From the Grooveyard

From time to time I'm going to reach back into the Grooveyard of Forgotten Blogposts and re-run one of Ruth's better ones.  Here's a 2009 classic about her trials & tribulations as a 411 Directory Assistance Operator:

Do You Understand The Words That Are Coming Out Of My Mouth?

I swear, sometimes I wonder if I'm speaking English or not at work. I mean, I try to ask simple questions. Do you want the McDonald's on Fifth or Elm? Could you spell that? You would be surprised at how often I hear "What?" after I ask "How can I help you?" It's a simple question. What the hell do you want? Tell me and I'll get it for you. Everybody wins. There's a scene in Family Guy where Peter goes to Kentucky and tells the cashier of a Kentucky Fried Chicken he's there to see Colonel Sanders. The cashier is some hillbilly with two teeth and a bad accent. He tells Peter the Colonel's dead, but Peter just keeps repeating that he's there to see the Colonel. The cashier finally tells Peter "I say you he dayed" but Peter just can't understand what he's saying. Some days I wonder if I'm Peter or the hillbilly because I have to keep asking the same thing over and over and the customer just goes on and on like they don't have a clue what I'm saying. Sometimes I catch myself muttering "I say you he dayed" after the call's over.

Of course, there are times when I don't understand the customer. Like the time I was looking for a pet store named Elegant Snail, when the customer wanted Elegant Nails. Or when I was looking for a strip club called the Tripple Nipple when they wanted an arcade called the Tripple Nickle. I've learned just about any time I think somebody wants a pond shop they probably want a pawn shop.

As if this will help anything, they're starting a new rule at work. Get this, a dress code. No more tube tops and sweatpants. Luckily, I'm not a big fan of tube tops, or sweatpants, but I'm going to miss wearing T-shirts. At least I can still wear blue jeans and sneakers. I was thinking about going to the Goodwill and getting some comepletely butt-ugly pantsuits, but they would probably come up with a reason to complain.