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Electric Lawsuit Bugaloo ( Gah! )
Pardon me whilst I get my groove back.
Seriously?
Me: “Can you spell your first name please?”
SC: “C…..no, K….K-E……uh…….C……K-E…..V……M?”
Me: “.....Kevin?"
SC: “……uh, wait.”
"Wait"? You mean you seriously need to go check how to spell your own name? I…just…you can’t be serious. Please tell me you’re joking. What little faith I have left in our species depends on it.
Me: “…Alright.”
SC: “K-E-L…..K-E-V…….K-E-V………………..uh…..E….V……..V…….”
No offence, but this is rapidly becoming one of the saddest things I have ever witnessed. Are you seriously telling me you can’t spell your own name? Because it’s not going to get any easier from here on out you know. If you can’t even manage the first question, how can you possibly think you’re going to make it through your phone number and address? The path you are attempting to take is fraught with peril you obviously can’t even begin to understand.
Turn back now, while you still can.
SC: “K-E-V……A......M?”
Me: “……Are you sure?”
The very fact I feel honestly compelled to ask this question should rightly overwhelm you with shame. But I don’t think you have enough processing power to spare to feel shame at this point. At the rate you’re struggling, you’re already 30 seconds from an aneurysm.
SC: “Uh….wait”
….you….have to go check again how to spell your name? Dude, ok, seriously, you’re starting to frighten me. Because you’re beginning to make me seriously contemplate at what point I have to refuse service because you’re clearly not competent or coherent enough to be doing this. A scenario which I have only joked about before. Yet you, my friend, are making it a terrifying reality for me.
SC: “K-E-V….C-N? C-N……K-E-L…..”
In all blunt honesty: How did you even manage to dial our number without injuring yourself? I don’t know if I can, in good conscience, continue this call any longer. Even if you do manage to make it all the way through the order, you’re undoubtedly about to order some form of pants. An article of clothing that frankly is far beyond your capabilities to properly wear. In fact I’m straight up worried your life could literally be in danger from them. I don’t want to be responsible for it after you die from starvation because you tried to pull your pants up and somehow manage to get all four limbs tied up in the pant legs rendering you totally immobile. Only to spend the last days of your life wasting away in a confused heap on the bedroom floor.
Ding Ding Ding
SC: “I don’t know what gas smells like, but there’s this smell of rotten eggs in the hallway-“
Well, the good news is you actually know more than you think....
Law & Order
You know, there comes a point when the accuser becomes more annoying and troublesome than the accused. ( Scientist’s refer to this as the “Jennifer Aniston Effect”. ). You are rapidly approaching this point. Yes, I get it. Your upstairs neighbours are being too loud. But you can only call so many times and tell me the same thing before I begin to develop a facial twitch upon seeing the call appear on my screen. You also, despite my explanations, do not seem to comprehend that I am merely an afterhours service and thus do not know what the client has done about your previous complaints. Nor is ranting at me as if this is my fault going to get you anywhere. I am but the messenger, and I don’t rightly like being shot at. No sir.
I’m also quite confident you can’t sue your management company over a noise complaint. Esepcially as, I imagine, you have signed a contract that waives their liability to quite a few things. So you can take your threats of a lawsuit and stow them in a storage facility that is untouched by sunlight. You also cannot compel me to be a witness in the court of law over this despite your hilarious threat do so. I have not actually witnessed anything that I can testify too. Even if there is a judge somewhere dull witted enough to not throw your laughably frivolous case out of court, good luck trying to subpoena me to testify that you managed to successfully dial our phone number.
......What?
( Middle of the night, someone buzzed my office intercom from the front door... )
Me: “Can I help you?”
SC: “Yeah, I wanna sleep on your sofa bed.”
O…kay. You’re going to have to elaborate a bit more than that. This is not, in fact, a hotel.
SC: “Uh, yeah, me and my buddy we’re like….2 blocks from home. But I saw your sofa bed through the door here and it just looks really comfy to sleep on.”
You….want to sleep on the couch in the lobby? Because you’re too lazy and/or drunk to walk another two blocks to get home? So you looked in our lobby as you were walking by, saw a couch, and figured “Oh hey, I should totally ask them if we can just crash on their couch” before you walked up and buzzed the intercom?
