On Hold With Karen Carpenter

Phone in my ear I’m too embarrassed to place the call on speaker phone. All I want to do is contact my software vendor and find out why my configuration is failing, but after twenty-five minutes on hold I’m now reciting their spiel in sync with them and fuming over their choice of music.

“Please continue to hold. A representative will be with you shortly. Your approximate wait time is 10 minutes. We now return you to the melodious melodies of voicemail purgatory”

“I'm on top of the world, looking down on creation and the only explanation …”

I’m convinced that the on-hold easy-listening music is a tactic to reduce calls. Or at the very least break the callers will down. If you ever want to interrogate someone put them in a room with one Carpenters song for four hours on continuous loop. You will find when they are freed they will be quite willing to divulge whatever you request of them.

The Carpenters have a way of doing that to you. Tech support is similar to interrogation. You want to make sure when someone calls in with a complaint that they are malleable. You need them that way to convince them of things that they otherwise wouldn't believe.

I recall once when I called in to support because of a hardware issue. After I was done with the call I walked into my boss and said, "The tech told me the router rebooted, because of a stray electron passing through the boxes CPU. I'm sorry, I couldn't argue, they had me on hold with Karen Carpenter for over 40 minutes." My boss loved this answer and used it repeatedly at meetings.

When I worked the phones, it was all about getting the secret information. You could spend hours on a customer’s problem that had a very simple solution. If only they would tell you what they had done. When a person called in and claimed they had “no idea” what was wrong, it usually meant “I did something stupid, and I want you to fix it and not find me out.”

We could have used a little “Yesterday once more” on our call queue.

Either way the music has changed from Karen Carpenter to Barry Manilow. I’m beginning to feel my resolve waning. Maybe I’ll hang up and trying to fix it again on my own.

Slurpee© Tricks

Story Circa 1997

It was hot. I was on my way to work. I was working for a big box electronics retailer, and I started at two o'clock. I bought a Slurpee and got in my car. I discovered that I couldn't drive my manual transmission and suck on the Slurpee at the same time. No Worries! I set the drink on my steering wheel (see poorly edited diagram) and now I can shift, steer and drink. Look ma, no brains!

So all is going well until the first left turn. I turn sharply, and of course, dump Slurpee all over my work clothes. Welcome to the physical world. Here we are required to abide by certain laws. Gravity it seems is one law that is strictly enforced regardless of how we would like to pretend it doesn't exist. In other words, "gravity will not be toyed with!"

The embarrassing part was walking into the store like that. Customers, peers, and all. I was soaked in Slurpee. I had to stand and plead with my manager to let me go home and get changed. He wanted me to work like that. Retail!

Tips

• Managers aren't paid well enough to understand.


• You cannot hide large amounts of liquid in a pair of tan pants.


• Some people will always laugh, even if it is not nice.


• Never post embarrassing moments online. Trust me.

My Place

“Yeah…take a left then a right, then drive about 6 miles and you’ll see it there on your right”

“What’s the number?”

“No number, it’s called My Place”

So this is something I’ve been thinking about for a while… When did people stop naming their houses? It seems people were doing in for hundreds of years. A tradition that was passed down from generation to generation, why stop all the sudden? Today it seems if you’re not the President your not allowed to name your place.

I believe we should bring it back. Here are some famous abodes in literature:

• Bilbo named his place ‘Bag End’


• Mr. Toad named his ‘Toad Hall’


• Scarlet’s place was ‘Tara’


• Mr Darcey lived at ‘Pemberley’


• Anne at ‘Green Gables’

I understand all these references are fiction, but they were penned by folks who thought it was perfectly normal. Minus ‘Tara’ and ‘Green Gables’ I notice they’re all English. I found that in the UK it is still a normal custom.

I mean we name rivers, mountains, boats, lakes, resorts, pets, gorges, valleys, cities, cars, streams, geysers, inns, shoes, motels, roads, parks, oceans, fault lines, and diseases. Why did we stop at naming our homes?

The other night we were having pie and "RJ" mentioned it. Apparently a fairly popular comic made reference to it. The comic thought the idea to be ridiculous. I had to confesses to him about my obession with the notion. It occured to me that night that the post office might not find the thought amussing. I suppose it would get a little confusing to the postmaster.

"Please direct all my mail to 'Circles End'."
"Is that a joke?"
"No."
"Circles don't end..."
"It's a working title."

Anyway... I'll come up with something, but for now I suppose you can still reach me at the boring number on the street with the same name as everyone else.

But in the future you might have to find your way to 'Circles End'.

Lazy Thursday Blues: Take 9

The World This is REAL they are BUILDING 300 islands in Dubai. check this out too..

