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The War Of The Roses
Oh man, last week was special. Really special.
Siren's Call
Me: “And the first name?”
SC: “Anna.”
Me: “Alright, and your last name please?”
SC: “I’M TIRED OF FLAT SHOES!”
Ok then…….Anna Tired Of Flat Shoes. What can I do for you?
Me: “And the item number?”
SC: “xxxx”
I feel compelled to point that those are, in fact, flat shoes. Though now that I think about it, I do believe I can understand your frustrations and the namesake of your lineage. There is absolutely no where nor time in Nunavut you could conceivably wear any sort of heels without them grievously endangering your life somehow. You’re certainly not making it through the snow in heels, they’re difficult to ride a snow mobile with and you’d never be able to out run a polar bear. Truly, heels are one of the single greatest threats to northern civilization. The other one is Budweiser.
Me: “What size?”
SC: "Size 10, and plus…..I’m a girl right now“
……Right……now? That implies a change of state occurred at some point, or is scheduled to occur at some point in the future after extensive surgery. I also both question and fear why you felt the need to clarify your gender to me. I know, from terrifying experience, that some callers on this shift seem to hear my voice as some sort of lurid Siren’s call. Please do not be tempted by whatever you might hear. It is not that I wish to wield such power, only that I know not how to stop it.
Maybe
Me: “And your first name please?”
SC: “Maybelline”
....Well, I will admit that callers on this line often make me wonder if maybe they’re born with it.
Stop Calling
SC: “It’s in <barren northern town>.”
Me: “<I rattle off the postal code>?”
SC: “……uh......yeah.”
No need to be frightened. I assure you this is not because I have some sort of bizarre eidetic memory. It’s simply because you people call so damn often. In fact seeing as your postal code is burned into my memory for all time, you should perhaps question just how often you call and consider maybe taking a breather once and a while.
Oh noez
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Who?”
Me: “<company>”
SC: “Oh no! Nooooooo! <click>”
That…was somewhat peculiar. I’m not sure I’ve ever had the greeting phrase illicit terror before. He reacted like I’d just named Voldemort out loud. Now, I’m not saying <company> is some sort of Deatheater front in the muggle world or anything, but perhaps we should try going just a bit above and beyond when it comes to answering this client's calls in a timely fashion.
Inquiries
Me:“and should arrive in about two weeks.”
SC: “When will it arrive?”
Me: “In two weeks.”
SC: “Ok………..I’ve got no more question!”
Me:“……alright?”
SC: “Ok, bye <click>”
Yes, well, you may have no more, er, “question”. But I suddenly find myself with several.
The War Of The Roses: The Prelude
( You may recall Mr Brown from last week's post. It's still going on. )
SC: “And this time you can fit in *4* exclamation marks!”
What happened to you, Mr Brown? Look at yourself. Look at the monster you’ve become. 4? 4 exclamation marks? My god! Just last week you were only using one. You’re spiraling out of control, Mr Brown. I hardly recognize you anymore. You’re self destructing at an alarming rate and I can’t just sit by and watch! You’ve left me no choice. I’m going to have to stage a punctuation intervention.
Safeguards
SC: “I ordered a $100 ticket right?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “Not 100 actual tickets?”
I’m quite positive I would stop a ask for some clarification if you had asked for 100 actual tickets. Right before I questioned your mental health and patched you through to the gambling assistance hotline. So rest assured, while you may not possess such failsafe mechanisms yourself, I will clearly notify you if you inadvertently try to order $10,000 worth of tickets. So for these precious few minutes at least while you're on the line, you can enjoy having the feeling of common sense. Even if it is being provided by a third party.
The War Of The Roses: Descent
SC: “This time write down “loud hard spiteful purposeful banging” woke me up again-“
Mr Brown's torment continues as does his accompanying descend into madness. We’re up to spiteful, purposeful noise now. So it’s gone from a noise complaint, to a perceived campaign of maliciousness. At the rate this is degrading, I honestly somewhat expect to be receiving a call from the police next week. Asking me to advise the property manager that they need a suite door repaired and the carpets cleaned.
Why Do They Never Believe Me?
SC: “We’re at the corner of Meridian and Hillsdale and we need a taxi.”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “What’s that?”
Me: “You’ve called the wrong number.”
SC: “Is this the taxi place?”
Me: “No.”
SC: “This isn’t the taxi place?”
Me: “No, you have the wrong number."
SC: “Oh.”
