Sunday, August 15, 2004

 

If You Are Stupid ...


Please, throw out your phone and have your internet connection cancelled immediately. Either that or leave me alone.

No, I mean really.

The stupidness started last night when I was on IRC. A man, let's call him "Chuck" seeing that was the name he was going by, showed up in the channel where I was hanging out. The minute he arrived, instead of saying hello and getting the feel of the room, he immediately asked me in channel if I wanted to trade pix. I said, in my usual kind and understanding manner "send me a photo of your wallet and I will send you a photo of my mother in law". He didn't seem to find this amusing.

Not being able to take the hint, he send me a private message with his email address. "someass@webtv.com" or whatever. I didn't respond. He waited about five minutes and then complained that the picture hadn't arrived yet and asked whether I had sent it or not. I responded to neither of these messages. He then sent me another one five minutes later telling me that the picture had not yet arrived.

Um, hello? I was rude to him in channel and didn't answer a single message, and he still thinks he's getting a picture?

For starters, I don't send pictures to rude people who are obviously just out to hit on chicks (quite possibly for self-protection purposes, I'm not that hot and I don't think I could handle being rejected by a knuckle-dragging mouthbreather), and secondly ... I mean ... WEBTV? I admit to being an OS snob. I would do a Linux Geek in a minute (and often do, he's upstairs sleeping at the moment) and most of the Mac bois have a fighting chance. Even Windows NT (professional, not the home version) users have a hope. The Webbies are right out. No, I have never been that lonely. Get a PC and learn to type and then send me another message, ok? (lol/asl/etc.).

So I effectively blew Chuck off (please note the OFF there) and talked to my friends for a while and then hit the hay, as I had to be up to work the 8-4 shift today. I got to work and discovered that it wasn't just Chuck -- I seem to be a moron-magnet.

I wished so hard today that I didn't have to be nice to everyone who calls. When I answer the phone, I say "good morning (or afternoon if time-appropriate) Beebenhopper Krankenhaus". I can't tell you how many times today I had people say "uh ... um ... good afternoon (no, it was morning, those are the hours when Mickey's little hand points to a number smaller than 12, that's why I said morning, numbnuts, but do proceed) um ... is this the Beepenhopper Krankenhaus?" I, of course, have to say "Yes, sir, how may I help you?" when what I really want to say is "No, actually it isn't. That's what I said, but this is a private residence, and I'm sitting here alone in my underwear eating Cheez Doodles and dowloading porn. I'm part of an unholy alliance with the telephone company who, when someone calls up in distress wanting to speak to someone at the hospital, reroutes all of your calls to me. For which I make $10,000 a month. Can I help you?"

This, of course, would be what is known as a Career Limiting Move and they pay me well enough and often enough that I'm not really interested in buying that sort of grief.

And then they proceed to tell me of their problems. I'm a switchboard operator, not a doctor, and I do not want to hear about unusual vaginal discharge, anal polyps or vomit. I really don't. Mucous of any sort is completely prohibited. It's nasty, just stop telling me about it. I chose being an operator over being a doctor because I do not want to hear about your malfunctioning 'bits' and the things that grow thereon. Any sort of discharge, from urine right on up to actual arterial bleeding is NOT something I want to hear about. It's Right Out Of The Question, people.

I have sympathy for those who call in distress and I try to direct them to the appropriate resource but really folks, a little perspective? I can transfer your call ... I cannot deal with a prolapsed uterus, especially over the phone. And you really wouldn't want me to try. Just call an ambliance, people!

And then there was the woman who wanted to tear me a new one because I told her that her daughter was not in our particular Krankenhaus. She was calling from Toronto (ooh, I'm impressed, it's hardly the Kingdom of Bhutan, get over yourself lady) and was most insistent that her daughter was HERE and not somewhere ELSE and I had to FIND her even though she didn't know what last name this young lady was using. Yes, ma'am, I will leave the switchboard, let people die if a code call comes through (in most Krankenhauses the switchboard operator calls the emergency codes; it's our primary function) just so I can walk half a city block down to Emergency and yell "hey is anyone here named Veronica?" When I said to her, after five minutes of arguing, "Are you sure she's in here? This is the Beepenhopper Krankenhaus." she responded with, "Oh, didn't I call St. Olaf's? That's where she is. Do you happen to have their number?"

