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[Worked until 6:30 -- damn tired, now.]
Here's a fun story to ponder. (Fun can mean fucked up, amusing, or horribly disturbing, depending on my mood, but it's easier to use "fun" than multi-syllable words that get harder to spell as we go up the scale. So. That's where my brain is after a 10 hour day.)
Setting: The copy room, where I'm neck-deep in medical records that are hundreds and thousands of pages long, from a full-sized file cabinet-ful (the one with four 4-foot-long drawers? Yeah, that kind), of which I need 3 copies each. Words like "hysterectomy," thyroidectomy," and other assorted "-ectomies" were zipping past my eyes every few seconds. Pleasant. Then there are the gems, like "prostate expanded to 40 cc" that pop up every so often, or "follow-up to retinal discharge" complete with illustrations and diagrams, which really put your head in an odd, odd place when there's no one but the cranky copier and fax to converse with.
So. I'm a receptionist (translation: office gruntworker). Phone rings. Ooh, something to break the disturbing monotony!
*ring* "L***** Financial, this is B--."
Guy on the phone (henceforth 'Him'): Yeah, is Renee there?
Me: Renee? No there's no one by that name working here.
Him: Yeah, this is L*****, right? I want to speak with Renee. [Did we not just cover this?]
Me: Well, sir, we do have two Irvine offices. Perhaps--
Him: No, LISTEN! [At which point I kinda held the phone at arm's length and stared a moment. o.O Buh?]
He proceeds to play back a voicemail to me while still holding the phone somehow so he can comment on it. He's also repeating "Listen!" every time I try to interject that the company name just mentioned, the number. . . all wrong. The voicemail guy (yes, guy), Renee, is listing an 800 number, his company name, his direct number, and some long-winded message about god-knows-what-else. Keep in mind, I've got a huge fuckoff copy machine going full speed less than 5 feet behind me, and this recording is not at a high volume. And I'm still rather going WTF?? because the only thing in common between the two phone numbers given and the numbers to our office are the 800 and local area code for the direct. That's *it*. I still don't know howinhell he got our number instead.
Him: See?! Renee --
Me: Sir, this is L***** Financial, not First L***** Loan Services. I assure you, there is NO Renee here, and I have no idea how you dialed this number by mistake. Good day.
Him: But---
Me: *click*
[Seriously, who the fuck dials a wrong number then gets belligerent when the recording they have PROVES they're on crack?]
Next time I get a call THAT obnoxious, I'm going to suggest a genepoolectomy and hang up. Fuckers.
Almost as annoying as the old biddy who told me I was new and incompetent because she called asking for someone who hadn't worked at our office in five YEARS. "Ma'am, I've been here two, I know about four years of employee history for this place, and That Guy ain't here. 'Bye now. *slam*" Don't insult the receptionist. You aren't gonna get anywhere.
Genepoolectomy, indeed.
Here's a fun story to ponder. (Fun can mean fucked up, amusing, or horribly disturbing, depending on my mood, but it's easier to use "fun" than multi-syllable words that get harder to spell as we go up the scale. So. That's where my brain is after a 10 hour day.)
Setting: The copy room, where I'm neck-deep in medical records that are hundreds and thousands of pages long, from a full-sized file cabinet-ful (the one with four 4-foot-long drawers? Yeah, that kind), of which I need 3 copies each. Words like "hysterectomy," thyroidectomy," and other assorted "-ectomies" were zipping past my eyes every few seconds. Pleasant. Then there are the gems, like "prostate expanded to 40 cc" that pop up every so often, or "follow-up to retinal discharge" complete with illustrations and diagrams, which really put your head in an odd, odd place when there's no one but the cranky copier and fax to converse with.
So. I'm a receptionist (translation: office gruntworker). Phone rings. Ooh, something to break the disturbing monotony!
*ring* "L***** Financial, this is B--."
Guy on the phone (henceforth 'Him'): Yeah, is Renee there?
Me: Renee? No there's no one by that name working here.
Him: Yeah, this is L*****, right? I want to speak with Renee. [Did we not just cover this?]
Me: Well, sir, we do have two Irvine offices. Perhaps--
Him: No, LISTEN! [At which point I kinda held the phone at arm's length and stared a moment. o.O Buh?]
He proceeds to play back a voicemail to me while still holding the phone somehow so he can comment on it. He's also repeating "Listen!" every time I try to interject that the company name just mentioned, the number. . . all wrong. The voicemail guy (yes, guy), Renee, is listing an 800 number, his company name, his direct number, and some long-winded message about god-knows-what-else. Keep in mind, I've got a huge fuckoff copy machine going full speed less than 5 feet behind me, and this recording is not at a high volume. And I'm still rather going WTF?? because the only thing in common between the two phone numbers given and the numbers to our office are the 800 and local area code for the direct. That's *it*. I still don't know howinhell he got our number instead.
Him: See?! Renee --
Me: Sir, this is L***** Financial, not First L***** Loan Services. I assure you, there is NO Renee here, and I have no idea how you dialed this number by mistake. Good day.
Him: But---
Me: *click*
[Seriously, who the fuck dials a wrong number then gets belligerent when the recording they have PROVES they're on crack?]
Next time I get a call THAT obnoxious, I'm going to suggest a genepoolectomy and hang up. Fuckers.
Almost as annoying as the old biddy who told me I was new and incompetent because she called asking for someone who hadn't worked at our office in five YEARS. "Ma'am, I've been here two, I know about four years of employee history for this place, and That Guy ain't here. 'Bye now. *slam*" Don't insult the receptionist. You aren't gonna get anywhere.
Genepoolectomy, indeed.