Question: Why is it that I need to convince you? This is not a court of law. I have no requirement nor obligation to fulfill a burden of evidence. We are not debating opposing sides before a jury of our peers, who will then deliberate and decide whether or not I really work for a taxi company. This is science man! There are only facts and they clearly invalidate your Greater Taxi Hypothesis. If you wish, you may attempt to apply for a grant and spent the next 2-3 years researching whether or not this is really a taxi company.
But I fear you will still have to submit your research for peer review.
I Know My Line, Thanks
Me: “-and your tickets should arrive in a week or two-“
SC: “Good luck!”
-er….thanks? I must admit some confusion. Are you wishing me good luck, desperately wishing yourself good luck out loud or just trying to remind me what the next line of the call script is? I mean, I appreciate the concern and I know you must be terribly worried in the audience. Hanging off my every line, terrified I might flub my performance. However, this isn’t the audition anymore. I already have the part. It’s ok, you can relax. I appreciate your concern for my career, but my show here’s been running for near 10 seasons. I think I’ve got the character down pat by now. Why, I’ve immersed myself so much I daresay we’re practically indistinguishable from each other now.
The War Of The Roses: Revelations
Oh dear lord.....I believe I have unraveled the key component to a mystery which has been plaguing us for weeks: Who is the dark tormenter of Mr Brown? I think I may have found the answer: Mrs Brown. I’m not sure if there is any relation per say, though I am assuming so judging from the vehemence involved. Regardless, the suspect does match the description given by our victim. However, Mrs Brown, according to herself at least, is what I can only describe as a ball of misery trapped in a web of misfortune so dire I can only assume she unwittingly stole Maleficent’s parking space.
Now I’ve been working here for many, many years and in my trials and tribulations I have heard quite a number of sob stories. But this one was so elaborate even I was forced to applaud its length and depth. It was truly a magnificent tale and one I will surely tell my family and friends for years to come. Whenever they need a good laugh, anyhow.
See, Mrs Brown is on the verge of being evicted due to repeated noise complaints from her neighbours ( one in specific at least ). Thus I was presented with a check list of Unfortunate Circumstances™ that led to these noise complaints that was so long even I had to start taking notes. The sequence of events behind the “banging” and “stomping” is apparently a rather elaborate convergence of events that just unfortunately happen to generate noise.
According to Mrs Brown, she is “rapidly going blind” ( from what she did not say ), and thus the banging is due to the fact she keeps falling on her own staircase over and over. Every night. While moving boxes. At 3am. Because if you were going blind your first impulse would be to move large objects up and down a staircase in the dead of night I guess.
However! She says she can’t afford this place anyway so it’s totally fine if they kick her out and she completely understands ( <sniffle> )…..but doesn’t think she can move out either because she is in poor health and has no family or friends that can help her move. She is totally alone. Yes, she specifically stated this. That she had no family, no friends and was completely alone. And totally going blind, don’t forget blind. She deals with all of this by moving large heavy objects up and down her stairs in the dead of night then acting surprised when the neighbours complain she drops them all night every night.
So yes, she’s very sorry about the last month worth of noise complaints. But it’s just because she is a totally blind orphan with no friends and OCD that makes her swap the locations of her living room and bedroom furniture all night every night from 11p to 4am. I assume she cannot complete these tasks during the day as she is likely also allergic to the sun and afflicted with a terrible disorder that makes her sleep for the other 19 hours of the day. This leaving this tiny 5 hour window within which she can operate.
Occam's Razor
SC: “Is this a taxi?.”
Me: “I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”
SC: “Oh, do you know a taxi number?”
So many people assume that I know the answers to everything. I’m really beginning to wonder what’s going on here. I’m quite positive I’m not in any way all-knowing, else I would currently be at home rubbing my lottery winnings on my nether regions. Yet this impression continues to persist amongst callers. Perhaps there is another explanation here. Perhaps I do have such power, but am merely unaware of it. Perhaps, I falsely believe I am sleeping at home during the day, but after I fall asleep I rise again and don an alter ego who travels the world solving mundane problems with the power of clairvoyance. Some people shuffle around the house when they sleepwalk. I on the other hand provide mobile directory assistance while wearing a colour coded skintight bodysuit. Still, everyone is calling me here at night. They can’t know my secret identity, lest it would plastered all over….er….at least the 24 Hours ( local free newspaper >.> ) I guess. So I must be telling them the numbers to call myself……handing out my version the Bat Signal if you will. In which case all of this is actually my fault and I must bear the weight of responsibility for my follies.
Alternatively, there could just be a lot of really stupid people out there.
Background Noise
SC: “Hello?”
Me: “Hi.”
SC: “Hello?”
Me: “Hi, can I help you?”
SC: “Hello?”
