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Ruff Ruff Ruff
It is once again that time.
You What?
Hello, good sir! I hear that you are locked out. That is most unfortunate! Normally I would advise you that you may be charged a fee to be let back in. However, I think I can quite confidently predict that you will be charged a fee to be let back in. I base my insightful thesis on the circumstances within which you managed to bar yourself from your own abode. Which are, by your own admission, as follows:
You know a guy who doesn’t have a TV. He’s not related to you. It doesn’t even sound like he’s a friend of yours. He’s just some random dude that lives in the same building. So you, inexplicably, gave him the only keys to your apartment so that he could let himself into your home and watch the football game on your TV. This random guy then lost your keys. Genius.
In the future, you may wish to be somewhat less trusting and tragically naïve. Lest the next random guy you let into your apartment for inexplicable reasons informs you that he “lost” your TV. Also your wallet and jewelry. He may even manage to lose any copper piping you might have in the bathroom. But the good news is he will likely find some butterscotch ice cream.
Alrighty Then
I wonder exactly what combination and dosage of drugs are required to achieve the apparently nirvana like plane of standing in a Skytrain station, wearing shorts over your pants and just sort of drunkenly swaying from side to side throwing out devil horns with one hand? I also wonder exactly how long he was standing there before I arrived, and how much longer he continued to stand there after I left. Heck, he could still be there for all I know.
Sekrets
Me: “How may I help you?”
SC: “S. S. S. S.”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “S. S. S.”
Is this some sort of code? Are you encrypting yourself? Or are you desperately trying to signal for assistance but forgot there’s suppose to be an “O” in the middle there? I’m afraid I lack whatever encryption key or secret decoder ring is required to comprehend your diatribe. Not that I don’t want a secret decoder ring. Those things are sweet. Especially if they glow in the dark or something. But I have not yet obtained enough cereal box tops to send away for mine yet.
Sadly, all that lays between me and comprehension here is another 4 boxes of Lucky Charms.
Me: “I’m sorry?”
SC: “I’m calling about the gas problem.”
Alright, see, that’s a bit more comprehensible. You could have just said that in the first place. You have completely the wrong number of course. But you could have just said that to begin with instead of…..whatever it was you were doing. For my own amusement I will assume you were attempting to verbally handshake with a fax machine. Which, if successful, would have been very impressive I might add.
Sigh
SC: “Oh my goodness, someone’s actually up this late?”
Ah, this again. I still have trouble grasping this particular approach. Your shock belays that you had no hope of this course of action succeeding. Yet this in no way deterred you from undertaking it anyway. This seems like a rather dangerous approach to life. You’d think after something like “Oh well, there’s probably no way I can retrieve my ring from the garbage disposal while it’s still on. With my bare hands. But here goes!” or “I know you can’t put out a grease fire with water, but hey, may as well give it a shot!” you’d re-evaluate your philosophy.
Motivation
I woke up to the one thing every employed individual dreads: The blinking “12:00” alarm clock. Fortunately, my cat’s assigned treat appointment is 10 minutes before I normally leave for work. Which means I was immediately woken up 9 minutes before I normally leave for work this evening. Yet despite leaving 15 minutes late….I somehow arrived 5 minutes earlier than usual. I attribute this to turning my normal leisurely walk to the Skytrain into an abnormal but still leisurely “Run like there’s a bear after you” to the Skytrain.
This sufficed till I neared the station and was presented with the following scene: A truly terrified man that managed to run past me screaming with another guy chasing him, waggling fingers outstretched and yelling “RUFF RUFF RUFF!!” with his tongue hanging out. I mean geez. I’m pretty sure I made up that extra 15 minutes from that point onward by just visualizing that guy after me instead of the bear.
Forget bears. That is the true meaning of fear right there. If a bear catches me, I’ll probably be mauled. Mauling is predictable and easily defined. But I have no idea what would happen if that dude caught me and the fear of finding out definitely outweighs a bear mauling.
Kindred Spirits
Me: “Thank you calling-“
C: “You’re welcome”
Me: "I'l ask them to get back to you as soon as possible."
C: "Thank you."
