Charlotte, you say? Hmm….most curious. You don’t sound like a Charlotte. Unless it’s suppose to be Charlotte after the surgery. Otherwise, me thinks thou art deceiving me.
Me: “You’re ordering for Charlotte?”
SC: “Uh, y-yeah.”
Then go, find me this Charlotte. I will not hear her words through you. You have enough trouble with your own words. Fetch her, at once, I say.
Me: “May I speak with her, please? I can’t place the order in her name unless I speak with her.”
SC: “Um...sure.”
Me: “Thank you.”
SC: “Uh........um...……<click>.”
……did you just hang up on me? Was this all a ruse? There was no Charlotte, was there? She was little more than a construct of your rather bland and seemingly dull witted imagination. Did you get black listed after ordering $5000 worth of pants COD and not paying for it? ( You'd be surprised how often this happens. ) So now you must assume an alias? If so, then might I ask about the one glorious flaw in this scheme of yours? Why did you select a woman’s name to place the order in when you so obviously hang low?
If you had just called yourself Steve, you’d be well on your way to enjoying another opportunity to fail at paying for leg garments.
Technology
Yes, there are actual tickets. No, I am not just writing your name down on a piece of paper and putting it in a box. No, we will not lose your ticket or forget to put it in the “box”. Look, this lottery is dealing with near 300,000 tickets and this is the year 2010. So we’re relying on technology a tad more advanced than your bridge club’s bake sale raffle. Relax. Your ticket will be fine. As will your miniscule chance of winning anything of significance. There is nothing to worry about save the inevitable, looming sense of defeat and dejection.
I shouldn’t say that. I’m sorry, I’m being mean again. I do hope you win something for your $250 investment ( A $25 Starbucks gift card for example ).
....what?
( This is a wrong number. >< )
Me: "Good morning, <company that quite obviously sells web services>"
SC: “Do ya’ll have a referral service?”
Me: “I’m sorry?”
SC: “Like could you tell me where to go to get a vasectomy?”
…….no, no I could not. In fact out of all of the knowledge currently possessed by the human race, “Where can I find someone to cut me in the groin” is the absolute lowest on my list of information I wish to possess. I could do quite well and live a rather happy life never, ever knowing that one little tidbit.
Hot Tips: SO LONELY
SC: “Hi, my name is Vick.”
<sigh>, hello Vick.
SC: “I found a couple of listening devices in my house. I’m not sure who they belong too.”
Do you really, honestly think your house is bugged? I mean, really? You really think that anyone has any sort of interest in anything you say or do? Because honestly, think about this for a second. I’m not a federal agent this or any other country or agency. I’m just the guy that stays awake in to take messages for them. I’m little more than a glorified secretary. And even I’m not interested in anything you say or do.
I know that in your own mind you think of yourself as kind of like the Robin to our Batman. A plucky, wisecracking, Al-Qaeda punchin’ boy wonder side kick dressed like he just wandered away from a pride parade in Vegas ( See: Robin ). Always on hand to help out and bail us, the hero, out of a tight predicament often enough to prevent us from taking you for granted. While letting you bask in our glory and play with all of our toys.
But the reality is you’re an annoying, persistent tag along that makes me groan with every appearance and does little but boast about his own supposed achievements or offer what you think is important and relevant assistance. So basically, you’re Scrappy-Doo.
SC: “I’m moving at the end of the month, I’ll leave em where I found them or maybe at the storage room at my parent’s place in case you want to come by and get them.”
…..look, Vick. Don’t take this the wrong way but my God you need to go out and make some friends. If you really found listening devices in your house ( and not just an old button or stale Cheeto under the couch that you are mistaking for such ) the appropriate course of action isn’t to call us to let and advise us that you’re moving. You know, just to give us the heads up that we need to move the bugs to your new residence so we can continue monitoring your banality. You’re so desperate for attention, real or perceived, that you’re telling the people you think are spying on you where you’re going so they can keep spying on you.
Besides, if we really did bug your house it’s not like you actually have to call and tell us any of this. We already know.
Hot Tips: A Challenger Appears
( That needs a laptop )
SC: “I know you deal mostly with stuff in the US-“
-and despite knowing this you’re about to ask me something or tell me something that has absolutely nothing to do with it. Correct?
SC: “I realize that’s your primary objective.”
Ooh, big words. Yes, you are correct. That is my primary objective. My secondary objective is to make fun of people such as yourself that do not comprehend my primary objective.
