You Need To Be Sitting In A Comfortable Chair For This One

, , , , | Right | December 13, 2017

You Need Me: “Thank you for calling [Store]. This is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “Yeah, do you have [chair]?” *he then lists of the product code rather quickly before I even have a chance to realize what he’s saying* “—and it’s $375.”

Me: “Um, I’m sorry; I’ll have to look it up. What chair was it?”

(I get a pen and am ready this time when he gives me the item number. After I look it up, I go back to the phone.)

Me: “We have it on our website, but we don’t have it in store. You’d have to order from home online, or we have a computer in our store where you can do it.”

Caller: “Yeah, is that chair comfortable?”

Me: “Um, I don’t know, it depends on the person, really. I’ve never sat in it, so I can’t tell you.”

Caller: “How do I buy it from your store?”

Me: “We have a self-serve computer you can order it from. You need to use a credit card or a Visa debit, though.”

Caller: “What’s a Visa debit?”

Me: “It’s just a debit card that lets you use it as a credit card if you need to. Most people have them these days.”

Caller: “So, can I order it, then?”

Me: “Sure, you can, but you’d have to come into the store, or you’d have to do it yourself from home.”

Caller: “Can I get a black one?”

Me: “Well, the item number you gave me was for a brown chair. I can look it up.” *I check and it only comes in brown* “Sorry, that style only comes in brown.”

Caller: “But I’m looking at a black one.”

Me: “On our website?”

Caller: “Yeah.”

Me: “Because I searched the model, and it only came up with a brown one.”

Caller: “I want a black one.”

Me: “Are you looking at it on your computer right now? And the description says black?”

Caller: “Yeah.”

Me: “Are you on [Website].com or [Website].ca?”

Caller: “[Website].com.”

Me: “That’s the American site, and that might be why it’s in black.”

Caller: “That’s okay; just order it from the States for me.”

Me: “I can’t. And you wouldn’t want to order from our American site, anyway, because it would end up costing more; plus you’d probably have to pay duties on it.”

Customer: “So, can I just tell them I want a black one?”

Me: “No, you can only order what’s on our site, and on our site, we only have it in brown.”

Caller: “Do you have any black chairs in your store?”

Me: “Yes, we have lots of black chairs.”

Caller: “Are they more expensive than this one?”

Me: “Um, there might be a few…” *at this point I’m trying to figure out how to get him off the phone because it’s been almost ten minutes* “But you’d have to come into the store to look at them.”

Caller: “No, no, I can’t come to the store. Just order me the black one. The one from the American site.”

Me: “I can’t; we’re not really connected.”

Caller: “Well, I’m on the Canadian site now, and it’s in black.”

Me: “Okay; order it from there, then.”

Caller:  “Right now?”

Me: “Yes.”

Caller: “How?”

Me: “Click, ‘Add to cart.'”

Caller: “How do you spell that?”

Me: “Don’t type it; click it. Click the button that says, ‘Add to cart.'”

Caller: “Oh, okay. I got you. Thanks!”

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If You’re Feeling Guilty, Then That’s On You

, , , , | Right | December 12, 2017

Me: “And would you like to donate to [Local Charity]?”

Customer: “No. Would you like to donate to my wife and me?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “There, now we’re even. You know, I can’t believe they would make you go through this. It’s not fair that they make you ask for donations.”

Me: *shrugging* “I don’t care if people say no.”

Customer: “Well, then, look at it from my perspective. I’m just trying to buy things that I need, and now you’re soliciting to me!”

Me: “I don’t think it’s a big deal to say no to people, either. It’s just their job to ask, and you shouldn’t have to donate if you don’t want to, and you shouldn’t feel bad for saying no. It’s not a big deal; most people say no.”

Customer: “Well! I guess I’m just old-fashioned.”

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Will Have To Reorient Your Understanding On Lifestyle

, , | Healthy | December 12, 2017

(My husband is an RNA, and the doctor asks him to explain the procedure going forward to a patient who is experiencing symptoms relating to diet and lack of exercise.)

Husband: “So, the doctor has told you that many of your symptoms are related to diet and lack of exercise. I’m going to go over some programs you can take advantage of to help change your lifestyle.”

Patient: *startled* “I have to change my lifestyle?!”

