Iím sort of at peace with the world tonight, which generally makes for pretty lame writing. But itís been a good evening. Work sucked, because thatís what it does. A couple of perks: there was this lady, she was ranting and raving because she had to wait to get her computer, she kept going, ďI paid a thousand dollars!Ē Over and over, about everything. ďI shouldnít have to wait! I just spent a thousand dollars!Ē Or, ďI donít have to move out of the way, I just paid a thousand dollars!Ē Now maybe youíre like, ďGee, Ray, usually you donít like it when whiny-ass customers come around and act like shit brains. Whatís up?Ē
Iíll tell you whatís up: she was throwing her fits just as I left for the day. I didnít have to deal with her stupid ass. I would have broken her skull with that computer, and shoved that thousand dollarsÖwell, never you mind where I would have shoved that thousand dollars. But the good news is, I didnít have to deal with her.
It was nice. She tried to make eye contact with me as I walked out, but you donít look at these people unless you feel like working for a couple hours for free.
Iíve been thinking about things, been looking over some old stuff, worrying that maybe Iíve become too cynical. And you know what? Iíve been writing this same caustic shit since before we ever started this website. Iíve hated people since before I got into customer serviceóthe main difference is that now Iím forced to talk to them. Itís sort of a relief to realize that Iím not getting old and jaded. Apparently Iíve always been jaded, which is sort of a relief.
Anyways, enough about all that. So thereís this party going on, of sorts. I was invited, but itís hundreds and hundreds of miles away, and I have stuff to do tomorrow. I keep getting phone calls, though. Snippets of the conversations (some may be mis-quoted, as there was a lot of shit going on, and I canít remember everything):
Them: Ray? (laughing)
Me: Hey, whatís up?
Them: Not much. What are you doing?
Me: Nothing, really. So whatís going on?
Them: Oh, nothing. What are you doing?
Me: Not much. Just hanging around the house.
Them: Oh. Weíre drinking. At a bar. Weíre drinking in a bar.
Me: What bar?
Them: Weíre not at a bar, actually.
Them: Yeah. So what are you doing?
At one point, I pick up the phone to this: (hysterical laughter that goes on for like three minutes straight; sound of shrieking in the background)
Them: I canítÖ(more hysterical laughter) I canít go on! Itís too funny! He was sitting! And then (garbled talking, many slurred words, laughter and shrieking in background) IÖHe fell. It hurts! I think Iím going to throw up! I canít stop laughing! His chair, he was sitting on it, and it broke! AhÖmaybe thatís not so funny. Bye.
Them: Hey, man, you mean a lot to me, so I just have to say: DONíT FAKE THE FUNK ON A NASTY DUNK! (laughter)
Them: So there was this guy, he was really drunk. Like when he walked in, everyone in the restaurant looked at him. He was so drunk.
Me: Howís he doing?
Them: I donít know. He left. He left a little bit ago. I think we scared him away. He is definitely not the drunkest guy in here anymore. He looked (inaudible mumbling)
Me: He looked what?
Them: Did he? I donít know, he left. (in background: We have to get out of here!)
Them: He justÖheísÖpee. Remember that time you said he peed himself?
Them: Yeah. (in background: I didnít pee myself! I didnít pee myself!)
Me: (in really bad British accent) He peed his pants!
Them: Ray said,(in an even worse British accent) ďHe peed his pants.Ē (laughter, screaming in background: I didnít pee myself! sound of phone being jerked away) Ray?
Them: I didnít pee myself. I peed in the parking lot. DONíT FAKE THE FUNK ON A NASTY DUNK!
Me: I wonít.