Me: "You're welcome"
C: "Have a good day"
Me: "Thank you. You have a good day as well."
C: "Thank you."
Know how I know you work in a call centre too?
One Of Those Calls
Every now and then a caller comes along who is truly special. A caller whose lack of planning, foresight and common sense extends the length of a call to epic proportions ( in this case 23 minutes ) and slowly wears away at the patience of those around them. This is one of those callers.
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yes, I think so…..”
This ominous line should have told me all I needed to know. But I, being the naïve fool I am, still believed there was some kindness left in the world. Alas, my innocence would soon be lost.
SC: “I was wondering if I could just get it COD’d to a post office somewhere and then I could just go pick it up?”
So…just….any post office? I’m not entirely sure how to explain that to the client: “Caller said it was fine to just send it anywhere at random. She’d find it eventually.” This really doesn’t seem like the best of plans. But by all means, don’t let me deter you.
Me: “and your postal code please?”
SC: "I don’t even know……”
So you just want us to scribble your name on the box and hope for the best? This is looking less and less like an order and more and more like a desperately optimistic hope in a higher power.
SC: “Does it have to be a specific one?"
Nah! Just give me any one you can find. I mean, how big can your city really be right?
…Hmm, 183,000 people, eh? Well that’s nothing! I’m sure Canada Post has tracking hounds or something that they can use to hunt you down and deliver your package. I’m not entirely positive how to train a dog to smell halfwit, but they can be trained to smell practically anything else. So it must be possible. If this order is any indication, we really need only train them to track the smell of hilariously awful designer jeans.
Me: “And the item number please?”
SC: “What’s xxxx?”
You….have the item number…and you want to order it…but you don’t actually know what it is? That is truly impressive I must admit. How did you even accomplish that? Or are you enacting the world’s most superficial version of the movie “Momento”?
Me: “Anything else?”
SC: “xxxx, what is that?”
…..how many of this mystery desires do you have, anyhow?
Me: “Anything else?”
SC: “xxxx-xxx….what is that?”
Me: “That comes up as <hideous t-shirt>”
SC: “….what does it look like?”
Ok, stop. Stop right there. You’re exceeding my tolerance for absurdity. I’m going to need a minute here to let the pressure go back down. How the heck do you want to order it but not know what it is or what it looks like? Are you just randomly making up numbers and hoping it’s something you might like? Is this the world’s cheapest version of a Secret Santa? Hey I totally don’t want to buy you anything, but here’s some stuff I think you’d like if you wanna buy them for yourself. No peeking!
Me: “Anything else?”
SC: “There was this picture online, but I can’t find it. It was like a grey hoodie with like really bright neon pink writing on it.”
Sounds classy and fashionable. So you’ve gone from having the item number but not knowing what it looks like to not having the item number but knowing what it looks like? And now you want me to be your ever stalwart personal shopper and go exploring to find this delectable assembly of thread
SC: “What’s the chances of you guys having like something from the spring catalog?”
<shakes magic 8-Ball>: Outlook not so good.
SC: “It was like a pink and….like a pink and black with roses on it.”
Ok, so now you don’t know the item number or name, you do know what it looks like, but it’s from a catalog that’s 4 months old? I can’t help but begin to wonder if you are testing me for something. Trying to ascertain if I am worthy. What precisely am I being assessed for? What dangerous quest could there be that you must find a lone operator who can identify awful designer clothes with little more than vague colours and descriptions? Are these suppose to be some sort of riddles you need solved?
Is there a Gap somewhere that has both a fantastic sale going on and is guarded by a Sphinx?
SC: “There was one more, it was a T-shirt. It was like a black T-shirt but it had like, green across the chest.”
Blast it, girl, go face the beast yourself! Leave me out of this!
SC: “There was another kind of tank top too…….it’s black I think? It might have been pink. I can’t remember.”
Alright, that’s enough. I can’t take anymore. I’m just going to begin making an annoyed, desperate sound now:
Arrrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhhhhnrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaww wwwwwrrrrr.
Yes There Is
Me: “and the item number please?”
SC: “The item number is……..uh....there’s no item numbers here.”