SC: “But I want to get a message through somehow to someone that would be able to ascertain the status and situation regarding miss Tokyo Rose who is maybe still alive and living in California.”
She’s dead and was living in Illinois. Learn to use the Internet. If she was still alive she’d be 94. Give the old girl a break.
SC: “This would require a little bit of investigation and may be very worthwhile.”
15 Seconds with Google to be precise. I did not find it very worthwhile, however.
SC: “I would like that to get into the hands of somebody that would be able to deal with it and investigate that situation.”
Such as anyone with an Internet connection? You really seem to be lagging behind the technological curve here, my daft friend. Even if you had no access to such wondrous technology I hear libraries tend to have something called “books” which contain information sorted by title and topic. Ironically, they too have the Internet and will even let you use it!
Me: “This really isn’t something we can help you with.”
SC: “Oh, I know that. But anyway-“
….if you know this, why do you persist? Clearly this endeavour will be ultimately unsuccessful and you fully acknowledge this, yet you persist. Are you some sort of weird failure sadist? It doesn’t matter that defeat looms on the horizon, you need to taste the succulent pain of its tainted waters no matter the cost? Look, I put up with a lot of silliness and stupidity on this shift. I tolerate all comers regardless of IQ or sobriety. But I simply will not condone any calls being placed to me while having more than 4 inchs of rubber jammed any oriface. I have to draw the line somewhere, you know.
Seriously?
SC: “I’m callin’ ta pay ma power bill.”
Me: “I’m afraid you have the wrong number.
SC: “Oh, can you just connect me then?”
…..no. In fact, you know what? Fuck no. I’ve gotten quite a few dull witted responses to “You’ve called the wrong number” but never one quite as, well, honestly rude, as that one. Did you really just ask me if I could connect you to the right number? Never mind the fact that short of omni-sentience I have absolutely no way of knowing what that number is. But you just asked a complete stranger to find and connect you to that number. Instead of doing the proper thing. Which is apologizing, hanging up, and fucking yourself.
And Again
SC: “Yeah I wanna know about your training classes”
Me: “I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”
SC: “Oh….is there any way you have the right number?”
Oh, of course. There are many ways I have the right number. The aforementioned omni-sentience, witchcraft, voodoo, runic divination, precognition, possibly some sort of cyborg hivemind. However, I do not technically possess any of these ways. So no, I do not have this “right number” you speak of. ( And no, I can’t connect you to it either. Fuck off. ).
Letters Are Hard
Me: “And the last name please?”
SC: “O’Brian”
Me: “Can you spell it please?”
SC: “…..um…..O.....O?……uh….apostrophe? B-R-I-N-….wait no, B-R-N-...uh“
Are you ok over there? Do you need some alone time to sort this out? I know, figuring out your own damn name can be a difficult and emotionally trying experience. So please, take all the time you need to struggle your way through all of 6 letters and a single mark of punctuation. Though I commend you for being able to barely pronounce the word “apostrophe”.
ARGH
( This is but a snippet, the entire call was actually like 7 minutes of just *this*. )
Me: “By credit card or COD?”
SC: “I’m gonna. Uh. Money order.”
Me: “Did you want COD then?”
SC: “Money order.”
Me: “COD means you pay for it at the post office when it arrives.”
SC: “Ok, yeah.”
Me: “Alright, so by COD it comes to $161 an-“
SC: “I can’ understand, I’m try’n money order. How much I have to pay for money order?”
Me: “I don’t have money order as an option over the phone. Its either by credit card or COD. By COD you just pay for it when it arrives at the post office.”
SC: “Uh….yeah. Yeah…I thought that was money order.”
Me: “No, that’s COD.”
SC: “……uh…..yeah……jus want to know….”
Me: “So, did you want it by COD?”
SC: “Uh……no.”
Me: “Well, what would you like me to do with your order then?”
SC: “I was jus trying to do it by money order.”
Me: “……You can’t order it by money order over the phone. But with COD all you need to do is pay for it when it arrives at the post office. You don’t need a money order.”
SC: “Oh…uh……..ok.”
This isn’t that difficult. I’m actually making this easier for you. You were going to go to the post office to get the money order anyway, and I’m making it so you can just go to the post office and hand over your beer money directly in exchange for the package. I’m cutting out the middle man. Why is this so difficult to comprehend? The only thing you need to do is go to the post office and give them money. They will than give you everything you just asked me for. It’s just that simple.
