Then we will fight in the shade

So it turns out Spartan kicking your Persian assistant while shouting ‘THIS IS SPARTA!’ is frowned upon by HR. So now there is a new job opening at Awesome Inc. as a result of the settlement. The position of Executive Assistant has the following requirements:

1 – Must speak English, French, Ancient Hebrew, Latin, a little Greek and Russian. I don’t speak Russian, but some people do and I want to know what my comrades over in sadville USSR are up to.

2 – Must be able to take a kick to the sternum. Nancies need not apply.
3 – Must not ask questions.
4 – Must be familiar with all office related software.
5 – Must be able to keep secrets.
6 – Must be able to use search engines efficiently. (This means can google...don’t know why HR has that, but here we are.)
7 – Must be able to handle a straight razor. (I likes my office shaves)
8 – Must love dogs.
9 – Must hate cats.
10 – Must be willing to exchange the word ‘yes’ in every day usage to ‘I shall kill many Persians’.
Send your CVs along.

Some may question why I’ve gone through 15 assistants in the last 3 years. Some left to pursue other opportunities, some left with broken sternums. All I’m saying is that I am a great person to work for. Expect to learn something new every day. Yesterday I taught my assistant why silver is a holy metal. The day before that, I taught him why emo vampires are so popular with the ladies (It’s the dead eyes). I’m a veritable cornucopia of information. Also, I always smell super nice. Sort of my thing. Apply now!

I would wear anti-social on a T-shirt

Why is it considered unhealthy to be ant-social? Oddly the general view of society (the thing one is being anti-about) is that it’s so unhealthy that no sane person would actually accept any sort of anti-social leanings. I call shenanigans. First of all, f^&k society. If that’s anti-social, then so be it comrade Stalin. Sometimes (almost always) I don’t want to go to your tam tams and wine tastings. I want to sit in my apartment, in my chair, doing my work (killing zombies) and what is wrong with that? Maybe I want to anger walk around my neighbourhood? Maybe I want to play anger ball at the gym alone. Is that unhealthy? Maybe. But if it has no impact on my ability to socialise when needed, how unhealthy can it actually be?

For those that know me, I am an outgoing sociable fellow who is the life of the party and facilitates fun for everyone around him at social gatherings. For those that know me really well, I am a remarkably anti-social person who hates social gatherings and would rather be alone or with one person somewhere else, doing anything else. I think people should just be grateful I make the effort to at least act like a sociable person. Others are genuinely entertained by me, and everyone has a good time. Hurling the term anti-social at me (or ‘anti-soci’ as now two people have dubbed it) as a means of trying to ‘coax’ me out of my shell miss a crucial piece of the Newsy puzzle. My shell is there because I put it there. It took many years to construct and I love it. Love the shell.

That isn’t to be confused with not wanting to make a difference in people’s lives, or even interacting with people in a meaningful way. I love those things. Hell I’ve changed the world without anyone knowing it several times over (YOU’RE WELCOME). And people LOVE me. Whether it’s me or the version of me presented to the world on occasions they see me is irrelevant, as the love and impact is genuine.

For example, this morning on my way to work there was a nice older lady at the shop I buy breakfast at and she didn’t have the money to pay for her sandwich. I told the cashier to add to my tab, smiled at her and left without talking. WHY IS THAT NOT GOOD ENOUGH? I have to engage in a big long discussion about something? I’m pretty sure that made her day. She was super happy and grateful. Even if was some sort of elaborate sandwich scam, who cares? 3 bucks to make someone that happy is a good deal regardless of intent of the one being assisted.

Yes, occasionally my anti-social tendencies shine through in slightly more aggressive ways, such as firing someone for opening my door without knocking first, or the time I tried to suffocate patrick with a plastic bag for breathing too loudly (he was shirtless at the time as he had ‘sweated through his shirt’ walking to work that day). But all in all, I think it’s the right level of just not caring about nonsense.

Also is it me. Or are girls about 50 times chattier than guys? I might be behind the times on this observation (usually the case being locked away in my anti-scocial cave) but seriously. Have you ever actually listened to some girls talk? They can literally go on for hours, without saying one actual thing. It’s actually fascinating. I know there are some guys who can do that too, but guys are easier to deal with. ‘Hey dickbag, you’re talking but not saying anything. Stop it. Also your collar seems to have popped itself. Fix it.’ And they grumble and unpop their collar and bam problem solved. Can’t do that with girls.

Maybe it’s because I instinctively sort of stare people down when they try to talk to me and I’m uninterested. Even when i am interested. I just like staring through people. Always unsettles them. Maybe I'm not anti-social at all. Maybe I'm just a dick. Or maybe (most likely) I'm just awesome.

I hear the train a coming.

Who doesn’t like trains? I don’t. And I’ll tell you why. Yes steam engines and the romantic idea of the train is lovely. Capturing the imagination and being reflective of a time past, where adventure was to be had riding the rails to adventure and all that... but today we are left with Via rail (Canada’s Amtrak for our American imaginary readers) and they make me want to just die. I could have gone super colourful and detail exactly how they make me want to die, but having had to deal with them at all makes me just so weary to the bones, I just want to lie down on the track and let the train run me over (as it would be a via train though, odds are that the train would be late, on the wrong track, and derail if there was a slight breeze that day). Hey look at that, I did have enough in me to describe a colourful dramatic death scene. Celebratory shots of office whiskey all around!

So we get a call from Via Rail. They want our services. Awesome. They want a big campaign. Awesome. They want to start right away. Awesome. They have no money to pay. Awesome. They want to pay in via dollars. Awesome. Free travel using via anywhere!...Awesome. Right? As this occurred in August and I was planning on lots of trips to and from Toronto and/or Ottawa, a couple of grand in free travel vouchers seemed helpful, so agreed to it I did. Like the gifted fella I am, I thought ‘it’s Via! Free travel would be super helpful! The world is great and I am awesome. Look at that dog! Hooray for everyone.’ but as it stands now, they are just slightly better than useless, and I’m pretty sure making the deal in the first place has resulted in my coworkers losing the little respect they had left for me (which at this office means weakness is detected and leaves someone open to challenge you for dominance, claiming your job and heart (consuming it for strength) as their own).

We don’t physically get the vouchers, we get a credit. We have to call ahead and schedule the trip with them and confirm all the details and the total amount of the cost of the trip will be deducted from the total balance. The total balance being divided among the providers of the campaign, us being only a part. And we have to adhere to the restrictions of usage for the vouchers. And we have to give percentages to people despite it not actually being money, but carrying a value. Long story short, Via... seriously? It’s like you want me to claw my own eyes out. So your business model includes marketing plans that revolve around paying your vendors in coupons and then not honouring said coupons in any reasonable way... thereby ensuring no further contracts being accepted by those same vendors... It’s like you hate yourself and are trying to actively see your own destruction.