Yeti Sports 1 Liked Penguin Darts? Try this one.


Still Here?
I've decided to post some more Stereograms. Click each picture for a larger size. Let you eyes relax and the picture will go out of focus, and another will emerge. Again, bragging rights to the first correct decoder.

Out! Out! Billy Joel!

Billy Joel is stuck in my head. I’m not a huge fan; I’ve never owned an album or single. I don’t know all the words to any of his songs, but never the less I can’t get him out of my head! I need to hear Piano Man, or I will die a horrible death. My brain is churning all spare cycles on decoding this song. I never asked it to do this, and I haven't got a clue how to stop it.

Ever had a song stuck in you head and not know all the words? I find there are a number of resolutions to the issue.

• Sing what you know.
  Wash, rinse, repeat. This will inevitably lead to the loop. You are looping 15% of the song over and over again. Either the song will be purged from your mind by the monotony of it, or you will become psychotic and your friends will loathe your company. I recall once I had a television jingle stuck in my head. Dum da da dum. That’s all I knew. I would sit and listen to conversations and whenever someone tried to engage me I would say “dum da da dum” It was pitiful. People were scared to talk to me, I was in agony and how no idea how to make it stop. Anyway after a number of weeks of this antisocial behavior I saw the V8 commercial from where this came, and all was good again. I just got lucky, I'm not sure what would have happened if the cycle hadn't been broken.


• Bottle it up inside.
  I can’t give much advice on this one. I’m not one for hiding my feelings. I imagine this would be like shaking pop for an extended period. Sooner or later, something’s going to blow.


• Make up your own words.
  This is very popular with some folks. They don’t care what words they sing as long as the tune is carried. I do this every once in a while, but would prefer the authentic lyrics. Imagine this in my case… “Sing us a song you’re the singing man, I’m not sure what your name is, but were all sitting here on the barstools, and you’ve got us feeling right yea.” Today this is not working for me.

I'm sure I'll survive this problem and soon be on to my next obsession.

On a side note, if your ever bored here's a fun game. Hum or whistle a part of song, over and over and see what people around you do. My favorite is stopping before the last two beats on “shave and a haircut” (shave-and-a-hair-) This one is great at parties.

Your results my vary.

Fair Reflection

Udder Balm, Udder Balm! Come get your udder balm!
Come see the the 1000lb pig!
Don't leave without the wonder knife!

We went to the fair. It was okay. I wasn't that excited, maybe the heat, maybe the day leading up to it, or maybe it wasn't as WOW as I was hoping for. If you were looking for cool gizmos in the vendors pavilion you might not get lucky. If you were looking to see gangsters or women in skimpy outfits though, the fair might just be your best bet.

We paid $19 for two gigantic corn dogs and two lemonades. That’s fine; the fair isn't a place for bargains. While we ate, there was a pretty decent band doing covers of 70's and 80's tunes. The band played, We munched, and the Budweiser stage came through. It was cool and the Clydesdales were very regal. Too bad they were towing the best known symbol for cheap booze. About five minutes later a fellow came down the road with a bucket and a shovel, cleaning up after the horses. I will have a hard time being upset about my job for a while.

So the family decided to see the 1000lb pig. I declined. I like pigs one way, on my plate. Apparently it wasn’t a pretty sight, and I got a full description. Luckily I think I could still go for sausage, so I guess I’m impervious to the effects.

Anyway from there Patricia and I went on our own to the vendors pavilion. It didn’t seem that spectacular. Cetainly not full of people or vendors. I came very close to buying a cord wrapper, but managed to walk away. At the ring cleaners Patricia had to confess she wasn't wearing her wedding ring. We played it up and got a laugh or two. So much for the fair.

Of course there was the Udder Balm…

Noir More. Please

A man loans me a movie, an old movie, a movie he wants me to watch. A movie about a man and woman, a woman with an attitude, and a man who loves her. I sat in my house and watched the movie, watched the movie like I had to, because I did. My friend would ask me about it, see? Questions I couldn’t answer, see? So I did what I had to, see? I watched it. You dirty rat.

Film noir is definitely its own art form. I didn’t really understand it till I’d watched few of Roberts' movies. He started me off slow, and I was enjoying them for the most part. I got into movies like The Maltese Falcon, Casablanca and Narrow Margin.

I guess I sort of graduated to something meatier. So he lands this one on me. Criss Cross. Apparently the thing about a "really good" film noir is you can't have clear heros or villains. Just lots of flashbacks, smoke and narrations. In order to make a film noir film you need a number of things. While watching Burt Lancaster drinking himself into a drunken stupor I made a list. Here's what I think you need for a good film noir picture.