Feh.

All I can say, people, is that I have call display and starting on Monday I'm going to be writing down your phone numbers and then, at the end of my shift am going to be doing a reverse lookup to get your addresses and then I am coming over to break your phones.

Into little bits. And if you've called more than three times in one shift I might just make you eat those little bits.

And don't even get me started on the people who call up to see if their friends or family have gone into labour yet. "Hello, is Cathy Smith there?" "Yes, ma'am, she's in labour and delivery." "Oh, can you connect me?" "No, I can't, they are able to call out from the delivery suite but there are no ringers on the phones, they cannot receive incoming calls." "But I just want to find out how she's doing, are you sure you can't connect me?" "Yes, I'm sure. That's why I said I couldn't connect you. Have you ever had a baby? And if so, can you recall just how many incoming calls you would welcome at that time? She hit 10cm dilation 12 minutes ago and right now she is performing the equivalent of shitting a watermelon while standing right UP in the stirrups and screaming at her husband 'you sonofabitch, you did this to me, when I get out of this I'm going to cut your balls off with a rusty butter knife and EAT them so you can never do this to anyone else you motherfucker aaaAAAAaaaaAAAAHHHHhhh!' This really isn't a good time for calls. No, really. I can't connect you."

Ok, rant over. But next time you call a hospital, really, dude, if the operator says something to you, it might behoove you to actually listen. Asshat.

On the knitting front, I finished the body of the bunnie I'm making for my friend in chemo and can now start on the second Bootie of Bling. I should be able to send them to her by Wednesday. I'll take pictures before I do so. I did nothing on the Blanket of Belonephobia (fear of pins and needles) and will leave it aside until I finish the stuff for her. She deserves it.

I spend most of my knitting time making things for those who vomit on themselves a lot -- babies, crackhos and the homeless -- so I seldom buy 'quality' yarn, and stick to acrylic, however today, while trying to keep myself from going right fucking mad at work I got onto eBay and scored myself about 600 yards of Rowan Magpie in Raven. I've got bids on for a couple of small lots so that I can make the body of a sweater (for me me me) in black and the sleeves maybe in coral or cobalt and the pockets in grey. Or something. It'll be fun.

And there's a good chance it will stop me from killing people.

Comments:
Are you sure you don't work at the food bank??

Your day sounds remarkably lke *my* day!

Just substitute "broken open macaroni box" for vaginal discharge and "dented can of cheese sauce" for mucus, and you re right there.

Totonto, huh? We get calls from Chester.
 
Wow you did have a lovely day didn't ya? Unfortunately I don't know the number to Krackenhaus whatever.... or I would make a point to call at least three times a day just for shits and giggles. Nah, I really wouldn't. But I bet you were scared there for a second. heh.

The poor guy named Chuck. I bet HE was the one sitting there naked, eating cheese puffs and downloading porn. Heh.
 
1) Windows NT has neither a Professional nor a Home Edition; it has a Workstation and a Server. Windows XP is what you're thinking of, I believe. Since I know that information, I believe that qualifies me to be -- albeit at the very bottom, under "Give Passing Thought" -- in the "Consider Boinking" list.

2) smep.

4) Not only am I stupid, I can't count.
 
Well fuck. That was sort of embarrassing. I have now removed ALL windoze users from the list of people with whom I would engage in "Love in an Elevator".

This, sadly, includes myself. And yes, Windoze XP is what I meant.
 
Drat. Well, how about Love in a Cable Car? More space, at least.
 
Ok. Meet you there at midnight!!!1!
 
The problem is that stupid Mercury (you know, the planet) is gone retrograde right now and that fucks up communication beyond all recognition. I was about ready to kill some phone callers myself earlier this week. It's a hateful time to be a person who answers phones.
 
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