I’m going to have to ask for a bit of clarification here: Are you crazy? Or just a god damn idiot? If some drunken stranger showed up on your door step and asked if he could just come in and sleep on your furniture, would you open the door and usher him in? I think not. ( Well, maybe you would, in which case that would answer my question by clearly herding you into the “god damn idiot” category ). The sheer idiotic audacity of your request has startled even me. Me! The person whose spent a decade now trying to sort out the weakest genetic examples our species has to offer and guide them through the overtly complex process of ordering a hat.
SC: “So can you open the door?”
What? No! Dude, you’re either an dangerously intoxicated half wit, or a very clever axe murderer. Both of which I am quite confident are not on our payroll. There’s no way that door’s opening unless you’ve got a crowbar ( or an axe ).
SC: "I work here!"
Do you, now? Even if you did work in another office in the building, you'd be fully aware of our security policies and thus know that I cannot let you in afterhours. Right?
SC: "My name is Frank!"
Me: "......Frank."
SC: "Yeah, it's F..R....uh...I'm not sure how to spell it, it's Chinese."
……you….can’t spell your own name either? I guess we can rule out “clever axe murderer”. I'm also quite confident Frank isn't Chinese.
Me: “I can't let you into the building afterhours, you should know that if you work here."
SC: “Oh, well can you just let me in?”
What is it about this particular couch that has you so enraptured? What cruel siren’s song has enamouered you to go to such lengths just for the opportunity of napping upon it? It’s just a couch, dude. It can’t love you back. Especially a lobby couch. I mean gods know what’s been on, under or deeply stained into it. You’ve basically got three possible outcomes here: Stale pizza crust, spare change or tetanus.
Face it man, she’s just not the one. Give it up. Move on with your life. There are plenty of other fish in the sea ( or more specifically, in your local Ikea ).
You Will Dance For Jabba
Right, it seems we must have a little sit down, you and I. If you could restrain your…..how to I phrase it politely? Let us say “acute impoliteness” and leave it at that. As all the other terms that come to mind include words such as “demeaning”, “miserable”, "shrieking man bitch" and “dangerously unstable bull moose”. But anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Let us go over what I actually can and cannot do for you, as you seem to have a few misconceptions:
I Can:
- Place a gift order for you.
- Have it on the receipt's doorstep by tomorrow afternoon. Much to the amazement of all involved.
I Can’t
- Choose the gift for you using directions such as “soaring with love”.
- Deliver it without an address.
- Have the delivery guy just knock randomly on someone’s door and ask where the recipient lives.
- Tolerate your personality.
So to recap. I can totally place an order for you, that’s fine! Heck, that’s what I’m here for. I can even read back your card message despite the sheer ick factor of being forced to read back “You’re always on my mind, baby” to a person who sounds like Jabba the Hut being translated into English by a mid 50’s cocktail waitress gargling cat litter. However, I cannot perform miracles and I am certainly not sending a delivery guy to the middle of nowhere with instructions that basically amount to “Caller assured it’s a small town, so it can’t be that hard to find one dude! Good luck!”. I also did not deserve that suspiciously sudden ear gouging high pitched blast of static noise from your phone. Despite your assurances of “You deserved that” upon realizing, possibly with “Ho ho ho” Jabba like laughter, that it had inflicted pain upon me.
Finally, I object to your rather silly last ditch name sling of “You dummy” before you hung up on me in a snit. I am not sure what prompted this label, seeing as I was just asking where the gift was suppose to go. So I will assume, totally for my own amusement, that you were late for an appoint to have someone tossed into the Sarlacc pit and the call was taking too long. I will also further assume that normally you have a small cackling muppet that normally handles your shopping for you ( and who would actually know the address ), but he had the day off today. So you’re merely grouchy because your secretary isn’t around to do this stuff for you.
