Ooops, I see that subtlety caught me again… I figured I was being broad enough that the joke came across… Anyway, all happened as read up until the point where my boy asked for the guy’s phone number, and of course given that I talk to like 75 customers a day of course I don’t remember it. However, my flight of fancy took off and I must say I was very tempted, mostly because my son is thirty, has a basso profundo voice and a VERY scary delivery, lives a thousand miles from me, travels for a living and is perfectly conversant with call blocking techniques. My devil side kicked in and I ran with it. Factory workers in the nineteenth century masturbated on the machines at work, it’s just gotten more cerebral to go along with the computers is all…
The thing is, what spooked me so much about THIS call was that it was so incredibly out of proportion. The guy was handing me a death wish because he’d been delayed by maybe ten hours in doing something that can’t possibly be that critical. I had a couple of jumping out of sleep episodes over the past couple days hearing it again in my head, (the voices! They’re driving me MAD!!!) but it’s calming down and now I’m pretty much just laughing about it.
I suppose it says something about me as a criminal mastermind/psychobitch from hell that the best I can come up with is waking this freak up and giving him a bit of a scare! Lame, that’s me all right.
Oh, and the kind of company that I work for? The kind where you ask the second in charge of the call center what the policy is on death threats from customers and all you get is a combo deer in the headlights look/insouciant shrug maneuver. Tres reassuring, neh? I definitely need a new job…
Oh, and anybody who thinks that “grotty” and “mom” are incompatible either doesn’t believe in cultural cross-pollinization or didn’t spend much time in California in the early '70s. Just because it came back later in Moon Unit’s mouth spelled “grody” doesn’t mean we didn’t use it spelled right a few years earlier… Didn’t see THAT on VH1, didya?
At any rate, it just kinda says something that a weirdo who’s paranoid enough to accuse a complete stranger of conspiracy is still so trusting that he operates as though said stranger couldn’t POSSIBLY be nutso enough to go on some unspecified rampage when that last straw sends the Bactrian to the back specialist. Of course, if the public ever SAW the people who answer their calls, they might hold their fire a bit more–most of us are fine, but the exceptions are real pieces of work, they are indeed…