Husband: “Yes, your going to have to change it completely if you want to start feeling better. I have some brochures here for the various programs we are going to offer to get you signed up for. They all offer professionals in various fields who can help you learn how to incorporate these changes into your routine so they became a natural part of your life.”

Patient: *getting up, trying to gather her jacket and purse to leave, while shaking and clearly outraged* “I can’t believe you are asking me to join these programs! I always told my husband he was being silly, no one was trying to change lifestyles and that he was just wrong, but he’s right! I can’t believe this is happening. The news is going to hear about this!”

(Then she stormed out. My poor confused husband told the doctor what happened, and the doctor called the patient later in the day to try to find out what set her off. It turned out she didn’t understand that the doctor’s office was trying to set her up with a dietician, a charity-supervised walking group, a swim aerobics class, and publicly-offered healthy cooking classes. She legitimately thought that the ‘professional services’ would help her seamlessly change her ‘lifestyle’ to gay!)

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Death By Chocolate Is A Happy Death

, , , , , , | Working | December 11, 2017

It was my great-grandma’s 103rd birthday, and the family had gathered for a small celebration. By that point she had several health problems, including having a breast and a leg amputated because of cancer, having a foot amputated because of adult-onset diabetes, general difficulty with hearing and sight, and a tendency to have her mind wander quite badly. At one point, she seemed to notice the party happening and asked for a piece of cake, which my cousin and I cut and attempted to serve her.

One of the nurses who worked there came rushing out, smacked the plate out of my cousin’s hand, smacked the fork out of mine, and started yelling about how our great-grandma couldn’t have cake; she was diabetic, it might make her sick, etc.  

After a bit of a fight, which left my great-grandma crying, the nurse wheeled her away to her room, told us she could only have one visitor at time in there, and we would have to pack up to start leaving. As everyone was packing up, my cousin and I snuck a piece of cake to our great-grandma’s room and helped her eat it, which made her stop crying and start to smile. As we were leaving, the same nurse caught us and gave us a big ticking off, with the final shot, “You could have killed her.”

She’s 103 already; if she wants cake, she can have cake. If she wants a lap dance and some heroin, she can have that, too. It’s better to die of cake at 103 than to sit in your room by yourself crying on your birthday!

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Scream Bloody Murder At The Sight Of Blood

, , | Healthy | December 11, 2017

(My son is 18 months old. I am planning on entering him in daycare and returning to work. I check around, and choose a daycare in part because of the above and beyond training the staff all have, including comprehensive (instead of emergency only) first aid training, annually. About three weeks after I enroll him, I get a call at work from a frantic daycare worker, who speaks perfect English, despite what happens next.)

Worker: “Your son was climbing on a chair and fell. He hit his head quite badly. There is a lot of blood coming out of his ear, and he hasn’t moved in 15 minutes!”

Me: “Is he talking or doing anything!”

Worker: “No, he hasn’t done anything at all since he fell. Maybe you should come pick him up.”

Me: “Call an ambulance. That’s very serious. Call right away. I’ll be there soon!”

(I throw my keys at my boss, barely tell him that my son is hurt and I have to go, run out of work, and drive like an idiot, all while picturing the most horrible things, and arrive just as the ambulance gets there.  The ambulance attendants and I rush inside to find my son calmly lying in a staff member’s lap, getting read to, trying to reach up and grab the book closer to himself. When he sees me he gets up and runs over to me, gabbing away the whole time. The staff member I talked to originally turns to me and the ambulance attendants.)

Worker: “That’s the first time he’s gotten up since he fell. He’s been lying in her lap reading books for the last half hour. We checked him over and he’s nicked his earlobe, which HAS bled quite a lot. That’s why I thought his mom should pick him up, but she insisted I call the ambulance, so I thought I better comply. Lawsuits, you know.” *stupid giggle*

(The ambulance attendants were extremely disgruntled to be called out for something that clearly wasn’t an emergency of any sort, and the worker keeps trying to blame me (‘New parents! Always overreacting to normal childhood bumps and bruises. Insisted I call an ambulance, etc.’) I may have lost it a little bit, yelling at her that her wildly inaccurate description of his injuries is why I insisted on her calling the ambulance, and that she had caused not only a huge waste of time for emergency services, but also extreme anxiety for me in her effort to make the story seem more interesting, or whatever her problem was.)

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