Look, if it helps, just think of it as magic. You don’t have to understand magic. Magic is magic because its magic. Just accept that its magic and move on. Don’t ask questions because clearly you’re a muggle and will never grasp nor understand the intricacies of magic anyhow.
By the way, shipping it via magic costs $52. Spell components are expensive, you know.
ARGGGGHHH
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yeah.”
…..you again? Apparently pants are just like Chinese food. You’re hungry again an hour later.
Me: “And the item number please?”
SC: “10”
Me: “….alright, but what’s the item number of what you’d like to order?”
SC: “I want to order…uh…………………………”
Me: “……………………what’s the item number please?”
SC: “Item…..item……..uh…………….”
Me: “……………..”
SC: “I think it’s 20.”
Me: “….what is the item number next to the item you would like to order?”
SC: “Oh, uh, you want the item number?”
YES. DAMMIT. I WANT THE NUMBER. What the fark is wrong with you? Why is this so hard?! You managed to pull it off without incident an hour ago!
SC: “xxxx”
….wait, that’s….the exact same thing you ordered an hour ago. Why are you ordering it again? How the fuck are you failing at it when its the exact same god damn thing.
Me: “…Alright, I’m sorry but didn’t you place this exact order a little while ago?”
SC: “Yeah.”
Me: “…you wanted to order it again?”
SC: “Uh, no. I wanted to, cus it can’t be only 100. 60. 1 plus 20 cents. Cus there’s two. The der ones are 55 dollar plus n' 42 dollar. So it should be 112 dollars.”
…..what? What are you even…….oh sweet Jesus are you trying to do math?! You fool! Arithmetic is far beyond your mental capabilities. As evidenced by the fact it took you an hour to add together the price of two items. An equation I should point out you actually got wrong.
Me: “…I’m sorry, what?”
SC: “Cus its too small to be 161.”
Me: “There’s shipping and tax as well.”
SC: “Uh…how much is shippin'?”
Me: “Shipping is an additional $52-”
SC: “Uh…k….imma money order. I money order on Weds.”
Me: “…you’re going to mail an order in?”
SC: “I dunno. I’m gonna money order on Weds. Order dis. COD.”
Me: “As I explained, COD means you just pay for it when it arrives at the post office. You don’t need a money order. Alright?”
SC: “Uh….ok.”
<twitch>
Oh. My. God. I…just. You know what? No. There’s no jokes or funny little quips I can make that will make this better. You are a fucking idiot. You were born a fucking idiot. Raised by fucking idiots. Surrounded by fucking idiots. Likely live in a town comprised almost entirely of fucking idiots and you will die a fucking idiot. Probably with your head stuck in a fence. The mere fact you live and have managed to reach this age is both a miracle and a tragedy of Biblical proportions. Your mere existence should embarrass all of us as a species. There should be a dedicated team of scientists somewhere with international funding whose only purpose is to find a way to ensure that no one like yourself ever walks this earth ever again if only to maintain the dignity of the human race. You and you alone are the reason why aliens have not yet contacted us.
<Deep breath>, ok, I’m better now.
Of Tiny Penii
Me: “How can I help you?”
SC: “Hello? ( In that obvious "I'm 12 trying to sound grown up voice" )”
Me: “.....Hi.”
SC: “Ok, what.”
Me: “….pardon?”
SC: “What is ya’lls website called?”
Me: “This is <company>-“
SC: “Oh, I’m sorry-YO MOTHER FUCKER WANNA SUCK MA DICK, BITCH?! SUCK MY DICK! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUUUUCK YOU!!!!!!!"
Me: “Have a bit of repressed rage over there, do we?”
I should also point out that despite your feeble attempt here, profanity screamed by a squeaky 12 year old whose parents were clearly related is in no way intimidating. It’s actually kind of funny. Like being yelled at by one of Donald Duck’s nephews. And I’m sure amusing me wasn’t your objective here. Though, honestly, I’m not sure what your objective here is-
SC: “...uh.....uhhh......You wanna suck ma little d**k!?”
-unless it is to inform me about the inadequate size of your masculinity? I wouldn’t think that’d be something you’d just want to throw out there at random like that. But very well. While I did not exactly want to be introduced into this particular club. I guess that makes two of us now that are aware you couldn't please a Fruit Loop.
annnnnd rest.
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