While I’m quite confident you’re calling the wrong number, I am bound by occupation to at least entertain the possibility that you might be an actual caller. In which case I would fervently request that the next time you call us, you try to avoid doing so from the middle of a crowded marketplace in Dubai.
Please, Lord
My kingdom for a caller from the north whose first response to every question is not “Huh?”.
Wha?
Me: “Good morning, <company> how may I help you?”
SC: “Call me back! Call me back now! Call me back! CALL ME BACK CALL ME BACK CALLMEBACKCALLMEBACK!”
Me: “I'm sorry, what?”
SC: "CALLMEBACKNOWPLEASECALL"
If your goal was to ensure that I’m just as confused as you obviously are, then congratulations. Unfortunately, we do not actually offer any sort of prizes, rebates or discounts for winning this particular contest. So you will have to make do with the warm glow of success. I’m sure it’s rather foreign to you though, so the novelty of it should keep you entertained for some time at least.
The War Of The Roses: Aftermath
The ongoing war between Mr and Mrs Brown continued well into the night, tonight. With Mr Brown calling 7 times in the scope of 2 hours to report the “purposeful”, “spiteful” and "malicious" banging. At one point Mrs Brown managed to deliver a blow to the floor which actually shook Mr Brown's ceiling. This blow happened at exactly 2:17am. As Mr Brown fervently forced me to document. It was so bad tonight we worked our way up to four exclamation marks in pretty short order. Whenever he calls now, Mr Brown simply refers to his upstairs neighbour as “That Bitch”. In some ways its actually quite amazing this has not yet resulted in violence.
Though I fear its only a matter of time at the rate these two are going.
Why Do You Do This?
Me: “Alright, do you have a number you can be reached at?”
SC: “Yes, it’s xxx-xxx-xxxx”
Me: “Alright-“
SC: “But you should know it doesn’t work anymore. I don’t have that cell any longer.”
Ack! Wha-….oh, sorry. I guess I was having another episode where I remember asking a completely different question then what I apparently really said. You have my sincere apologies. I meant to ask “Do you have a phone number you can be reached at?” not “Do you have any phone numbers that are totally worthless in this and any situation that you could give me just for the fuck of it?”.
It happens from time to time. The medication helps, but now and then I still have episodes. So bear with me.
Story Time <cough>
annnnd rest. -.-
Siren's Call
Me: “And the first name?”
SC: “Anna.”
Me: “Alright, and your last name please?”
SC: “I’M TIRED OF FLAT SHOES!”
Ok then…….Anna Tired Of Flat Shoes. What can I do for you?
Me: “And the item number?”
SC: “xxxx”
I feel compelled to point that those are, in fact, flat shoes. Though now that I think about it, I do believe I can understand your frustrations and the namesake of your lineage. There is absolutely no where nor time in Nunavut you could conceivably wear any sort of heels without them grievously endangering your life somehow. You’re certainly not making it through the snow in heels, they’re difficult to ride a snow mobile with and you’d never be able to out run a polar bear. Truly, heels are one of the single greatest threats to northern civilization. The other one is Budweiser.
Me: “What size?”
SC: "Size 10, and plus…..I’m a girl right now“
……Right……now? That implies a change of state occurred at some point, or is scheduled to occur at some point in the future after extensive surgery. I also both question and fear why you felt the need to clarify your gender to me. I know, from terrifying experience, that some callers on this shift seem to hear my voice as some sort of lurid Siren’s call. Please do not be tempted by whatever you might hear. It is not that I wish to wield such power, only that I know not how to stop it.
Maybe
Me: “And your first name please?”
SC: “Maybelline”
....Well, I will admit that callers on this line often make me wonder if maybe they’re born with it.
Stop Calling
SC: “It’s in <barren northern town>.”
Me: “<I rattle off the postal code>?”
SC: “……uh......yeah.”
No need to be frightened. I assure you this is not because I have some sort of bizarre eidetic memory. It’s simply because you people call so damn often. In fact seeing as your postal code is burned into my memory for all time, you should perhaps question just how often you call and consider maybe taking a breather once and a while.
Oh noez
Me: “Good evening, <company>”
SC: “Who?”
Me: “<company>”
SC: “Oh no! Nooooooo! <click>”
That…was somewhat peculiar. I’m not sure I’ve ever had the greeting phrase illicit terror before. He reacted like I’d just named Voldemort out loud. Now, I’m not saying <company> is some sort of Deatheater front in the muggle world or anything, but perhaps we should try going just a bit above and beyond when it comes to answering this client's calls in a timely fashion.
Inquiries
Me:“and should arrive in about two weeks.”
SC: “When will it arrive?”