Well, the silver lining is that I don’t actually have to go to Ottawa or Toronto. I hate both cities quite a bit. (I can hear the collective ‘HEY! ... Toronto’s... not that bad...’ from the dozen residents who actually care enough about their city to defend it’s honour... sort of) One more than the other, but that’s neither here nor there (subject of a future post certainly), and certainly doesn’t detract from Via’s complete waste of my time and energy. Just clawing at a W wherever one is able to be found.

As I sit here gnawing on the heart of the office Indian (why the quiet one would choose to challenge me I have no idea), feeling his strength flow through me, I realise that I may need to just not talk to clients anymore. I love too much. That’s my problem.

Random Musings on a cold octorber night.

Sometimes the world hates you. You can either run from it, or stare it down and tell it to go f%&k itself. Now the latter option is my preferred way to go as running and burying your head in the sand is for cowards and Kenyans. The go f%&k itself option has several branches, however and one must be careful not to choose the wrong one. Game of chess it is. If chess involved table flipping and fires. Which it does when played properly... ‘grandpa’... There’s the standard stand your ground, don’t give an inch and stare them down. There’s the softer give a little, remain true but some compromise is warranted if their intentions are reasonable, and so on and so forth. My favourite, and ‘go to’ option however is the rather unpopular disproportionate escalation.

I say unpopular in that others aren’t fans of this type of conflict resolution. The idea of making the repercussions for any infraction so unbelievably horrifying that no one would dare cross you ever may seem initially appealing and fun for all, but in reality it takes a lot out of you. Patrick for example made a silly comment about a cousin of mine and in response I nearly collapsed his trachea and made him apologise to her and her family before removing my foot from his neck. ‘That seems like a reasonable response’. And you would be correct pokaroo, but that wasn’t the resolution. That was simply the immediate response. (he still claims to be unable to swallow properly) The actual response came somewhat later when his protein powder was cut with estrogen and ecstasy... His iron pumping sessions at the gym degraded into crying humpfests with Technicolor dragons pretty quick... Anywhoo, that was just a playful response to a simple comment. Had he actually had malicious intent and not just made a thoughtless comment, he’d be a lady right now, on the sex offender’s registry, waking up without eyelids in a room filled with coke and strangers blood to the sounds of approaching sirens and all the doors and windows locked.

Now Patrick is afraid to even take a French fry when offered. His response is ‘I’m going to take a bite and you’re going to r$%^ my mother’ to which I respond ‘I would r%#$ your father. Just to prove a point. You could live with it if it was your mother, with counselling and all that, but your father, you’d have to see him everyday and look into his dead eyes... imagine it Patrick...’ And he does and he gets a little misty. Bless his little heart. What can I say? Hobbies are fun. And God knows if and when I settle down, there won’t be as much time for this type of thing, so I should really get this stuff out of my system now.

I know what you’re thinking; ‘Newsy, a big important awesomeologist working for a middling media company like you must have swarms of ladies all over you all the time... surely that settling down time is rapidly approaching?’ Good question pokaroo. Well I’ll tell you, I like to employ the sharp stick strategy. ‘Wait... the sharp.. what?’ that’s right pokaroo. You’ve no doubt heard the saying ‘he’ll have to beat them off of him with a pointy stick!’, well i’ve taken it to heart. Some call it a broken broom handle I’ve whittled into a point, but after a few sharp jabs in the ribs, they call it whatever I want. And what I want it called is pickles. ‘...you named your giant shiv pickles?...’ That’s right pokaroo. And pickles is goddamned magic. Sharpstickery is a wonderful word you should all get used to several readers as I make up words a lot and they’re all awesome.

I am a wordsmith. Also other types of ‘---smith’ but wordsmith is definitely at the top. Maybe only surpassed in fame by my status as a ‘revengesmith’ after ‘incident orange’ (to be discussed at a later date), but that’s neither here nor there. Often, I find that the English language is limited in its emotional range and have to draw upon other languages to find the appropriate word. For love, naturally I drift to French. For anger, Klingon. However there are times where no language possesses the words which adequately describe whatever I’m feeling at that particular moment and I am forced to create a new word. Frustrangerful was a fun one. But sometimes, better than creating new words is cramming two existing words together. Portmanteau’ing’ as it were. They are awesome. They are portmanteawesome. Recently, as I’ve been spending a great deal of time with our lawyer Ralph (who happens to be black. And aggressively so) I’ve taken quite the shine to portmanteauing ‘black’ and whatever other word I’m using. Usually descriptive words of Ralph himself. For example: angry, lawyer, awesome, attractive, aggressive become: ‘blangry’, ‘blawyer’, ‘blawesome’, ‘blattractive’, and ‘blaggressive’. I would go on and on (and i certainly do at the office), but as my nonsensical ramblings are best kept from the world it’s best I wrap up and bury them in a place no one will ever hear them... this blog. So keep it to yourself pokaroo. Our little secret... or blecret... cause pokaroo is black. If you thought he was white (or a big green giraffe sort of thing) then you’re the racist. Look at yourself in the mirror before throwing stones glass house.

I would like to take this opportunity (cause that’s totally what it is) to send my congratulations to my friend and coworker Eric and his new wife Diane, as this past Saturday, they tied the knot and are now happily married. Woooooo!

Dear other people i hate today

Dear Client Company representative. I received your email regarding us taking hours and hours out of our week to compile a progress report for you on a system we developed for you that we STILL do not have a finalised contract for. I am amazed that you are able to make it into work each morning pushing your MASSIVE BALLS in front you in what I can only presume is some type of wheelbarrow. It’s liberating to know that we have the type of relationship that you can feel so free to talk to me about anything and that you aren’t the least bit embarrassed by your institution’s gross incompetence and negligence of their responsibilities at all so as to inhibit you from making demands such as progress reports on what up until now can only be described as our benevolence and extreme good will towards you. It fills me with happiness. Not at all murderous rage that will see me videotape *** EDITED OUT FOR EXTREME CONTENT****..............................................................................................................****EVEN MORE EXTREME*****.........................................................................................****GOOD GOD THIS IS MESSED UP****..................................................................cut off so you CANNOT STOP WATCHING. Perhaps we should go to lunch to discuss this ‘progress report’? You need it by when? Aren’t you just precious.