Everywhere You Go
Making it in to work this evening required me to receive approximately 6 high fives. 1 upon boarding the Skytrain, 3 upon exiting it, and an additional 2 walking to the office. My car in particular had an official high five greeter that would dispense a high five to every single person boarding the car. Easily identified by the fact he was wearing a giant foam whale on his head. And really, when some dude runs up to you screaming with a giant foam whale on his head and goes for a high five, you damn well better high five him. If only because god only knows what he’ll do to you if you don’t.
He didn’t have a Canucks jersey or anything on. Just a giant foam whale on his head. So really I’m not 100% sure if his enthusiasm was directly related to the play offs or if he just thought whales were really awesome and wanted to share.
Help Me Help You
Me: “And your name please?”
SC: “No.”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “No.”
Me: “….You’re refusing to give any information?”
SC: “I don’t have too.”
Me: “There’s nothing I can do to help you then, sorry.
SC: “FUCK YOU! <click>”
Truly my job allows me to brush shoulders with the best and the brightest that our fine city has to offer. Not a night goes past that I am not in awe at some of the individuals I get to speak too. Why, I consider myself blessed just for the chance to interact with such esteemed individuals! In fact I deal with so many that perhaps we should consider an “Esteemed Individual Service Fee” for our 24 hour clients just to ensure we can properly cater to their clientele.
Judgement Day
( Feel free to hum the theme as you read. )
SC: “This is the fifth I’ve called!”
Of this I am vividly aware. As you are the only person in your entire neighbourhood that can't comprehend the fact I cannot perform miracles and just instantly repair a burst water line by wagging my finger and scolding it in a British accent.
SC: “I have water seeping into my basement!"
Yes, you and 4 of your neighbours. Your area is currently in the grips of an aquatic apocalypse. Of which neither I nor your property management company can actually do anything about. Perhaps you should go shriek at the city? You know, the people actually responsible for the water main? Who are out working on it right now? Like....right out front of your house? Hell, you could probably yell at them from a window?
SC: “I’d like to know if someone is actually working on this?!”
Yes, someone is actually working on this. If you would direct your gaze out the forementioned window, you would see people actually working on this. But I fear the men working on the problem are but mere mortals. They require both time and effort to rectify this problem. Perhaps if the city had had the foresight to hire Aquaman for utility work, this could probably have been resolved more quickly. I’m not sure if he’s in the Yellow Pages, but I will do my best to see if I cannot get him on site for you. So if you hear screaming and see a giant squid outside pummelling work men with piping, do not be alarmed.
Me: “The city is currently working on the problem-"
SC: “No, I want them to come down here NOW! Or I will have a lawsuit!”
I must admit you make it quite difficult to sympathize with your plight. They are outside working feverishly to ensure you do not drown. I do not believe you shrieking at them about lawsuits will in any way help this process along.
SC: “I’ve called here five times! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!”
Yes, yes it is. An emergency for someone else, you daft cow. I am not the city. I'm just the message service for the people you rent from.
Me: “I understand ma'am, but you have to call the city-"
SC: “The water is now in my living room!”
Me: "Please call the city district, it's a water main-"
SC: “If you guys want a lawsuit, that’s fine!”
Ah, my apologies. I have apparently spoken out of turn? Please notify me when I am allowed to speak again.
SC: “I need you to CALL someone!”
Me: “They're already out ther-"
SC: “and if you DON’T, I will lodge this in my complaint!”
Me: "I've-"
SC: “Nobody has contacted me!”
Me: “Excuse me-”
SC: “I gave you my number and nobody has contacted me!”
Me: “I understand tha-“
SC: “WHATS THE POINT OF HAVING AN EMERGENCY NUMBER IF NO ONE IS GOING TO COME HERE?!”
Me: “Ma’am, please listen, or I may be forced to terminate this call.”
SC: “I WILL TERMINATE YOU!! <click>”
.....Ooookay then. I suddenly have a nagging feeling I should contact the city crew and warn them before they start checking in with residents. They may be in grave danger. Possibly from a robot disguised as a human that has been sent back from the future to eliminate them before they can grow up and lead the resistance.
Oh You
C: “I was just wondering when the water was going to be turned back on? I really need some-“
Technically speaking, the water is not exactly off per say. But on the upside, if you really need some, I can practically guarantee you have at least one neighbour that could spare you some.
annnnd rest
Seriously?