• 7 white ties


• 24 flashback scenes


• 18 wife beaters


• 6 close-ups


• 15 double crosses


• 245 bottles of booze


• 1 mastermind


• 3400 cigarettes


• 7 bullets from a 6 shooter


• 4 fistfights

And plenty of poorly written lines. Like this ditty.

“A man eats an apple, and gets a chunk of it stuck between his teeth. He uses a piece of cellophane from his cigarette wrapper to get it out. The cellophane gets stuck too. What’s the use?”

I’m not even sure what it means. I do know that it is required to be delivered wearing a fedora and smoking a cigarette. I think he’s upset about something but I’m not sure.

I should have listened more, I should have cared more, I should have paused the movie when I left the room. I don’t think this style is for me. Either way I’m not sure I can avoid getting another one lent to me after I return this one tomorrow.

Not that I have to tell you, but this movie ended like it started, badly.

Come the Fairgrounds

The local county fair is opening tomorrow. I have to say I'm excited and we always have a blast at the fair. Either way this popped into my head and I thought I would share it...





Come to the Fairgrounds
Spend your money, spend your money
Come to the fairgrounds tonight

Come to the fairgrounds
Eat pastas, cheesecake, and churros
Eat hot dogs corndogs, and cinnamon rolls
Walk into the fairgrounds but waddle on home

Come to the fairgrounds
Ten dollars for parking and five for a ride
Twenty-Five for a Ginsu knife, Thirty-Six for two
Come flush to the fairgrounds but leave the place flushed

Come to the fairgrounds
See the cows, and the chickens
See the sheep, horses, rabbits and pigs
Come clean to the fairgrounds, leave smelling like dung

Come to the fairgrounds
We’ve all the nice people
Meet carnies, hommies, pickpockets and bums
Come alone to the fairgrounds and find some new friends

Come to the Fairgrounds
Spend your money, spend your money
Come to the fairgrounds tonight


-Peter Brown 2006

Stem To Stern

Okay today is a BIG one. Story Circa 2004

I’m working for a computer consulting company. Going around from business to business taking care of customers networking needs. For the most part is was a pretty easy job. There were always exceptions, but not many. I enjoyed working for lots of different people and going to a variety of places. I was required to wear slacks and dress shirts for this job. I owned a few fairly expensive pair of dress pants, and they all fit me comfortably.

So I’m at our best customers office. I spend around eight to ten hours with them every week. I’m up in the accounting office. This is an office of only women. The room is a square and the square is comprised of solid cubes, with all the openings facing in. Picture twenty women in a square crunching numbers, cracking jokes, gossiping and rocking out to easy listening. Think of it like a hen house and you would be pretty close

In the center of the hen house was a printer. I was swapping it out with a new one. I bent down to pick up the printer and we had a nanosecond conversation.

“Printer” I started, “You need to come with me”
“I’m staying here”
“There is no way of stopping this”

I hear this deafening tear. It rang in my ears like a shot. All I could think was “This couldn’t be happening.” Then came the corroboration. A giggle began traveling around the circle of hens. What started off small was shortly out of control. I had ripped my pants from my neatly press cuff all the way to my double stitched designer waist. It was like a sail billowing in the soft wave of raucous merriment at my expense. I stood dumbfounded, smiling sheepishly and trying to comprehend what had just happened. I put the printer down and grabbed my coat. It covered the important portions, though the damage was already done.

As I was fleeing the office I ran into the manager, and she asked why I was leaving. I relayed the story to her. She looked at my pants, and started to laugh uncontrollably. As I descended the stairs, leading away from the office, I heard her in fits of laughter and few “I’m sorry Peter” like phrases thrown in for good measure.

As I got in my car and tried to comprehend what just happened I knew I would have to go back and finish the job. The idea was almost unbearable.

RSS recant

To the RSS subscribers. I'm sorry but I have to put my foot down. I'm done with the syndication. I write this blog for two reasons.

1- I have a head full of nonsense and it must come out.

2- I enjoy interaction, and believe that is the difference between a static website and a dynamic blog.

I'm afraid all you e-agoraphobics are going to have to get over it. I know you want the world in a neat little box called an RSS reader, but my world isn't like that. I refuse to be in your box. Things are always changing, either you'll have to rejoin the web world and actually visit sites or you'll miss out. If you don't want anymore inane babble about nothingness, awkward moments, or fun links on Thursdays I understand. I'm not going to pretend this site is amazing, I'm just not happy with pumping this stuff out to the Ether, without knowing who's reading it. I'll be here if you need me, but I won't be hurt if you decide not to visit. I don't really know you now anyway.

This will be the last Kludge Spot RSS... Sorry.

-Kludge