Stupidity Ought To Be Painful, Part Three.
You may recall from yesterday’s adventure that one of my boss’s companies is BTS. For today’s installment, you should know what BTS does, which is install/operate business machines (internet access machines and business-product vending machines, for example) in a number of places, one of which is the Atlanta airport. Note the distinct non-correlation of BTS's function to this next call...
Some guy calls on the main number and I get stuck with him because Sheila is in the bathroom (she has a knack for knowing when stupid people are planning to call). So dude says, “Yes, this is *Mr. Severed Synapses* and I’m calling because someone left their lights on in the parking lot.” I think this must mean that he’s with Lanier Parking, which operates the deck where we all park, and that he’s calling because he’s matched this lights-on automobile to one of those on my company’s account. But NOOOOOOOOOOO! That would make far too much sense! Because what happens next is I ask what kind of car it is and he tells me “It’s a Dodge Caravan, license number JRE 552.” [I made that number up; I really don’t remember.] I tell him that nobody here drives a Dodge Caravan, but it doesn’t end there! No, eventually, agonizing bit by agonizing bit, I determine that he is a guy who has parked at the airport and has spied a car with its headlights on in the course of his stroll to the terminal.
Why, then, is he calling us, you might wonder? As did I. His response: “UNPF! [that’s my phonetic spelling of an impatient grunt] WELL, YOU’RE IN THE AIRPORT, RIGHT?” Well, no, as it happens. I am downtown on Peachtree Street, across from the Ritz-Carlton, but even if I were in the airport, what, pray tell, have I to do with any of this? Am I just next on the list as he calls everybody in Atlanta or have I suddenly been appointed Chief of Headlight Police without my knowledge? Swallowing many a scathing retort, I politely suggest that he call Parking Company of America because they manage all the airport lots. Despite my vast experience with stupid people, I never, never, never in a million years anticipated his reply. He says, churlishly, “Well that’s what I DID, but they left me on hold for a really long time so I hung up. Then when I called back I didn’t like their attitude so I called you.” Um...okaaaaay...and you took that step because???? It’s not like escalating a call upward to someone’s supervisor - we don’t supervise PCA, subcontract with them, manage them, share space with them, NOTHING that makes a logical connection as to why he called our company.
At a loss, I say, “Well, sir, thank you for calling, but there’s not really anything I can do.” He snarls, “You can FIND THEM and TELL THEM they left their lights on! Someone is going to have a DEAD BATTERY in this BAD WEATHER!” Uh...okay...let me just MARTAvate out to the airport and wander about, looking for folk who look both dorky enough to own a minvan and dumb enough to have left their lights on; after all, how many can there be on a Tuesday morning at the world’s busiest airport? Instead, I demonstrate my laziness and lack of initiative by replying, “Sir, I understand your concern but I don’t have any way to identify, find or contact that person.” He actually yells at me this time, snarling, “I JUST GAVE YOU THE TAG NUMBER! YOU COULD CHECK THEIR TAG!” Oh, yes! Why didn’t I think of that? The entire staff at the Georgia Department of Motor Vehicles stands ready, willing and able, no, even eager to run any tags that I, Supreme Accountant Helly Braxton-Hayes, cares to ask for! How asinine of me!
By this point, I’ve had enough of being yelled at by some random dumbass so I do what I should have done at the very beginning. I say, “Sir, was that car a black Corvette?” He barks, “No! I ALREADY TOLD YOU it was a Dodge Caravan!” I answer, “Well, if it wasn’t a black Corvette, I really don’t give a rat’s ass!” and hung up. Let him call back to demand a supervisor; he’ll get Sheila and she’ll transfer him to ME! He didn’t like Parking Company of America’s attitude? HA! I got his attitude.
A day ago the future had looked aching and desolate, and now it looked full of surprises and terror and bad things happening to people...if she had anything to do with it anyway. (Terry Pratchett, Maskerade)
You may recall from yesterday’s adventure that one of my boss’s companies is BTS. For today’s installment, you should know what BTS does, which is install/operate business machines (internet access machines and business-product vending machines, for example) in a number of places, one of which is the Atlanta airport. Note the distinct non-correlation of BTS's function to this next call...
Some guy calls on the main number and I get stuck with him because Sheila is in the bathroom (she has a knack for knowing when stupid people are planning to call). So dude says, “Yes, this is *Mr. Severed Synapses* and I’m calling because someone left their lights on in the parking lot.” I think this must mean that he’s with Lanier Parking, which operates the deck where we all park, and that he’s calling because he’s matched this lights-on automobile to one of those on my company’s account. But NOOOOOOOOOOO! That would make far too much sense! Because what happens next is I ask what kind of car it is and he tells me “It’s a Dodge Caravan, license number JRE 552.” [I made that number up; I really don’t remember.] I tell him that nobody here drives a Dodge Caravan, but it doesn’t end there! No, eventually, agonizing bit by agonizing bit, I determine that he is a guy who has parked at the airport and has spied a car with its headlights on in the course of his stroll to the terminal.
Why, then, is he calling us, you might wonder? As did I. His response: “UNPF! [that’s my phonetic spelling of an impatient grunt] WELL, YOU’RE IN THE AIRPORT, RIGHT?” Well, no, as it happens. I am downtown on Peachtree Street, across from the Ritz-Carlton, but even if I were in the airport, what, pray tell, have I to do with any of this? Am I just next on the list as he calls everybody in Atlanta or have I suddenly been appointed Chief of Headlight Police without my knowledge? Swallowing many a scathing retort, I politely suggest that he call Parking Company of America because they manage all the airport lots. Despite my vast experience with stupid people, I never, never, never in a million years anticipated his reply. He says, churlishly, “Well that’s what I DID, but they left me on hold for a really long time so I hung up. Then when I called back I didn’t like their attitude so I called you.” Um...okaaaaay...and you took that step because???? It’s not like escalating a call upward to someone’s supervisor - we don’t supervise PCA, subcontract with them, manage them, share space with them, NOTHING that makes a logical connection as to why he called our company.
At a loss, I say, “Well, sir, thank you for calling, but there’s not really anything I can do.” He snarls, “You can FIND THEM and TELL THEM they left their lights on! Someone is going to have a DEAD BATTERY in this BAD WEATHER!” Uh...okay...let me just MARTAvate out to the airport and wander about, looking for folk who look both dorky enough to own a minvan and dumb enough to have left their lights on; after all, how many can there be on a Tuesday morning at the world’s busiest airport? Instead, I demonstrate my laziness and lack of initiative by replying, “Sir, I understand your concern but I don’t have any way to identify, find or contact that person.” He actually yells at me this time, snarling, “I JUST GAVE YOU THE TAG NUMBER! YOU COULD CHECK THEIR TAG!” Oh, yes! Why didn’t I think of that? The entire staff at the Georgia Department of Motor Vehicles stands ready, willing and able, no, even eager to run any tags that I, Supreme Accountant Helly Braxton-Hayes, cares to ask for! How asinine of me!
By this point, I’ve had enough of being yelled at by some random dumbass so I do what I should have done at the very beginning. I say, “Sir, was that car a black Corvette?” He barks, “No! I ALREADY TOLD YOU it was a Dodge Caravan!” I answer, “Well, if it wasn’t a black Corvette, I really don’t give a rat’s ass!” and hung up. Let him call back to demand a supervisor; he’ll get Sheila and she’ll transfer him to ME! He didn’t like Parking Company of America’s attitude? HA! I got his attitude.
A day ago the future had looked aching and desolate, and now it looked full of surprises and terror and bad things happening to people...if she had anything to do with it anyway. (Terry Pratchett, Maskerade)
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home