Me: “Can you spell your first name please?”
SC: “C…..no, K….K-E……uh…….C……K-E…..V……M?”
Me: “.....Kevin?"
SC: “……uh, wait.”
"Wait"? You mean you seriously need to go check how to spell your own name? I…just…you can’t be serious. Please tell me you’re joking. What little faith I have left in our species depends on it.
Me: “…Alright.”
SC: “K-E-L…..K-E-V…….K-E-V………………..uh…..E….V……..V…….”
No offence, but this is rapidly becoming one of the saddest things I have ever witnessed. Are you seriously telling me you can’t spell your own name? Because it’s not going to get any easier from here on out you know. If you can’t even manage the first question, how can you possibly think you’re going to make it through your phone number and address? The path you are attempting to take is fraught with peril you obviously can’t even begin to understand.
Turn back now, while you still can.
SC: “K-E-V……A......M?”
Me: “……Are you sure?”
The very fact I feel honestly compelled to ask this question should rightly overwhelm you with shame. But I don’t think you have enough processing power to spare to feel shame at this point. At the rate you’re struggling, you’re already 30 seconds from an aneurysm.
SC: “Uh….wait”
….you….have to go check again how to spell your name? Dude, ok, seriously, you’re starting to frighten me. Because you’re beginning to make me seriously contemplate at what point I have to refuse service because you’re clearly not competent or coherent enough to be doing this. A scenario which I have only joked about before. Yet you, my friend, are making it a terrifying reality for me.
SC: “K-E-V….C-N? C-N……K-E-L…..”
In all blunt honesty: How did you even manage to dial our number without injuring yourself? I don’t know if I can, in good conscience, continue this call any longer. Even if you do manage to make it all the way through the order, you’re undoubtedly about to order some form of pants. An article of clothing that frankly is far beyond your capabilities to properly wear. In fact I’m straight up worried your life could literally be in danger from them. I don’t want to be responsible for it after you die from starvation because you tried to pull your pants up and somehow manage to get all four limbs tied up in the pant legs rendering you totally immobile. Only to spend the last days of your life wasting away in a confused heap on the bedroom floor.
Ding Ding Ding
SC: “I don’t know what gas smells like, but there’s this smell of rotten eggs in the hallway-“
Well, the good news is you actually know more than you think....
Law & Order
You know, there comes a point when the accuser becomes more annoying and troublesome than the accused. ( Scientist’s refer to this as the “Jennifer Aniston Effect”. ). You are rapidly approaching this point. Yes, I get it. Your upstairs neighbours are being too loud. But you can only call so many times and tell me the same thing before I begin to develop a facial twitch upon seeing the call appear on my screen. You also, despite my explanations, do not seem to comprehend that I am merely an afterhours service and thus do not know what the client has done about your previous complaints. Nor is ranting at me as if this is my fault going to get you anywhere. I am but the messenger, and I don’t rightly like being shot at. No sir.
I’m also quite confident you can’t sue your management company over a noise complaint. Esepcially as, I imagine, you have signed a contract that waives their liability to quite a few things. So you can take your threats of a lawsuit and stow them in a storage facility that is untouched by sunlight. You also cannot compel me to be a witness in the court of law over this despite your hilarious threat do so. I have not actually witnessed anything that I can testify too. Even if there is a judge somewhere dull witted enough to not throw your laughably frivolous case out of court, good luck trying to subpoena me to testify that you managed to successfully dial our phone number.
......What?
( Middle of the night, someone buzzed my office intercom from the front door... )
Me: “Can I help you?”
SC: “Yeah, I wanna sleep on your sofa bed.”
O…kay. You’re going to have to elaborate a bit more than that. This is not, in fact, a hotel.
SC: “Uh, yeah, me and my buddy we’re like….2 blocks from home. But I saw your sofa bed through the door here and it just looks really comfy to sleep on.”
You….want to sleep on the couch in the lobby? Because you’re too lazy and/or drunk to walk another two blocks to get home? So you looked in our lobby as you were walking by, saw a couch, and figured “Oh hey, I should totally ask them if we can just crash on their couch” before you walked up and buzzed the intercom?