Dear every employee I have. I know what you’re thinking. ‘Myproblems are sooooooo important and the welfare of the whoooooole company is on the line and everyone should be helping me handle these things or else everyone’s fuuuuucked!!!!’ and in a way you’re right. All your problems are important. And yes, any one of you drops the ball and we’re all just a wee bit fucked. Stop, take a deep breath and hold it... Keep holding.... Keeeeeeeeeeep hoooooooolding....keep holding... I hope you’ve died. Problem solved for everyone. If one more of you comes into my office thinking your problem is bigger than any of the other 50 problems that require immediate attention I may leap over my desk and beat you to death with my lovely bronze statue of Sir Gallahad, oddly enough there to remind me not to beat people to death. 

Dear landlord. I pay you rent, I don’t complain, we’re not loud, we don’t make life difficult for anyone. I even pay the stupid water tax that doesn’t seem legal as we have no faucet in the office, and the communal bathroom of ever office on the floor doesn’t seem to warrant 1500 dollars a year in water tax. When one of your idiot tenants who decides to do business with the door permanently opened next to the communal washroom tells you that the nice tenant down the hall has a lot of people in the office and they make noise when they go to the washroom, tell them to jump up their own ass and die. Problem solved. Asking an office full of people to keep quiet when going down the hall to go to the washroom is idiotic. Absolutely Sir, we like to go in teams so we can high-five and shout encouragement at each other while we pee. That’s how we roll. Didn’t know that was frowned upon. We’ll totally check it at the door.

Dear idiot tenant down the hall. You are a therapist. CLOSE YOUR DOOR when in session. Also, getting people to stand on your couch while yelling at a pillow isn’t therapy. Everything about you makes me embarrassed to be in the same building. So we make too much noise in the hallways on our way to the bathroom do we???? Well guess what dickbag? I’m going to do things to you now. Congrats.

Dear accountant. If the first 10000 times you ask me if i have the invoice for X resulted in me responding no, i gave you all the invoices I have... what the fuck makes you think this time I’ll respond differently? Oh why yes, I hung on to that particular invoice because I doodled something amusing in the corner and like to look at it whenever I’m blue. I GAVE YOU ALL THE INVOICES FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! Just wave your magic accounting wand and fix whatever needs fixing. I’ll make you a new fake invoice if you need it. We need to meet three times this week because it’s year end? Awesome. Sounds like a party. Mind if I bring a loaded revolver so we can play a game in between receipt explanations? And yes, I will keep writing hilarious things in the memo section of Patrick’s cheques (nipple reduction surgery) because it tickles me and that tickling is the only thing preventing me from actually becoming some sort of antichrist.

Dear 6 lawyers. Stop charging me thousands of dollars. What happened lawyers? Have you ever actually looked at the expression on my face in our meetings? I look like Patrick when you call him ‘pie’trick. But all the time forever. Also, I’m not an idiot, you don’t need to rephrase everything you say to put it in simpler terms. I guarantee I’m smarter than you. If I had to explain what digital signage is fifteen times to you, let’s not pretend that the concept of a shotgun clause will fly over my head.

Dear Dentist Office Receptionist

Dear Secretary of the shitty Dentist I used because I thought the idiot patients giving assessments of quality on the internet were sincere, or real people. To start, not every sentence needs an upward inflection at the end. Just wanted to throw that out there. Die. Also, don’t smile if you don’t mean it. Creepy dead eye smile is worse than not smiling at all. You know what’s worse than having to go to the dentist? Having to go to the dentist where the joker is the receptionist. The Joker if he were a middle-aged woman with dead eyes and no sense of humour. Die. Also don’t fucking hem and haw about how much the insurance will cover and if I need a payment plan. Just fucking say it, ‘this is how much you owe, how much will your insurance cover, how would you like to pay the balance?’ Done. See that? Problem solver. Who wants me on their corporate team? And when the bill comes out to 200 dollars don’t make the wincy face and whisper if I would like to pay it in three instalments. Yeah, I’m wearing a leather jacket and long-sleeve van halen shirt with a hole in it dangerously close to the nipple. What of it? That means I can’t afford a 200 dollar bill? Perhaps pulling out all 5 dollar bills and crumpling each one up and throwing them one after the other at your feet while listing off your physical flaws ranked by severity (leaky eye for one) was a bit over the top, but I wanted to remind you of your younger days on the corner of St. Cat’s and Pine. What’s that? You filed the insurance reimbursement form wrong and now I have to pay the balance of 900 dollars cause you’re retarded? AWESOME. Hey remember when I told you how to do it correctly, and you said you got it, and that you did it all the time and not to worry? I do. I remember it wicked well. Guess who’s going to have their identity revenge-stolen? You are! Hooray! Well done.

The internet is broken...and I killed it. part 2

So I call Bell (we have a complicated love/hate sort of relationship) and explain, that their modem has all of a sudden decided it wants to hurt me. They explain that I need a new modem. Awesome. They’ll send me one. Awesome. It should arrive tomorrow. Awesome. Problem solved right?

It is now a few days later, and there’s no modem. I called Bell, they said they sent it and here’s the tracking number. Awesome. I call Purolator, give them the tracking number and say ‘hey gifted, where the F-prompt is my modem?’ and the response; oh, we tried to deliver it but there was no suite number. Awesome. I say No problem, the suite is 105. They say they can only accept address changes from Bell. AWESOME. I call back Bell, I explain the situation and they say maybe you gave me the address wrong. I say really? REALLY? It’s funny cause you send me the bills to the correct address all the time. That’s cool though. MY BAD. Here it is again. Now can you please fax the address correction to Purolator? Apparently, no, they’re not allowed to do that. Nor can their supervisor speak with me as they’re ‘super busy’, but will totally call me back in 20 minutes... two hours ago... At least Bell isn’t Videotron.

I have now decided this will be an internet free office. Anyone even using the word internet will be raped to death in the face. Perhaps an overreaction, but warranted I think.

The internet is broken...and I killed it.

When your internet fails at home it’s a problem. When the internet fails at the office, it’s a goddamned nightmare. While sitting in my office, I see a sight every office manager wishes to never see again in their lifetime... the little blue bubble icon that indicates internet service has disappeared. I moved the items on my desk over in anticipation of what was to follow. Within fifteen minutes every single person in the office came into my office to ask me the following things in this exact order:

“Hey Newsy, the internet is out eh?”

“I know”

“Do you know why?”

“No”

“Any idea for how long?”

“No”

“Cool... Cool... Alright well, let me know”

“Sure.”

After the seventh time you just start to want to stab people in the face. Don’t they talk to each other? Seriously, why walk all the way across the whole goddamned office and bother the one guy who can’t fix the goddamned thing to ‘let him know it’s broken’ when you can clearly see the train of people leaving having just asked the exact same idiotic questions as you’re about to. But no, you’re right, Better safe than sorry, better let him know that the internet is broken. Because maybe all those other people were leaving his office for other reasons. Maybe today’s his birthday or something, because the head awesomeologist is just so wicked popular.