Me: “In two weeks.”
SC: “Ok………..I’ve got no more question!”
Me:“……alright?”
SC: “Ok, bye <click>”
Yes, well, you may have no more, er, “question”. But I suddenly find myself with several.
The War Of The Roses: The Prelude
( You may recall Mr Brown from last week's post. It's still going on. )
SC: “And this time you can fit in *4* exclamation marks!”
What happened to you, Mr Brown? Look at yourself. Look at the monster you’ve become. 4? 4 exclamation marks? My god! Just last week you were only using one. You’re spiraling out of control, Mr Brown. I hardly recognize you anymore. You’re self destructing at an alarming rate and I can’t just sit by and watch! You’ve left me no choice. I’m going to have to stage a punctuation intervention.
Safeguards
SC: “I ordered a $100 ticket right?”
Me: “Yes.”
SC: “Not 100 actual tickets?”
I’m quite positive I would stop a ask for some clarification if you had asked for 100 actual tickets. Right before I questioned your mental health and patched you through to the gambling assistance hotline. So rest assured, while you may not possess such failsafe mechanisms yourself, I will clearly notify you if you inadvertently try to order $10,000 worth of tickets. So for these precious few minutes at least while you're on the line, you can enjoy having the feeling of common sense. Even if it is being provided by a third party.
The War Of The Roses: Descent
SC: “This time write down “loud hard spiteful purposeful banging” woke me up again-“
Mr Brown's torment continues as does his accompanying descend into madness. We’re up to spiteful, purposeful noise now. So it’s gone from a noise complaint, to a perceived campaign of maliciousness. At the rate this is degrading, I honestly somewhat expect to be receiving a call from the police next week. Asking me to advise the property manager that they need a suite door repaired and the carpets cleaned.
Why Do They Never Believe Me?
SC: “We’re at the corner of Meridian and Hillsdale and we need a taxi.”
Me: “You have the wrong number.”
SC: “What’s that?”
Me: “You’ve called the wrong number.”
SC: “Is this the taxi place?”
Me: “No.”
SC: “This isn’t the taxi place?”
Me: “No, you have the wrong number."
SC: “Oh.”
Question: Why is it that I need to convince you? This is not a court of law. I have no requirement nor obligation to fulfill a burden of evidence. We are not debating opposing sides before a jury of our peers, who will then deliberate and decide whether or not I really work for a taxi company. This is science man! There are only facts and they clearly invalidate your Greater Taxi Hypothesis. If you wish, you may attempt to apply for a grant and spent the next 2-3 years researching whether or not this is really a taxi company.
But I fear you will still have to submit your research for peer review.
I Know My Line, Thanks
Me: “-and your tickets should arrive in a week or two-“
SC: “Good luck!”
-er….thanks? I must admit some confusion. Are you wishing me good luck, desperately wishing yourself good luck out loud or just trying to remind me what the next line of the call script is? I mean, I appreciate the concern and I know you must be terribly worried in the audience. Hanging off my every line, terrified I might flub my performance. However, this isn’t the audition anymore. I already have the part. It’s ok, you can relax. I appreciate your concern for my career, but my show here’s been running for near 10 seasons. I think I’ve got the character down pat by now. Why, I’ve immersed myself so much I daresay we’re practically indistinguishable from each other now.
The War Of The Roses: Revelations
Oh dear lord.....I believe I have unraveled the key component to a mystery which has been plaguing us for weeks: Who is the dark tormenter of Mr Brown? I think I may have found the answer: Mrs Brown. I’m not sure if there is any relation per say, though I am assuming so judging from the vehemence involved. Regardless, the suspect does match the description given by our victim. However, Mrs Brown, according to herself at least, is what I can only describe as a ball of misery trapped in a web of misfortune so dire I can only assume she unwittingly stole Maleficent’s parking space.
Now I’ve been working here for many, many years and in my trials and tribulations I have heard quite a number of sob stories. But this one was so elaborate even I was forced to applaud its length and depth. It was truly a magnificent tale and one I will surely tell my family and friends for years to come. Whenever they need a good laugh, anyhow.
See, Mrs Brown is on the verge of being evicted due to repeated noise complaints from her neighbours ( one in specific at least ). Thus I was presented with a check list of Unfortunate Circumstances™ that led to these noise complaints that was so long even I had to start taking notes. The sequence of events behind the “banging” and “stomping” is apparently a rather elaborate convergence of events that just unfortunately happen to generate noise.
According to Mrs Brown, she is “rapidly going blind” ( from what she did not say ), and thus the banging is due to the fact she keeps falling on her own staircase over and over. Every night. While moving boxes. At 3am. Because if you were going blind your first impulse would be to move large objects up and down a staircase in the dead of night I guess.
