I Got 192 Billion Problems And You’re All Of Them

, , , , | Working | October 9, 2018

(I work in the help desk for a fairly large corporation, and it’s routine that we get people’s IP addresses from them so we can log in to their machines and troubleshoot the issue. The IP addresses come out as four three-digit numbers [192.168.172.X] and I already know the first three numbers because all of our IP addresses start with the same three number groups [octets].)

Me: *mid-call* “…so click start, then run.”

Coworker: “Okay.”

Me: “Press enter, then type in IPCONFIG.”

Coworker: “Okay.”

Me: “That will show you an IP address of 192 dot 168 dot 100 dot something. I need the last part.”

Coworker: *silence*

Me: “Still there?”

Coworker: “Hold on.”

Me: “I just need the last part.”

Coworker: “Hold on.”

Me: “Okay.”

Coworker: *sighs* “One hundred and ninety-two billion, one hundred and sixty-eight million, one hundred and seventy-two thousand, two hundred and thirteen.”

Me: “Um, I just needed the last part.”

Coworker: “Then why didn’t you say that?”

Me: “I did. Also, those are periods, not commas.”

Coworker: “Oh.”

(The call went smoothly after that.)

Unfiltered Story #118175

, | Unfiltered | August 9, 2018

I’m the prank caller in this story. My brother-in-law and I were roommates in college and did some part-time photography and darkroom work. Several years after graduation, he’s the owner of a photo processing center. I hadn’t talked to him in a while, so I give a call.

BiL: Hello, [photo center], how can I help you?

Me: [faking an old man’s voice] Hi, I’d like to get some pictures printed.

BiL: Certainly, sir, we can do that for you.

Me: I’d like some color pictures of some old negatives I have.

BiL: [Sensing trouble] Old?

Me: Yes, they are old black and white negatives.

BiL: Sir, we can’t make color pictures from black and white negatives.

Me: Why not? It’s color paper, right?

BiL: Well, it doesn’t work that way.

Me: [voice returning to normal] Well, you should learn not to take prank calls from your brother-in-law.

BiL: Hah. Figures.

Me: Do you get questions that odd?

BiL: You don’t know the half of it! Yours was hardly the strangest request I’ve gotten.

I really should get him to read this site. He can add the other stories.

Not So Heavy On Paper

, , , , | Working | July 19, 2018

(At my work, I do the processing for orders in the backroom, and we have these 80-pound rolls of paper to fill space. My space is the closest, and I have just replaced mine with the help of [Coworker #1] who does the lifting while I guide the bar, since it’s a two-person job. The space next to mine also runs out, so I go to get the paper ready.)

Coworker #2: “No, it’s okay. I can do it myself; I’m a guy.”

Me: “You think that just because I’m a girl I can’t do it?”

(I flip over the roll to take out the plastic ends.)

Coworker #2: “See? You’re struggling.”

Me: “Me being a girl does not mean I can’t lift something of a decent weight. You would know this if you weren’t assuming, so go get your pole ready for the paper.”

(I slid the paper on with a little difficulty, but the power of somebody telling me I couldn’t do something powered me through it.)

Pigs Can Fly, But They Can’t See Windows

, , , , , , | Right | July 10, 2018

In my former employer’s hotel, the front desk was built so that one couldn’t see the front door — which was glass — while seated.

One summer night, while the wait-staff in the restaurant were still counting their tips, I heard a “thump” against the door. I decided I ought to go check it out, and was puzzled to find nobody at the door. I stepped outside, and there wasn’t a soul in sight to any direction. I turned to go back inside, and noticed something just in my peripheral vision on the ground. Looking down, I discovered a piece of cooked pork roast, about two to three inches thick and six or seven inches across, and an accompanying greasy splat almost dead-center on the glass of the door.

Left to ponder this mystery while cleaning the door, I came to the conclusion that someone both highly accurate with thrown projectiles and highly dissatisfied with their meal had discarded the hunk of pork from a moving vehicle.

When I told this story to my friends later, we christened the incident, “The Drive-By Porking.”

Not Shielded From Your Sarcasm

, , , , , , | Learning | June 9, 2018

(I work at the largest university in Alaska, and we frequently have earthquake drills and, of course, the required fire drills. I am designated as one of our building safety personnel in charge of evacuating the building and getting people to the designated “safe” area away from the building, a large portion of which is floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows. The meeting area is located safely behind the cement parking garage, a good distance from our building. However, people get weirdly stubborn about moving to the correct area, even as I wave and point and usher them. I start becoming very creative in handling these recalcitrant evacuees.)

Me: *in official vest and over bullhorn* “Please step this way behind the parking garage, towards the designated meeting area!”

(A few people move.)

Me: “Folks, please be sure to thank those people over there—” *indicates the people still stubbornly standing right next to the giant glass building* “—who have bravely volunteered to be a human shield for you in the event of a fire or other disaster in which our building, made entirely of glass, could potentially explode outward.” *pause for effect* “Their sacrifice in protecting you from the explosive shrapnel will be much appreciated!”

(The human shields eschew the honor and glory, and move to relative safety behind the parking garage, glaring at me all the while.)

Me: *mentally shrugging; it’s part of my job and I can’t get fired over this* “Thank you for playing the ‘How to stay alive during a natural disaster’ game! Herb, tell them what they’ve won!”

(Most people were laughing pretty hard at this point. The few holdouts glowered at me the entire time.)

Page 2/612345...Last