The next asshole comes in:

“Hey Newsy, the internet’s out eh?”

“Really?”

“Do you know why?”

“No, why?”

“... uhhh, I don’t know.”

“That’s right. You don’t know.”

“... Alright... Let me know when it’s back up.”

“No. I was thinking I’d keep it a secret. More internets for me.”

“...”

And the asshole after that:

“Hey Newsy, the internet’s out eh?”

“No it’s not.”

“... Uhhh yeah i think it is.”

“No you’re just doing it wrong.”

“Doing what wrong?”

“The internet. You’re doing it wrong.”

“... what should I do then?”

“Count to three mississippis then tap ctrl+alt+del four times. That’ll fix the internet.”

“... Ok...”

And the asshole after that:

“Hey Newsy, Internet is broken eh?”

“I know, I broke it.”

“... Well... Wait what?”

“I broke it. I wanted it gone and now it is. I win.”

“... Why would you do that?”

“Do you know what the internet is Patrick?”

“uhhhh... computers?”

“... You know what? I was going to do a whole skynet taking over the world, and me being a hero from the future being sent back in time to save humanity by breaking the internet at this exact office at this exact time, but I think that whole joke would be wasted on you Patrick.”

“.... uhhhh.... Are you fixing it?”

“... ... ... yes.”

“cool.”

Other favourites include the shadow game, trying to force myself to throw up in my garbage can when someone enters, answering questions nobody asked, ignoring their questions altogether and just talk to my computer in front of them as you would to a cat you’re trying to coax out of a tree, and my all time favourite answering their idiotic questions as the internet. That’s right pretending to be the internet that is broken, and blaming them for me not wanting to be the internet anymore.

Bell and Whistle Part 2

So I’m driving with an associate, and I get a call. The ID reads a number I’m not familiar with. I answer the phone and I hear:

“Hello M. Lalonde?”

“Yes”

“OK I’m just going to ask you some personal questions to verify your identity... Is your mother’s maiden name –

“Nope”

“I’m sorry?”

“I forgive you.”

“What are you talking about Sir?”

“Normally when one calls someone, they introduce themselves, explain why they’re calling and then proceed to explain why they need to ask those types of questions prior to actually asking them, allowing the other participant to decide whether they wish to answer, or if they have objections.”

“...well Sir, I need to know that you are who you say you are.”

“So you got my name from Videotron yes? And you called the number assigned to my name yes? And then you asked me, who answered the phone, if I am the person to whom this number is assigned yes? That should be enough evidence in support of my identity to allow you to feel comfortable to tell me who you are and why you’re calling.”

“... Look you owe Videotron 230 dollars –

“Let me just stop you there Johnny Noname, I owe Videotron nothing. Let me guess... Shot in the dark... They said I had to return my modem to their store, said I never did and are charging me for the equipment, giving me no notice, and avoiding talking to me themselves, rather sending it to a collections agency to do their dirty work for them.”

“... well...”

“On the nose. Fantastic. Well here’s the deal Johnny, I’ll drop off the useless thing, get the receipt and then you can call me back tomorrow and I’ll give you the number so you can just check me off your list as paid in full alright?”

“... I don’t know...”

“Sure you do. It doesn’t matter anyways, cause I know. And from now on, be polite and courteous to people on the phone. Especially when calling on behalf of Videotron. They’re the worst company ever and I guarantee you they fucked over everyone on your list, not the other way around. So proper phone etiquette my man. Makes a world of difference.”

“...”

“Call me tomorrow for the receipt number.”

“...”

I never heard from Johnny again. I’d like to think of that little speech really getting to him you know? Like it awoke some deep seeded desire to do good in this world. Maybe I inspired him to go to law school to help those wronged by big corporations. Maybe he spends his time now helping orphans in India. But at the very least I hope that now, whenever he’s on the phone, he’s the most polite and courteous person you’ll ever hear. Who knows. No way to confirm or deny, but I’ll just pretend that it’s true.

Bell and whistle

Videotron is the worst company in the world. Anyone tells you different you punch them in the face. Worst products, worst service, worst everything. Just 360 degrees of failure. The only efficient department is, naturally, billing. You may have a shadow voice on your phone and your internet throttled to nothing, but by God your bill will be received on time.

The sad thing is I actually left Bell to switch to Videotron. I had Videotron cable, and they called and offered all sorts of magical things. Great internet and home phone, upgraded cable service and NO THROTTLING!?!? All for a low bundle price of blahbidly blah?!?! Sign me up! Besides, I never really loved Bell you know? Like I loved Bell, but wasn’t in love with it. So off to the adventure of Videotron part deux I went. Whenever someone refers to me as being smart (not as often as you’d think) I now just think back to this moment to remind myself that I’m actually retarded. The sad thing is I knew better too. I KNEW BETTER! I had videotron once before, and they fucked me. But this time it was going to be different.

 “It said it changed!”

So after three weeks of the worst anything ever, I finally just accepted my fate. A bottle of sleeping pills in one hand, a glass of diet pepsi in the other, Sarah McLachlan’s ‘Stupid’ playing on my ipod (shockingly appropriate song for the moment) and a goodbye note written, blaming a random girl I went to highschool with I haven’t seen in years for my death (I don’t know why the thought of her hearing that I blamed her for everything and hated her so much that I just ended it all, so hysterical) and was good to go. I lifted the bottle and tilted my head back when the phone rang. I knew it was the videotron home phone as it sounded like someone stepping on a rat. I walked over to the phone, knocking over one of the two dozen lit candles I set up in the process (Candles are pretty) and just not caring if the whole place burned down.

“Hello?”

“Hello Newsy.”

“You’ll have to speak up, I’m listening to Sarah McLachlan”

“I can hear it. I love this song... Do you have a minute?”

“You’re interrupting my big evening actually, is there something I can do for you?”

“It’s Bell, Newsy.”

“Oh... Hi Bell”

“How’re you and Videotron doing?”

“Well... Uhhhhh... ... ... Not good Bell. Not good they lied to me Bell.”

“I know Newsy. I know.”

“They said they had changed! They said they wouldn’t hurt me anymore!”

“I know.”

“They throttle my internet, my phone is terrible, they say these channels are HD but THEY ARE NOT!”

“I know.”

“... I never should have left you.”

“I know.”

“So how are you?”

“I’m good Newsy. Just worried about you. I want you to come back to me.”

“... After my betrayal, you want me back?”

“Yes Newsy. I love you. Can you love me again?”

“... I guess so.”