However! She says she can’t afford this place anyway so it’s totally fine if they kick her out and she completely understands ( <sniffle> )…..but doesn’t think she can move out either because she is in poor health and has no family or friends that can help her move. She is totally alone. Yes, she specifically stated this. That she had no family, no friends and was completely alone. And totally going blind, don’t forget blind. She deals with all of this by moving large heavy objects up and down her stairs in the dead of night then acting surprised when the neighbours complain she drops them all night every night.
So yes, she’s very sorry about the last month worth of noise complaints. But it’s just because she is a totally blind orphan with no friends and OCD that makes her swap the locations of her living room and bedroom furniture all night every night from 11p to 4am. I assume she cannot complete these tasks during the day as she is likely also allergic to the sun and afflicted with a terrible disorder that makes her sleep for the other 19 hours of the day. This leaving this tiny 5 hour window within which she can operate.
Occam's Razor
SC: “Is this a taxi?.”
Me: “I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”
SC: “Oh, do you know a taxi number?”
So many people assume that I know the answers to everything. I’m really beginning to wonder what’s going on here. I’m quite positive I’m not in any way all-knowing, else I would currently be at home rubbing my lottery winnings on my nether regions. Yet this impression continues to persist amongst callers. Perhaps there is another explanation here. Perhaps I do have such power, but am merely unaware of it. Perhaps, I falsely believe I am sleeping at home during the day, but after I fall asleep I rise again and don an alter ego who travels the world solving mundane problems with the power of clairvoyance. Some people shuffle around the house when they sleepwalk. I on the other hand provide mobile directory assistance while wearing a colour coded skintight bodysuit. Still, everyone is calling me here at night. They can’t know my secret identity, lest it would plastered all over….er….at least the 24 Hours ( local free newspaper >.> ) I guess. So I must be telling them the numbers to call myself……handing out my version the Bat Signal if you will. In which case all of this is actually my fault and I must bear the weight of responsibility for my follies.
Alternatively, there could just be a lot of really stupid people out there.
Background Noise
SC: “Hello?”
Me: “Hi.”
SC: “Hello?”
Me: “Hi, can I help you?”
SC: “Hello?”
While I’m quite confident you’re calling the wrong number, I am bound by occupation to at least entertain the possibility that you might be an actual caller. In which case I would fervently request that the next time you call us, you try to avoid doing so from the middle of a crowded marketplace in Dubai.
Please, Lord
My kingdom for a caller from the north whose first response to every question is not “Huh?”.
Wha?
Me: “Good morning, <company> how may I help you?”
SC: “Call me back! Call me back now! Call me back! CALL ME BACK CALL ME BACK CALLMEBACKCALLMEBACK!”
Me: “I'm sorry, what?”
SC: "CALLMEBACKNOWPLEASECALL"
If your goal was to ensure that I’m just as confused as you obviously are, then congratulations. Unfortunately, we do not actually offer any sort of prizes, rebates or discounts for winning this particular contest. So you will have to make do with the warm glow of success. I’m sure it’s rather foreign to you though, so the novelty of it should keep you entertained for some time at least.
The War Of The Roses: Aftermath
The ongoing war between Mr and Mrs Brown continued well into the night, tonight. With Mr Brown calling 7 times in the scope of 2 hours to report the “purposeful”, “spiteful” and "malicious" banging. At one point Mrs Brown managed to deliver a blow to the floor which actually shook Mr Brown's ceiling. This blow happened at exactly 2:17am. As Mr Brown fervently forced me to document. It was so bad tonight we worked our way up to four exclamation marks in pretty short order. Whenever he calls now, Mr Brown simply refers to his upstairs neighbour as “That Bitch”. In some ways its actually quite amazing this has not yet resulted in violence.
Though I fear its only a matter of time at the rate these two are going.
Why Do You Do This?
Me: “Alright, do you have a number you can be reached at?”
SC: “Yes, it’s xxx-xxx-xxxx”
Me: “Alright-“
SC: “But you should know it doesn’t work anymore. I don’t have that cell any longer.”
Ack! Wha-….oh, sorry. I guess I was having another episode where I remember asking a completely different question then what I apparently really said. You have my sincere apologies. I meant to ask “Do you have a phone number you can be reached at?” not “Do you have any phone numbers that are totally worthless in this and any situation that you could give me just for the fuck of it?”.
It happens from time to time. The medication helps, but now and then I still have episodes. So bear with me.
Story Time <cough>
annnnd rest. -.-
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