Look harder. Outside of a glorious misprint the catalog most definitely contains the numerical codes I seek in order to grant you clothing. Alternatively, feel free to just vaguely describe something you saw once in our catalog months ago and I’ll figure it out from there. Heck, I don’t even need the name of it apparently. Just tell me what kind of clothing it is and give me one or two colours to work with. I’ll take it from there.
Apologies
SC: “Anyway, off you go now”
Oh, my apologies. I wasn’t aware I was hanging around awaiting your permission to depart. If I had known I required it I would have asked her highness sooner instead of awkwardly hanging around while you quietly tried to figure out what the peasant wanted. Forgive me, your highness. But over the phone I can’t see when you absently dismiss me with a wave of your hand. I did not know that I was rudely intruding on your magnificence.
Infiltration
SC: “Hallo? Uh, I’m calling from 678941.”
678941? And that is what, exactly? GPS coordinates?
SC: “I’m at 4891…..uh…..”
…Wait just a second here…..this is beginning to sound a little familiar. The use of a confused “uhhh” as punctuation…..The complete absence of comprehension…..
SC: “….4891……uh…..it’s an apartment building……”
….The dull, vacant attempts at communication….. It’s almost as if….
Me: “and your phone number please, ma’am?”
SC: “It’s 867-….uh, 604-xxx-xxxx”
AH HA! 867….the barren north lands. Oh ho ho. You thought you were clever. But you’ve slipped up! Your ruse has come to an end. Now y-….wait…hold on a minute….why are you in Vancouver? What could possibly have brought you this far south? Unless……were you trying to locate and infiltrate us? Is this part of some grand scheme to pull off the biggest pants heist in modern history? Or rather the only pants heist in modern ( or any ) history?
How many more of you are there? Is this like Ocean’s 11 except no one can form a complete sentence?
SC: “My name is Steve, uh, but I’m not a man.”
Something tells me you didn’t put a lot of thought into your secret identity during the planning phase.
annnnd rest. Annoyingly, there were quite I few I couldn't use this week as they were too specific to my job and I haven't figured out how to obfuscate them just yet to post them. >.>
You What?
Hello, good sir! I hear that you are locked out. That is most unfortunate! Normally I would advise you that you may be charged a fee to be let back in. However, I think I can quite confidently predict that you will be charged a fee to be let back in. I base my insightful thesis on the circumstances within which you managed to bar yourself from your own abode. Which are, by your own admission, as follows:
You know a guy who doesn’t have a TV. He’s not related to you. It doesn’t even sound like he’s a friend of yours. He’s just some random dude that lives in the same building. So you, inexplicably, gave him the only keys to your apartment so that he could let himself into your home and watch the football game on your TV. This random guy then lost your keys. Genius.
In the future, you may wish to be somewhat less trusting and tragically naïve. Lest the next random guy you let into your apartment for inexplicable reasons informs you that he “lost” your TV. Also your wallet and jewelry. He may even manage to lose any copper piping you might have in the bathroom. But the good news is he will likely find some butterscotch ice cream.
Alrighty Then
I wonder exactly what combination and dosage of drugs are required to achieve the apparently nirvana like plane of standing in a Skytrain station, wearing shorts over your pants and just sort of drunkenly swaying from side to side throwing out devil horns with one hand? I also wonder exactly how long he was standing there before I arrived, and how much longer he continued to stand there after I left. Heck, he could still be there for all I know.
Sekrets
Me: “How may I help you?”
SC: “S. S. S. S.”
Me: “Pardon?”
SC: “S. S. S.”
Is this some sort of code? Are you encrypting yourself? Or are you desperately trying to signal for assistance but forgot there’s suppose to be an “O” in the middle there? I’m afraid I lack whatever encryption key or secret decoder ring is required to comprehend your diatribe. Not that I don’t want a secret decoder ring. Those things are sweet. Especially if they glow in the dark or something. But I have not yet obtained enough cereal box tops to send away for mine yet.
Sadly, all that lays between me and comprehension here is another 4 boxes of Lucky Charms.
Me: “I’m sorry?”
SC: “I’m calling about the gas problem.”