“I want to give you our new fiber optics internet service... fastest in the country, and no throttling in writing. I want to give you your home phone back. A home phone you can be proud of with unlimited long distance and all the extras. I want to give you expressvue with ultra HD, and all the extra channels free for a year, and I want to send two technicians to install and set everything up for you so you don’t have to worry.”

“I don’t deserve it Bell.”

“Yes you do Newsy. And I only want to charge you 120 dollars a month for everything... no contract... no commitment, let’s just see where this goes.”

“Wow. You’re too good to me Bell.”

“Shhhhhh, now let’s put down the pills –

“How did you know?”

“I’m Bell.... I know everything.”

“But-

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.... It’s going to be fine.”

“Okay, but –

“Hush little baby, don’t you fret, Ma Bell’s going to give you high speed internet... I love you Newsy...”

“I... love ... you too Bell.”

So in essence I left the abusive telecom company who beat me to go back to the distant and cold telecom company that thinks it’s better than me, but who doesn’t hit me so I think it’s a nice guy by comparison.

You know, you never think it’ll happen to you. You’re different. You’re with a telecom company, and it talks all nice about all the services and how it’s going to take care of you, and supports you, but then it starts putting on these restrictions. You can’t go over this amount of time, you can’t call these people because I don’t like them, Don’t talk to other telecom companies... Then this bad boy telecom company rolls into town and starts dropping services all over the place. ‘If you were my customer I’d treat you right. I’d give you better internet service, no call restrictions, and you can talk to any telecom company you want. I’ll introduce you to a few if you’d like. There’s Primus over there. Hey Primus! Come meet this cool girl!’... ‘I’m a man’... ‘not anymore baby.’

Then the Cool guy started drinking and getting mad and hitting me, and then I ran back to the safe telecom company that never hit me, but neglected me, passively put me down, and made me doubt my own self worth. I feel just terrible, but at least I’m not getting beat up anymore. I just wish for once I could meet a nice telecom company, that loves me for me, that gets me, you know? One day... My prince will come.

So I break up with Videotron and after some threats and lies they tell me ‘fine, I’ll send someone to pick up my stuff.’ I say OK, and begin my renewed affair with Bell. Things are going alright, and although I’m not in love with Bell, I am OK. I Like Bell, and I can sort of see a future with it. I may not have my storybook telecom relationship, but I guess a guy’s gotta settle right? You don’t want to be alone with no telecom company. And Bell’s not a bad guy, right?

He swallowed the nail to catch the fly... or something

Patrick has a tardiness problem. This has been a bit of conflict point between him and everyone else. Today Eric storms into my office and complains about Patrick being late. His exact words were ‘Even after I swallowed that nail I got to work on time’. Which naturally led me to ask the question:

“You swallowed a nail?”...

“yeah.”

“Like a fingernail?”

“No a 3” finishing nail... You never heard the nail story?”

“No... I can safely say I never heard the nail story... In fact had I heard about the nail story I would have thought twice about hiring you.”

“Well I was younger so...”

“Like 5?”

“Senior year of high school.”...

“...”

“So my friend had a nail in his pencil and was hitting me”

“naturally”

“So I grab for his pencil and only catch the nail. He reaches for it but i put it in my mouth.”

“makes sense”

“he starts shouting for me to give him the nail back and I keep threatening to swallow it.”

“that’ll show him”

“So I figure it would be funny to spit the nail at my friend, right?”

“Sure”

“So as I suck in the air, I accidentally swallow it.”

“Ironic”

“What?”

“It’s Ironic you fell victim to the very ruse you were mocking your friend with... sorta boy who cried wolf.”

“...?”

“Nevermind. Go on.”

“So I have this scared look on my face, and I tell my friends who don’t believe me.”

“Wolf!”

“What?”

“nothing.”

“So they shout at me to go to the nurse’s office. So I raise my hand. My teacher liked to ignore me...”

“The hell you say.”

“Fuck you, you wanna hear the story or not?”

“I’m on the fence.”

“Fuck you I’m telling it anyways”

“Go for it”

“So he continues to ignore me and my friends yell “GO TO THE NURSES OFFICE!!!!”... so i get up and bolt for the door, while my teacher chases me and shouts “GET BACK HERE”. Apparently my friend caught up with him and explained everything. He failed me for the exam that day cause I was gone.”

“I think you failed the exam of life that day.”

“...”

“...”

“Well my Mom was called and it was her first day at a job she got because the last lady who had the job had to keep going home to take care of her sick kids. She explained to them that her kids were older and they don’t get sick often and they can take care of themselves.”

“Then she gets a call that her 18 yr old son swallowed a roofing nail in school.”

“It was a finishing nail...”

“Right cause swallowing a roofing nail would be stupid.”

“...”

“...”

“So she comes to get me and takes me to the hospital, they show me the x-rays and we can see the nail. They said its better to go with surgery to remove it. Turns out though that once they got in they couldn’t find it.”

“How do you miss a big ass nail?”

“I swallowed some other stuff.”

“...?”

“...”

“alright...”

“So they got some stuff out but the nail is still there. They say I’ll pass it naturally in a few days. They gave me a kit to ‘search’ through my ‘leavings’.”

“Awesome. Just when I thought you couldn’t get classier.”

“Yeah well I never found it. I had to go back to the hospital every day and get x-rays. But one day it was just gone. The weird thing was I didn’t poop that day.”

“That is weird.”

“That the nail disappeared?”

“No, that you went a day without pooping. I was thinking of making the bathroom your office, you almost never leave.”

“...”

“...”

“So I went back to the hospital the next week for more x-rays...”

“Jesus for the nail? I thought it was gone”

“No this was for something else.”

“...”

“So the tech guy there says after the 24^th x-ray he’s sure I’m sterile now, cause I couldn’t use the crotch protector cause that’s the area they needed to see.”

“Your fiancée will be thrilled”

“Don’t tell Diane”

“I’ll keep it to myself for now.”

“So I might be sterile cause I swallowed a nail.”

“Evolution working it’s magic”

“?”

“Nevermind”

Shirtless holding a cat.

Sales people, as you may know, are a special breed. You can tell a salesman from a few key distinguishing characteristics. Slicked hair (or overly styled hair), popped collar (or a collar that has obviously been popped in the immediate past), aggressive business casual attire, and a constantly going off cell phone that he always ‘just gotta take this call for a second’. This call invariably sounds something like this : “(insert name here) how are we? (fake laugh) ... Oh yeah? Nice.... Nice... Nice!... Absolutely, listen I got that package you sent, I gotta say I love it. ... Absolutely... Alright man... Ciao.” Then you get the explanation of who the person was and why it was so important that he speak with him. The salesman always enunciates his words to an almost uncomfortable level, yet at the same time makes sure to use the most popular vernacular such as dude, man, my friend, and cowboy (which pisses me off cause I use that all the time when i forget people’s names, and now I’m going to feel douchy doing it). Also, in the middle of a meeting they will almost always lean in, fake look around to make sure no one is in the room, and tell a dirty joke. The joke is always bad, followed by the sales laugh, and the expectant look for you to go along with it and laugh, thereby somehow validating their existence.

