Phone Skills

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Me: This is Betty, how can I help you?
Man (in a very effiminate voice): Don't you just sound adorable?!
Me: Thank you.
Man: Who did I call?
Me: This is (company's name).
Man: And what do you do?
Me: Screenprinting and embroidery.
Man: And where are you located?
Me: Indiana
Man: Well, this is odd. I'm in southern Florida and trying to call my tennis partner!
Me: Well, I could use a tennis partner, but Florida would be a long drive. *laughs*
Man: Oh, you play?
Me: I pretend to. *laughs*
Man: Shall I hazard a guess as to how old you are?
Me: Why not?
Man: 27.
Me: Oh, no. I'm 23.
Man: Oh well, you wouldn't talk to me. *pause* Do you like older men?
Me: Well, my husband is 8 years older than me, so I would say yes I do.
Man: Oh, you shouldn't be talking to me. You're married!
Me: Good luck getting a hold of your tennis partner then.

And if that wasn't strange enough, the following conversation took place the same day:

Man: *mumbles incoherently*
Me: I'm sorry?
Man: This is the place that sells (product), right?
Me: Yes, this is (company name). Can I help you?
Man (yelling at top of lungs): Your prices are too fucking expensive!
Me: We find our prices to be quite competitive, especially considering the above-average quality of our products.
Man: I don't know how you figure that! Five dollars for a mug?! Forty dollars for a fucking sweatshirt?! Shit, give a nigger a break. *pause* I mean, for fuck's sake!
Me: Could we continue this conversation without you cussing at me?
Man (lowers volume considerably): Oh, I'm not cussing at you. *pause* *man hangs up.*

Hopefully I made him realize that being rude and yelling weren't the best way to convince someone to change their pricing scheme. For some reason, I doubt the stupidity ends there.

Good Genes Won't be Denied

Saturday, March 04, 2006

I hope these little "mommy epiphanies" never stop. For those of you that don't have kids, a mommy (or daddy) epiphany is when time stops for just a few seconds, and you're filled with part extreme pride of your child, part amazement that you could produce something that wonderful, part fear for your probable life span once they hit the teen years, and part affirmation that you must be doing something right.

Today I was washing a load of dishes when I noticed things seemed just a little bit too quiet in the living room. I went in to check on the two legged baby and the four legged babies to see what mischief they were into now. There was Bean, lounging on the couch with an afghan pulled over her lap, sippy cup at hand, holding a novel upside down. I just had to laugh, she looked so serious. Then it hit me; replace the sippy cup with an adult bevarage, and that could be me, any night of the week after she's gone to bed.

Like mother, like daughter, huh?