Alright, see, that’s a bit more comprehensible. You could have just said that in the first place. You have completely the wrong number of course. But you could have just said that to begin with instead of…..whatever it was you were doing. For my own amusement I will assume you were attempting to verbally handshake with a fax machine. Which, if successful, would have been very impressive I might add.
Sigh
SC: “Oh my goodness, someone’s actually up this late?”
Ah, this again. I still have trouble grasping this particular approach. Your shock belays that you had no hope of this course of action succeeding. Yet this in no way deterred you from undertaking it anyway. This seems like a rather dangerous approach to life. You’d think after something like “Oh well, there’s probably no way I can retrieve my ring from the garbage disposal while it’s still on. With my bare hands. But here goes!” or “I know you can’t put out a grease fire with water, but hey, may as well give it a shot!” you’d re-evaluate your philosophy.
Motivation
I woke up to the one thing every employed individual dreads: The blinking “12:00” alarm clock. Fortunately, my cat’s assigned treat appointment is 10 minutes before I normally leave for work. Which means I was immediately woken up 9 minutes before I normally leave for work this evening. Yet despite leaving 15 minutes late….I somehow arrived 5 minutes earlier than usual. I attribute this to turning my normal leisurely walk to the Skytrain into an abnormal but still leisurely “Run like there’s a bear after you” to the Skytrain.
This sufficed till I neared the station and was presented with the following scene: A truly terrified man that managed to run past me screaming with another guy chasing him, waggling fingers outstretched and yelling “RUFF RUFF RUFF!!” with his tongue hanging out. I mean geez. I’m pretty sure I made up that extra 15 minutes from that point onward by just visualizing that guy after me instead of the bear.
Forget bears. That is the true meaning of fear right there. If a bear catches me, I’ll probably be mauled. Mauling is predictable and easily defined. But I have no idea what would happen if that dude caught me and the fear of finding out definitely outweighs a bear mauling.
Kindred Spirits
Me: “Thank you calling-“
C: “You’re welcome”
Me: "I'l ask them to get back to you as soon as possible."
C: "Thank you."
Me: "You're welcome"
C: "Have a good day"
Me: "Thank you. You have a good day as well."
C: "Thank you."
Know how I know you work in a call centre too?
One Of Those Calls
Every now and then a caller comes along who is truly special. A caller whose lack of planning, foresight and common sense extends the length of a call to epic proportions ( in this case 23 minutes ) and slowly wears away at the patience of those around them. This is one of those callers.
Me: “Are you calling to place an order?”
SC: “Yes, I think so…..”
This ominous line should have told me all I needed to know. But I, being the naïve fool I am, still believed there was some kindness left in the world. Alas, my innocence would soon be lost.
SC: “I was wondering if I could just get it COD’d to a post office somewhere and then I could just go pick it up?”
So…just….any post office? I’m not entirely sure how to explain that to the client: “Caller said it was fine to just send it anywhere at random. She’d find it eventually.” This really doesn’t seem like the best of plans. But by all means, don’t let me deter you.
Me: “and your postal code please?”
SC: "I don’t even know……”
So you just want us to scribble your name on the box and hope for the best? This is looking less and less like an order and more and more like a desperately optimistic hope in a higher power.
SC: “Does it have to be a specific one?"
Nah! Just give me any one you can find. I mean, how big can your city really be right?
…Hmm, 183,000 people, eh? Well that’s nothing! I’m sure Canada Post has tracking hounds or something that they can use to hunt you down and deliver your package. I’m not entirely positive how to train a dog to smell halfwit, but they can be trained to smell practically anything else. So it must be possible. If this order is any indication, we really need only train them to track the smell of hilariously awful designer jeans.
Me: “And the item number please?”
SC: “What’s xxxx?”
You….have the item number…and you want to order it…but you don’t actually know what it is? That is truly impressive I must admit. How did you even accomplish that? Or are you enacting the world’s most superficial version of the movie “Momento”?
Me: “Anything else?”
SC: “xxxx, what is that?”
…..how many of this mystery desires do you have, anyhow?
Me: “Anything else?”
SC: “xxxx-xxx….what is that?”
Me: “That comes up as <hideous t-shirt>”
SC: “….what does it look like?”