                I would provide a description of the saleswomen, but in the five years I’ve been here, I have yet to see one. That isn’t to say they don’t exist, I just have never encountered one. Come to think of it, I’ve never even heard of one. Do women consciously avoid being salespeople? If so good on them. They’re like goddamned pokaroo. Mythical creatures you can’t be sure exist.

I, as the head awesomeologist of Awesome Inc. have the unfortunate duty to deal with any and all sales people. Depending on the time of day, the amount of sleep I’ve had, and the degree of awareness the salesman in front of me has of his own douchiness, my willingness to play along with their little farce of an existence varies greatly.

One gentleman, and by gentleman I mean biggest douchebag in the history of mankind, knows instinctively the very worst moment to arrive, and seizes that opportunity to show up spouting on and on about potential clients and how incredible he is. Let’s call him scarecrow. As I am a nice guy, I usually just nod along and smile politely and corral scarecrow towards the door. Some days though I like to make myself feel better by causing him mental strife. The fact that making others uncomfortable makes me smile may say more about me than them, but I’m comfortable with who i am... Awesome.

So he comes into my office and sits down. At this point I’ve decided I’m not going to blink for this whole meeting. As he’s shooting off his normal nonsense he begins to take notice that I’m not blinking and smiling serenely. Noticeably shaken, he reaches for his vibrating cell phone and says ‘just gotta take this call for a second’, as I mirror his words (oddly) exactly in sync with him. He begins his conversation with some asshole who he calls cowboy (bastard!), at which point i begin to unbutton my dress shirt slowly while standing up and moving towards the window in the office, lowering the blinds.

I would describe to you the look on his face, but the words simply do not exist in the English language. Imagine icabod crane with rotten teeth dressed up in the finest salvation army work clothes available. Now imagine an angry homeless man and a klingon making passionate aggressive love to each other directly in front of him. The look on his face would be almost the same.

I sit back down at my desk, still not blinking, and i open up itunes and start the song ‘single ladies’ by beyonce at a low volume so as to not interrupt his phone call, which he had long since ceased to participate in. I slowly play air guitar along to the song (which is impressive as the song has no guitar) while not breaking eye contact. He finally comes to and tells his phone friend ‘...I’ll uhh... have to call you back.’

So he continues on his little shpiel, while i write a message on my computer to another employee who gets off on needlessly screwing with people, let’s call him Eric (also not breaking eye contact which was a goddamned trick let me tell you). I tell him to call me in one minute exactly, and then two minutes after that come into my office shirtless holding a cat.

My phone rings. I let it ring an unnatural number of times (the discomfort is compounded by my selected ringtone... Save a horse ride a cowboy by big n rich) He asks, seemingly terrified... ‘you gonna answer that?’ I pick up the phone and give a good 30 second rape shush, full finger over the mouth and everything. Starting quiet and getting progressively louder. Then I hang up the phone.

We sit in silence for another 30 seconds, then a little knock on my door and Eric walks in shirtless holding a cat (kudos to him for finding the thing. Where the hell do you just find a cat downtown in like 5 minutes?) doesn’t say anything just stares at me petting the cat. I continue staring at scarecrow. At this point it’s so goddamned creepy that the cat starts to freak out. Eric then proceeds to rapeshush the cat, and Scarecrow stands up visibly shaken and says ‘well i should get going... i’ll send you an email later.’ I’ve never seen a man move so fast for the exit in my life. I am still awaiting that email. I miss scarecrow.

Fatrick the Racist Dragon

Here at Awesome Inc. we have a few office traditions. The passive aggressive notes from the IT guy letting us know it was nice of us to show up when we’re 5 minutes late. The sales guy finding any excuse to walk into your office when you buy lunch, which he’s then kind enough to help you finish. The 12:15 wrestling match (‘The Challenge’) where we all test out the latest submission holds we learned from our friends on the ‘street’. None of these however can hold a candle to our most beloved of all traditions: the after 5 debate.

Some of you may be thinking inter-office debates are not uncommon. You’d be right of course, but we don’t debate time allocation or the positioning of workstations no, we debate things like euthanasia and racism... and if you’re curious as to who in their right mind would debate on the pro-racism side, well I can’t use his real name, so let’s call him ‘Fatrick’. We call him that due to his unnatural hairstyle...

Now before people get all uppity about hiring a racist, it should be noted nobody knew before hiring him he was so shockingly racist, and firing him because of his racism would actually be discriminatory so long as he doesn’t actually behave in a racist way towards someone who might take offence. Plus now that we’ve all gotten used to it, it’s sort of endearing. Like Gargamel hating the Smurfs. You can’t get mad at Gargamel anymore, he just hates those damned smurfs so much.

So what ‘Fatrick’ in between sales calls plays weird Nazi propaganda videos on youtube while staring at you intensely and nodding? So what if ‘Fatrick’ nudges you every time to two black people see each other on the street and say hello to each other? He’s all kinds of special and he’s all ours. Plus he’s eventually going to OD on steroids or something. Bless his little heart.

'The Challenge'

Is it normal that every day at the stroke of noon our office turns from a functioning place of business into an octagon of doom? I’d like to say yes, but deep down in my heart of hearts I know this to be false. It started years ago when our ‘Strategic Alliance Manager’ Patrick stood up to mix himself a protein shake and for some reason kissed his flexed bicep muscle while pouring water from the cooler (the fact his polo shirt collar was popped made the image that much more powerful). Eric having watched this entire incident from his workstation laughed and called him a “gender-confused, failed bank-teller hopped up on horse protein”. Patrick, being less than quick with the insults called Eric a ‘fag’ and challenged him to an ‘Indian wrestle’ (I should point out that this was before the mandated sensitivity training... now referred to as ‘native wrestle’... and ‘fag’ is now the much less offensive ‘Nancy’).

So as they stood facing each other, Patrick starting in on his ‘mind games’, telling Eric all the ways he’s going to achieve victory (as a side not for anyone who does anything like this, telling your opponent the exact series of manoeuvres you intend to perform is silly, also using fighting moves you saw in the video game ‘battletoads’ as a kid and a brock lesner fight is more silly). His piece de resistance he just learned from his friend from ‘the street’: the over-arm tackle. At least that’s what I’m going to call it, as the name he gave it (the shame-maker) reflects badly on everyone. That’s right. All of mankind should be embarrassed. I can barely look at myself in the mirror after having heard him refer to it thusly in utter seriousness.