I’m going to have to ask for a bit of clarification here: Are you crazy? Or just a god damn idiot? If some drunken stranger showed up on your door step and asked if he could just come in and sleep on your furniture, would you open the door and usher him in? I think not. ( Well, maybe you would, in which case that would answer my question by clearly herding you into the “god damn idiot” category ). The sheer idiotic audacity of your request has startled even me. Me! The person whose spent a decade now trying to sort out the weakest genetic examples our species has to offer and guide them through the overtly complex process of ordering a hat.
SC: “So can you open the door?”
What? No! Dude, you’re either an dangerously intoxicated half wit, or a very clever axe murderer. Both of which I am quite confident are not on our payroll. There’s no way that door’s opening unless you’ve got a crowbar ( or an axe ).
SC: "I work here!"
Do you, now? Even if you did work in another office in the building, you'd be fully aware of our security policies and thus know that I cannot let you in afterhours. Right?
SC: "My name is Frank!"
Me: "......Frank."
SC: "Yeah, it's F..R....uh...I'm not sure how to spell it, it's Chinese."
……you….can’t spell your own name either? I guess we can rule out “clever axe murderer”. I'm also quite confident Frank isn't Chinese.
Me: “I can't let you into the building afterhours, you should know that if you work here."
SC: “Oh, well can you just let me in?”
What is it about this particular couch that has you so enraptured? What cruel siren’s song has enamouered you to go to such lengths just for the opportunity of napping upon it? It’s just a couch, dude. It can’t love you back. Especially a lobby couch. I mean gods know what’s been on, under or deeply stained into it. You’ve basically got three possible outcomes here: Stale pizza crust, spare change or tetanus.
Face it man, she’s just not the one. Give it up. Move on with your life. There are plenty of other fish in the sea ( or more specifically, in your local Ikea ).
You Will Dance For Jabba
Right, it seems we must have a little sit down, you and I. If you could restrain your…..how to I phrase it politely? Let us say “acute impoliteness” and leave it at that. As all the other terms that come to mind include words such as “demeaning”, “miserable”, "shrieking man bitch" and “dangerously unstable bull moose”. But anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Let us go over what I actually can and cannot do for you, as you seem to have a few misconceptions:
I Can:
- Place a gift order for you.
- Have it on the receipt's doorstep by tomorrow afternoon. Much to the amazement of all involved.
I Can’t
- Choose the gift for you using directions such as “soaring with love”.
- Deliver it without an address.
- Have the delivery guy just knock randomly on someone’s door and ask where the recipient lives.
- Tolerate your personality.
So to recap. I can totally place an order for you, that’s fine! Heck, that’s what I’m here for. I can even read back your card message despite the sheer ick factor of being forced to read back “You’re always on my mind, baby” to a person who sounds like Jabba the Hut being translated into English by a mid 50’s cocktail waitress gargling cat litter. However, I cannot perform miracles and I am certainly not sending a delivery guy to the middle of nowhere with instructions that basically amount to “Caller assured it’s a small town, so it can’t be that hard to find one dude! Good luck!”. I also did not deserve that suspiciously sudden ear gouging high pitched blast of static noise from your phone. Despite your assurances of “You deserved that” upon realizing, possibly with “Ho ho ho” Jabba like laughter, that it had inflicted pain upon me.
Finally, I object to your rather silly last ditch name sling of “You dummy” before you hung up on me in a snit. I am not sure what prompted this label, seeing as I was just asking where the gift was suppose to go. So I will assume, totally for my own amusement, that you were late for an appoint to have someone tossed into the Sarlacc pit and the call was taking too long. I will also further assume that normally you have a small cackling muppet that normally handles your shopping for you ( and who would actually know the address ), but he had the day off today. So you’re merely grouchy because your secretary isn’t around to do this stuff for you.
Everywhere You Go
Making it in to work this evening required me to receive approximately 6 high fives. 1 upon boarding the Skytrain, 3 upon exiting it, and an additional 2 walking to the office. My car in particular had an official high five greeter that would dispense a high five to every single person boarding the car. Easily identified by the fact he was wearing a giant foam whale on his head. And really, when some dude runs up to you screaming with a giant foam whale on his head and goes for a high five, you damn well better high five him. If only because god only knows what he’ll do to you if you don’t.
