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Drowning Hamster Requires Mouse To Mouse

| Right | December 4, 2013

(The small rodents are stored in aquariums with screen tops. A customer comes in and looks over the hamster tank.)

Me: “Is there anything I can help you with today, ma’am?”

Customer: “Yeah, what kinda fish dis be here?”

Me: “Ma’am, that’s not a fish. That is a hamster.”

Customer: “What kinda fish is a hamster? Is it one of the ocean things?”

Me: “Ma’am, hamsters are rodents. They are not any species of fish.”

Customer: “Where’s its water?”

Me: “In the bottle hanging on the side, right there.”

Customer: “You mean dat poor thing can’t even get in the water? What kind of place be keepin’ fish dat ain’t even in water? I ain’t spendin’ my money here. That’s cruelty. Shame on you!”

(The customer storms out of the store indignantly. I’m still confused.)

Bullying Beleaguered By Beluga

| Learning | December 4, 2013

(One of my classmates is a bit of a jerk and bully, and usually likes to find something to berate me over. He especially likes to point out anything strange or weird I do to others, so that they might be tempted to join in. He has decided to mock me for eating corn chips while drinking coffee. No one joins him in attacking me.)

Classmate #1: “Who cares?”

Classmate #2: “Why is that weird?”

(I start laughing. The kicker was he COMPLETELY missed the fact that I was dipping my corn chips in caviar.)

Red Light Bulb Moment

, , | Right | December 4, 2013

(I am in a recently opened restaurant. I overhear this conversation at the table next to me. At the table is a large family.)

Customer: “Has there ever been another restaurant in this building? The place looks so familiar.”

Waitress: “I do not know. The building has been vacant for many years.”

Customer: “I remember the stained glass windows and the spiral stairs. I am sure I have been here before.”

(Just then, another waiter passes the table.)

Waitress: “Do you know if there has ever been another restaurant in this place?”

Waiter: “No. Until they went out of business a few years ago this place was a brothel.”

(There was an awkward silence at the table.)


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In An Email Dominated Society

| Working | December 4, 2013

(As a result of a technical problem with my internet installation and astonishingly poor customer service following that, I have been trying to get an answer out of this company for three weeks. On twelve separate occasions they have promised me a call back and then ‘forgotten.’ I have called them four hours earlier. I was promised a callback within three hours, which I have not yet received. I have phoned them again.)

Company Rep: “[Name] speaking. How can I help?”

Me: “Hi. I rang four hours ago and was promised a call back within three hours from a manager and I haven’t heard anything. Please, could you find out what is happening?”

(I provide the account info.)

Company Rep: “I’m sorry you didn’t get a call back. I can see the request on our system but nothing since, and we close in an hour.”

Me: “Yes, I know. That’s why I rang up four hours ago for a three hour call back. This is the thirteenth time this has happened, and I’m getting annoyed. Please get a manager on the phone.”

Company Rep: “I’ll just see if he’s free. Please hold.”

(Five minutes on hold ensues.)

Company Rep: “I’m sorry. The manager is busy for the rest of the shift and won’t be able to call you tonight.”

Me: “Okay. Could someone ring me in the morning then, please?”

Company Rep: “I’m sorry. We can’t do that.”

Me: “Er… what?”

Company Rep: “You have to call up yourself on the day.”

Me: “But I’m calling now because I haven’t had the callback I was promised. I shouldn’t have to keep using my time to chase up requests I’ve already made. Can you please just leave a message for the duty manager to ring me tomorrow?”

Company Rep: “I can’t do a callback request for tomorrow. We’re not allowed to leave customer information on desks overnight.”

Me: “I understand data security. I work with customer data. Send them a secure email.”

Company Rep: “We don’t have email.”

Me: *incredulous* “Really? So when I spoke to [Name] before and he read out what he was writing in the EMAIL and then told me when he hit the SEND button, he was lying, was he?”

Company Rep: “Well, er…, what he meant was that he was typing it up and then printed it to leave on the manager’s desk.”

Me: “And when I spoke to [Name] before that and he actually emailed me from his work account with an update, that was my imagination, was it?”

Company Rep: “Well, err… I mean…”

Me: “And do you actually expect me to believe that an international provider of telecommunications, including internet and email hosting services, doesn’t have its own email system and resorts to leaving notes on desks?”

Company Rep: “I’ll… pass your message on now. Thanks for calling. Bye!”

(The Company Rep hangs up. Unsurprisingly I continued not getting the callbacks I was promised. I ended up writing to the chief executive of the company. He was very interested to hear they supposedly didn’t have email.)

The Golden Aging Of Music

| Learning | December 4, 2013

(I am thirty, and I decide to go back to college to get the qualifications I needed for a university course. I have to take three courses, but I only need two to get onto my university course. I take music because I play guitar and figure it will be fun. Most of the kids in my class are between 18 and 20 years old. I am very young-looking for my age. I tell everyone I am a mature student and I often talk about my kids who are two and five years old.)

Teacher: “So what do we all think Freddie Mercury meant with this line?

‘Too late, my time has come,
Sent shivers down my spine,
Body’s aching all the time.
Goodbye, everybody, I’ve got to go,
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth.’

Classmate: “Well, he was dying wasn’t he? He was saying goodbye.”

Me: “No, I don’t think so. He didn’t die for another 15 years after Bohemian Rhapsody was released.”

Classmate: “How do you know that?”

Me: “Because I remember hearing about Freddie Mercury’s death on the radio. It was in 1991 and I was coming home from holiday with my parents.”

(The teacher is looking at me strangely.)

Teacher: “Don’t make up stories, [My Name].”

Me: “I’m not making up stories… I was eight years old in 1991.”

Classmate: “What? No way!”

Me: “You guys realise I’m thirty, right? I’m always talking about my kids and I’ve already admitted that the first album I ever bought was a ‘New Kids On The Block’ record!”

Teacher: “We thought you were a little strange. We thought the kids you talked about were your siblings.”

Me: “And when I mention my c-section scar?”

Classmate: “We thought you were a sl*t!”