The over-arm arm tackle he demonstrated was basically a lunge forward with an attempted leg grab with the left arm, while the right arm attempts to punch your adversary in the ear... I can’t even begin to describe to you the short comings of this manoeuvre. Needless to say he failed in both taking Eric down, as well as punching him in the head. He did succeed in tripping, and tumbling slowly and awkwardly into the front wall of Charlie’s cubicle (often referred to as the fortress of solitude).

The disturbance got Charlie pretty riled up and the ensuing explanation resulted in Patrick showing Charlie the over-arm takedown. As Charlie simply held Patrick’s head down (every opponents first reaction) and laughed while Patrick swung his arms around with no success, I ventured into the bullpen and asked what pray tell were all these people doing to poor Patrick (my words may have been slightly more aggressive). As Patrick explained everything to me (the physical demonstration of which resulted in Patrick again tripping, falling and ripping his pants) I then instructed both Patrick and Eric to ‘Sack up and stop being such a pair of Marys’ (again pre-sensitivity training) and to just fight it out in the alley with beer bottles like adults. (also that was the day everyone was required to bring a change of pants to the office as Patrick pantsless for the rest of that day was uncomfortable... what with all the attempted over arm takedowns)

Eric won, and then Charlie wanted in, and then I jumped in for shits and giggles. Eventually everyone in the office participated. Now every day at lunch we have our little battles. We call it ‘the challenge’. It’s since been written into all new employee contracts.

Why there's no longer a carpet in my office

                It’s funny how when people owe you money, they take as long as is physically possible to pay you, but when you owe them money, any delay, no matter how slight or for what reason, is in fact the most significant occurrence in the history of man. For example, we deal with many other companies, some big some small. Little companies go out of their way to nickel and dime you to death, and will try to pay late. Big companies throw bundles of money around, but seem to have absolutely no desire to pay you ever. They have also evolved to have departments that are responsible for paying, so as to ensure there is never any one person you can call and yell at, because none of the people there are in fact the person responsible. Tricky fucking bastards.

                I am sitting at my computer eagerly awaiting an email notification of a payment that I was told would ‘absolutely go through today at the latest.’ Well it’s 4:07 pm, and there is no email. Now, you might think to yourself that maybe there was a delay, and that sometimes people are late. True enough. Had this been the first delay, or even the fourth delay, I would be less frustrangrageful. You see, I am so angry right now, the words angry, furious and enraged have actually ceased to mean anything. I am sitting quietly in my chair typing this blog, waiting for this payment confirmation that I know will never come, but have no choice but to wait for it while fielding questions about when we’re getting paid by fellow employees who (bless their heart) just plumb don’t know that with each additional question I infact move one step closer to stabbing them in the face with the pencil i currently have digging into my thigh so as to remind myself that I’m still human.

                4:13 now. No email. No phone call. My prediction, 5pm hits with no email, and someone will email me telling me ‘definately Friday. For sure.’ At which point I will calmly say ‘alright. You know I was told it would be today at the latest, and the tardiness of the payment is actually causing interruptions to business.’ And they’ll say ‘but it’s only a slight delay of a few days.’ And I (while digging the pencil ever deeper into my leg praying that it severs an artery) will respond (yes, but as the original date we were supposed to receive payment was over half a year ago, this, the 24^th delay (sadly this is entirely accurate. No exaggeration) is causing major problems. And as this has been stated to me, for now the 24^th time, the next day of payments is ‘totally the day no question’ you can see how that is somewhat less than comforting.’ And they’ll mumble something about ‘seeing what they can do’ and I’ll say thank you and die a little more inside. Do you want to know what they can do? Nothing. Not one single person in that whole goddamned company can do anything to help anyone in regards to payment. Turns out that they set it up that way. My (for lack of a better word) ‘anger’ is left with nowhere to go but inwards. Nothing I can do but gorge myself on stolen ketchup packets (all i can afford as we haven’t been paid) and cry into my knees (which I can no longer feel as I think the pencil invaded a necessary nerve cluster).

                At times like this I like to stop, close my eyes and think of a world in which I don’t want to set fire to everything and everyone. I call this place Narnia (unrelated to the popular fantasy books). Punctuality of payments from clients is prompt and in the correct amounts, and pants are optional (I can also fly). But even Narnia can’t help me now, as my (absolutely necessary) happy place is being invaded by my IT guy tapping me on the shoulder asking if I sent cheques to the server host company (or something like that. I couldn’t really make out the words because the steady progression of the anger parade had long since filled my ears with the sounds of angry speeches, war, murder, and for some reason the song alive and amplified by the Mooney Suzuki). I told him I had not sent the cheques (punctuated by my hurling his car keys out the window). This resulted in him taking a swing at me.

As I dragged the body sized rolled up carpet to my car (and by car I mean bicycle), planning my route to the nearest open construction site, eyes stinging with tears and blood, I get a ding on my phone. Payment has been transmitted. I look down at my mangled bloody hands, and soaked carpet and wonder where I’m going to find a new It guy... Now that we got paid finally, maybe we can hire someone new... that doesn’t ask questions...

'Fatrick' fone fun v. 1.0

            The following is an actual call that took place between myself and our ‘Strategic Alliance Manager’ Patrick at 1:30 pm on a Wednesday.

"Newsy?"
"ya?"
"Newsy?"
"...yyyaaaaaaa?"
"Oh Jesus Newsy."
"....yes Patrick?"
"Oh God."
"...Are you in the office yet? You were supposed to be there at 9."
"No.... No, I'm not in the office Newsy... hmana (weird almost inaudible mumbling)"
"Are you going in today?"
"...no...Newsy... I fucked up Newsy...I fucked up"
"...Aha.... Did you kill someone?"
"No"
"Is your underage girlfriend pregnant?"
"...No...No she’s not..."
"Are guys after you?"
"No"
"Then go to the fucking office. Ron has been there for hours."
"I can't... Newsy"
"Alright.. Let's hear it."
"My buddy Tom... Newsy. You remember Tom?"
"Yes Pat I remember Tom."
"Tom came over last night... Newsy... You know I'm feeling bad about my fat?"
"Yes Patrick I recall your reaction to 'Fatrick'"
"Oh God Newsy..."
"Sorry Pat, go on. Tom was at your place"
"He said he had pills."
"Patrick did you take drugs?"
"Ephedrine... Just Ephedrine tablets. He got a bunch when he was in China town."
"Those types of Ephedrine are illegal in Canada Pat."
"That's cause they work... Newsy... (what sounds like crying)"
"So You took a fistfull of counterfeit Chinese stims and are now about to die."
"Oh God. I fucked up Newsy."
"I can see that."
"What do I do Newsy."
"When did you take them?"
"Before Bed."
"I imagine you didn't realise taking a bunch of stims before trying to sleep was a bad idea?"
"Newsy... I fucked up...  have to pee so bad."
"So pee."
"...I can’t!... I’ve been trying for hours! I’m just standing leaning against the wall and it won’t come out! (clearly crying at this point)"
"...Call me or Charlie if you start to have blurry vision. I'll see you tomorrow. Sleep it off"
"I fucked up... Newsy."
"Who hasn't taken illegal Chinese stims in clearly the wrong dosage at the worst possible time as a perfectly rational response to someone calling you 'fatrick' at work?"
"... What?"
"Everything about you makes me want to set myself on fire."
"...Newsy"