Ok, stop. Stop right there. You’re exceeding my tolerance for absurdity. I’m going to need a minute here to let the pressure go back down. How the heck do you want to order it but not know what it is or what it looks like? Are you just randomly making up numbers and hoping it’s something you might like? Is this the world’s cheapest version of a Secret Santa? Hey I totally don’t want to buy you anything, but here’s some stuff I think you’d like if you wanna buy them for yourself. No peeking!
Me: “Anything else?”
SC: “There was this picture online, but I can’t find it. It was like a grey hoodie with like really bright neon pink writing on it.”
Sounds classy and fashionable. So you’ve gone from having the item number but not knowing what it looks like to not having the item number but knowing what it looks like? And now you want me to be your ever stalwart personal shopper and go exploring to find this delectable assembly of thread
SC: “What’s the chances of you guys having like something from the spring catalog?”
<shakes magic 8-Ball>: Outlook not so good.
SC: “It was like a pink and….like a pink and black with roses on it.”
Ok, so now you don’t know the item number or name, you do know what it looks like, but it’s from a catalog that’s 4 months old? I can’t help but begin to wonder if you are testing me for something. Trying to ascertain if I am worthy. What precisely am I being assessed for? What dangerous quest could there be that you must find a lone operator who can identify awful designer clothes with little more than vague colours and descriptions? Are these suppose to be some sort of riddles you need solved?
Is there a Gap somewhere that has both a fantastic sale going on and is guarded by a Sphinx?
SC: “There was one more, it was a T-shirt. It was like a black T-shirt but it had like, green across the chest.”
Blast it, girl, go face the beast yourself! Leave me out of this!
SC: “There was another kind of tank top too…….it’s black I think? It might have been pink. I can’t remember.”
Alright, that’s enough. I can’t take anymore. I’m just going to begin making an annoyed, desperate sound now:
Arrrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhhhhnrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaww wwwwwrrrrr.
Yes There Is
Me: “and the item number please?”
SC: “The item number is……..uh....there’s no item numbers here.”
Look harder. Outside of a glorious misprint the catalog most definitely contains the numerical codes I seek in order to grant you clothing. Alternatively, feel free to just vaguely describe something you saw once in our catalog months ago and I’ll figure it out from there. Heck, I don’t even need the name of it apparently. Just tell me what kind of clothing it is and give me one or two colours to work with. I’ll take it from there.
Apologies
SC: “Anyway, off you go now”
Oh, my apologies. I wasn’t aware I was hanging around awaiting your permission to depart. If I had known I required it I would have asked her highness sooner instead of awkwardly hanging around while you quietly tried to figure out what the peasant wanted. Forgive me, your highness. But over the phone I can’t see when you absently dismiss me with a wave of your hand. I did not know that I was rudely intruding on your magnificence.
Infiltration
SC: “Hallo? Uh, I’m calling from 678941.”
678941? And that is what, exactly? GPS coordinates?
SC: “I’m at 4891…..uh…..”
…Wait just a second here…..this is beginning to sound a little familiar. The use of a confused “uhhh” as punctuation…..The complete absence of comprehension…..
SC: “….4891……uh…..it’s an apartment building……”
….The dull, vacant attempts at communication….. It’s almost as if….
Me: “and your phone number please, ma’am?”
SC: “It’s 867-….uh, 604-xxx-xxxx”
AH HA! 867….the barren north lands. Oh ho ho. You thought you were clever. But you’ve slipped up! Your ruse has come to an end. Now y-….wait…hold on a minute….why are you in Vancouver? What could possibly have brought you this far south? Unless……were you trying to locate and infiltrate us? Is this part of some grand scheme to pull off the biggest pants heist in modern history? Or rather the only pants heist in modern ( or any ) history?
How many more of you are there? Is this like Ocean’s 11 except no one can form a complete sentence?
SC: “My name is Steve, uh, but I’m not a man.”
Something tells me you didn’t put a lot of thought into your secret identity during the planning phase.
annnnd rest. Annoyingly, there were quite I few I couldn't use this week as they were too specific to my job and I haven't figured out how to obfuscate them just yet to post them. >.>
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