He didn’t have a Canucks jersey or anything on. Just a giant foam whale on his head. So really I’m not 100% sure if his enthusiasm was directly related to the play offs or if he just thought whales were really awesome and wanted to share.
Help Me Help You
Me: “And your name please?”
SC: “No.”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “No.”
Me: “….You’re refusing to give any information?”
SC: “I don’t have too.”
Me: “There’s nothing I can do to help you then, sorry.
SC: “FUCK YOU! <click>”
Truly my job allows me to brush shoulders with the best and the brightest that our fine city has to offer. Not a night goes past that I am not in awe at some of the individuals I get to speak too. Why, I consider myself blessed just for the chance to interact with such esteemed individuals! In fact I deal with so many that perhaps we should consider an “Esteemed Individual Service Fee” for our 24 hour clients just to ensure we can properly cater to their clientele.
Judgement Day
( Feel free to hum the theme as you read. )
SC: “This is the fifth I’ve called!”
Of this I am vividly aware. As you are the only person in your entire neighbourhood that can't comprehend the fact I cannot perform miracles and just instantly repair a burst water line by wagging my finger and scolding it in a British accent.
SC: “I have water seeping into my basement!"
Yes, you and 4 of your neighbours. Your area is currently in the grips of an aquatic apocalypse. Of which neither I nor your property management company can actually do anything about. Perhaps you should go shriek at the city? You know, the people actually responsible for the water main? Who are out working on it right now? Like....right out front of your house? Hell, you could probably yell at them from a window?
SC: “I’d like to know if someone is actually working on this?!”
Yes, someone is actually working on this. If you would direct your gaze out the forementioned window, you would see people actually working on this. But I fear the men working on the problem are but mere mortals. They require both time and effort to rectify this problem. Perhaps if the city had had the foresight to hire Aquaman for utility work, this could probably have been resolved more quickly. I’m not sure if he’s in the Yellow Pages, but I will do my best to see if I cannot get him on site for you. So if you hear screaming and see a giant squid outside pummelling work men with piping, do not be alarmed.
Me: “The city is currently working on the problem-"
SC: “No, I want them to come down here NOW! Or I will have a lawsuit!”
I must admit you make it quite difficult to sympathize with your plight. They are outside working feverishly to ensure you do not drown. I do not believe you shrieking at them about lawsuits will in any way help this process along.
SC: “I’ve called here five times! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!”
Yes, yes it is. An emergency for someone else, you daft cow. I am not the city. I'm just the message service for the people you rent from.
Me: “I understand ma'am, but you have to call the city-"
SC: “The water is now in my living room!”
Me: "Please call the city district, it's a water main-"
SC: “If you guys want a lawsuit, that’s fine!”
Ah, my apologies. I have apparently spoken out of turn? Please notify me when I am allowed to speak again.
SC: “I need you to CALL someone!”
Me: “They're already out ther-"
SC: “and if you DON’T, I will lodge this in my complaint!”
Me: "I've-"
SC: “Nobody has contacted me!”
Me: “Excuse me-”
SC: “I gave you my number and nobody has contacted me!”
Me: “I understand tha-“
SC: “WHATS THE POINT OF HAVING AN EMERGENCY NUMBER IF NO ONE IS GOING TO COME HERE?!”
Me: “Ma’am, please listen, or I may be forced to terminate this call.”
SC: “I WILL TERMINATE YOU!! <click>”
.....Ooookay then. I suddenly have a nagging feeling I should contact the city crew and warn them before they start checking in with residents. They may be in grave danger. Possibly from a robot disguised as a human that has been sent back from the future to eliminate them before they can grow up and lead the resistance.
Oh You
C: “I was just wondering when the water was going to be turned back on? I really need some-“
Technically speaking, the water is not exactly off per say. But on the upside, if you really need some, I can practically guarantee you have at least one neighbour that could spare you some.
annnnd rest
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