The following day, we learn that Patrick had taken 750 milligrams of Ephedrine. Recommended daily dosage on the package was 150 milligrams. While he described his symptoms to us (my favourite being the dozen or so failed attempts to urinate resulting in his continued mental breakdown) we started to wonder if this was going to be a regular occurrence. Turns out no, but not entirely uncommon. He has yet to urinate properly since this event.

The Bell Tolls For Me

                You know those days when everything that can possibly go wrong does? Imagine for a moment that everyday is in fact just like that. You think to yourself, ‘well at least tomorrow can’t be as shittacular as today’, and then tomorrow happens and not only does it meet every benchmark of shittiness set by the previous day, but sets new trends only to be toppled by the following day’s shit.

                Today was in fact the best day of the month, because whereas usually there are a good baker’s dozen attendees to the ‘fuck over Newsy festival’ (a festival that seems to be celebrated on a daily basis), today only Bell fucked me over. I set up internet and phone service from bell for the new office. They install it, everything is working fine, three months go by, I’ve been paying my bell one bill regularly and everything is magical. Unicorns are blowing leprechauns in the corner. A few days ago, I start getting calls from their collection department. I call them today, and they say I owe them 400 dollars. I say ‘that’s fucking hilarious, as I’ve been paying regularly every goddamned month.’ Admittedly more aggressively than was warranted at the time perhaps, but since every human being and half of the robot population tries to screw me every fucking day of my life, I am often quick to anger with collection departments. The person from their Bombay call center who can speak no language with any discernable skill replies ‘No. No. There are no payments on your account.’ He had a follow up sentence but I couldn’t make it out as I was too busy trying to fury-throw my desk through my window. I responded, ‘I have my Bell one bill right fucking here asshole and it says in big fucking letters PAYMENT RECEIVED.’ Then he says ‘there is no bell one bill for business clients sir.’ This intrigued me. And by intrigued I mean sent me into a rage torrent. I inquired in my most polite tone ‘I only get one fucking bell bill and I pay it. Just like at my fucking apartment. The guy who installed everything said that I would get a bell one bill every month at the new address.’ Although this was the gist of what I said, it may have been somewhat obscured by the fact i was gnawing on the phone and punching the wall. ‘No. No. There are two bills, one for phone and one for internet. Your phone account has not been paid.’ I responded super politely ‘can you check the balance of the internet account?’ after waiting on the hold for ten minutes while this gifted individual figures out how to type a few keys on a computer he comes back with ‘there is a credit on that account sir.’ As I had spent the last ten minutes trying to will myself to not suffer an anger-stroke, I replied calmly, ‘can you transfer the balance of that account over to the phone account, as I’ve clearly been paying both to the one account?’ Although I fully expected his answer, it nevertheless caused a mild aneurism ‘No. No. That’s another part of the company. We only do phone. You can’t mix them.’... I reply ‘obviously. Silly of me to ask. Just out of curiosity, how come I haven’t been receiving a separate phone bill?’ I ask trying to stop my eyes from anger-bleeding (for those that don’t know anger-bleeding is like regular bleeding except the blood flows more quickly, is slightly acidic, and smells like hate). After another ten minutes on hold spent planning on the different types of voodoo curses that will befall this man when I get home, he comes back ‘I don’t know sir. You should have them. I can re-send them, but you have to pay right away.’ I for some reason have decided I must speak to this man as I would speak to a ‘special’ child who just got off the short bus with wet pants. ‘What’s your name?’ i ask nicely. ‘Shrikesh’ he says. ‘Shhhhhhhhhhhhh’ I say miming a soothing gesture for some reason. ‘Think about this with me. If I haven’t been getting them, re-sending them will probably not help right?’. ‘I don’t know’. ‘Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... How about we first just try to figure out why im not getting the bills. Where are you sending them?’ Another mind numbing ten minutes on hold spent killing this man in my head over and over again. ‘123 Fake St.’ he comes back with. ‘Which suite?’ I ask, knowing that I’m just setting him up to put me on hold at this point. ‘suite?’ he comes back with. ‘Yes... you see some buildings have several different offices in them, and when people or companies send letters or bills, they have to include the office suite in the building. You got the building right, but apparently neglected to put the suite number. I am surprised as the internet bills have the appropriate suite number and have thus been received and paid. Perhaps you could correct that error, and send the bills, at which point, I will pay them.’ Proud at myself for not reaching through the phone and ripping his heart out ala temple of doom. ‘so would you like to pay by credit card?’ he asks. At this point I’m feeling several things. I decide that there is plenty of time to run the fury gauntlet later and go with curiosity. ‘No my communicationally challenged friend. I have no bill in front of me. This is clearly an error on your part as everything went swimmingly on the other account, and they were set-up on the same day. So I will make no payment until YOUR mistake is corrected and I get a fucking bill in my hand.’ I took the silence on the other end of the line as an admittance of fault, and that I was making such perfect sense that this man was figuring out how best to apologise for the inconvenience and would immediately correct this absurd mistake. ‘So you want to pay by credit card now?’ I wish I could tell you we worked this little problem out like men, and reached a gentlemen’s resolution. I wish I could tell you that. Suffice it to say that I told him ‘No douche-fag. Send me a bill and then maybe i’ll pay it. I am going to go home and sacrifice a chicken to whatever revenge God you pray to, to make sure something horrible happens to you, and yes I mean something worse than working at a call center in India. I want you to know I hate you Shrikesh. I am holding you personally responsible for not just my current problems with Bell, but also all of my personal and business problems as well. I will end you Shrikesh.’... ‘you need to make a payment by credit card to avoid interruption to your service.’ He responds. At this point I hung up the phone. And by hung up I mean slammed to the ground and jumped up and down on while yelling at the top of my lungs ‘Shrikesh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’