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Well ladies and gentlemen, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.
There comes a time in all of our lives when we need to set aside the traditional methods for problem solving that no longer work so that we can explore more entertaining and effective processes which will shift the paradigm.
Granted, I make that bold proclamation at the outset of reviewing the most recently added clock faces made available for my 21st century timekeeping device most commonly found on my non-dominant wrist while at the same time wondering out loud how people with such amazing skills can create such devastatingly retarded designs.
It should also be noted here and now that my use of the word ‘retarded’ refers to the aforementioned clock face designer’s refusal to engage all of the mental acuity at their disposal to construct said design. It doesn’t apply to their inability to do so. While we’re on the subject of disclaiming some stuff, I should warn you now that this post goes beyond the normal PG-13 rating and employs some mental imagery and a certain word which normally doesn’t take up webspace here on TharpSter.Org. They are necessary to the plot at hand, and their absence from this post would make my time at the computer here on the last Saturday morning of February in 2019 well wasted. As such, if you want to disengage from this post at this point, I won’t be hurt. Otherwise, you’ve been warned.
In all honesty ladies and gentlemen, I would need to get nekid a couple of times in order to count the number of times during this calendar year in which my digits have been dialed up by the robocall device of unscrupulously retarded (again, that refers to poor decisions made on porpoise) outfits in tragically optimistic efforts to offer me opportunities to consolidate credit card debt, outfit the compound with solar panels, and resolve pending charges from the IRS.
Just recently I found myself on the receiving end of one of those calls that strangely enough, didn’t come in on my own personal phone. Instead, it was Wifey who received the call one night last week when I was puttering around in the kitchen slathering whipped cream cheese on something. As I applied the creamy goodness with the best of our plastic knives while strategically avoiding eye contact with Faith, the cream cheese loving TharpSter Treadmill, Wifey’s phone broke the silence from the other room prompting an answer.
“Hello?
I’m not interested. Please remove my number from your call list.” That was pretty straight forward on Wifey’s part. Before she could even resume the activity that had been so rudely interrupted by the previous caller, her phone rang again. Wifey reviewed the caller identification and emoted a noise that told me she recognized the poor soul who had dared to call her. “AAAAAARRRRRGH!”. She hit the little green button and accepted the second call as I lovingly slathered some more cream cheese. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME AGAIN!”. She then disconnected the call in the same vein we did back in the 70’s when our modes of telecommunication were limited to devices made of heavy plastic and metal that where affixed to the wall.
Faith, who was still imploring me to share some of the aforementioned slathered goodness now looked a little shaken by the sudden climate change which had just taken place in the next room.
The phone rang again.
At this point my dear reader, I should tell you a little about what I do for a living. In the grand scheme of things, one of my responsibilities both in the land of fabric covered cubicles and out here in the other world is to solve problems in a tier 2 capacity. That means that initial efforts by others to resolve an issue have produced unwanted results. The tier 2 role calls for me to step in and sound my own barbaric ‘yawp’ which sounds a lot like “Hold my beer, watch this.” I then take ownership of the issue until it’s resolved.
When Faith heard that third ring, she knew it was time for me to step in to resolve the issue which was upsetting Wifey. “Hey boss, do you want me to hold whatever it is you were slathering that whipped cream cheese on?” I shot Faith a glare for ending a sentence with a preposition and proceeded to offer tier 2 support to my beloved.
“Honey, let me take that. I will shield your back, and keep your counsel, and give them my phone number instead of yours if need be.” Yes. I’m that good.
“Fine. I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table. I pledge to ask no service of you that may bring you dishonor.” Wifey handed me her lavender/pink OtterBox laden iPhone 8+ and then proceeded to abscond with the cream cheese slathered sustenance I had left on the counter for my post call celebration. Faith, reeling from the correction of her grammar, became more upset upon losing what she thought was hers. As she proceeded to berate Wifey with more questionable grammar for such an indiscretion, I proceeded with my tier 2 support.
“Hello?”
The initial caller started out as a lady who had been assigned as a disposable pawn in the vanguard of outbound telemarketing sales. This is the group whose job it is field responses like the two that Wifey had initially provided. At the same time, if they’re able to identify targets who choose not to refuse their offers or berate their efforts, they qualify the customer with a few questions and then pass the call to their own tier 2 support who’s actually in charge of making the sale. Knowing this to be their approach, I advanced quickly beyond the first firewall so that I could shield Wifey’s back, keep her counsel, and lay waste upon the unscrupulous telemarketing model of the retarded bunch who dared call Wifey three times inside 30 seconds.
The sales manager then came on line and offered up all of the necessary greetings and pleasantries which polite society dictates. Sadly, the tier 2 player in this little game who was led to believe he had his next commission on the line had no idea that his limited reserve of the English language was about to expand by no less than one word.
Yes. I’m that good.
The young man proceeded with his broken English pitch about travel clubs and week-long cruises. Along the way, he asked questions to insure I was still engaged in the process. I responded in monosyllabic grunts of affirmation in order to keep him going and on the line.
Having heard me respond favorably to all of the qualifying questions he could ask, the unwitting sales manager on the other end of the line which was connected to Wifey’s lavender/pink OtterBox laden iPhone 8+ now had the pleasure to set the hook in yours truly by asking that my partner and I attend a 90 minute presentation. At the end of the presentation, we would be given a gift. There was no obligation to purchase the product which would be featured during the presentation.
Sockdolager you’re up in three, two, ……..
“The presentation sounds all good and well, but I want some assurances before I commit to attending.”
I could hear the eye brow of the sale manager raise a little. “Yes sir. What would those be?”
“To be honest, I’m a little nervous about attending presentations.” I took on a hesitant tone to set the hook.
“Why’s that sir? There’s nothing to worry about with this one.”
“Well……..
Okay, I’ll just come out and say it. The last time my wife and I attended a presentation like this, the meeting organizer opened with a PowerPoint presentation which featured nothing but pictures of his three legged St. Bernard named Rocket. Every single image in that PowerPoint presentation was one of Rocket performing slapdash fellatio on himself.” Upon hearing this, Wifey fetched the broom and started sweeping off the hearth.
Before the sales manager could respond, I continued. “But then it got really weird. Once the guy was done with the PowerPoint, he brought his dog out into the presentation area. There was Rocket. Live and in person. He was huge! I mean certainly I’ve seen plenty of three legged dogs before, but never one that big. Care to guess what that dog did in front of us?”
“Umm.”
“That’s right! More fellatio! The dog just would not stop. I don’t mind telling you right here and now that I was envious of Rocket for more than one reason if you know what I mean.”
Faith could be heard in the background. “Because we can!”
“Sir,” The sales manager broke in. “What is that word?”
“Fellatio.”
“What does that mean sir?”
“I think it would be better if you look it up for yourself. I don’t know you that well and I would hate for this relationship to start off on the wrong foot.” Wifey began preparing the table with meat and mead.
“How do you spell it?”
“F-E-L-L-A-T-I-O. It has a Latin origin, so you’ll need to italicize it when you look it up.”
A keyboard could be heard in the background as the sales manager used company equipment to look up a new word. “Oh my God……” The hook was set and the tier 2 support model was just about to close out its latest issue. “Sir, that’s an oral practice involving the mouth……”
“I know. I want assurances that if I attend your presentation, my wife and I are not going to be subjected to that type of behavior again.”
“But sir, there’s no way we would do something like that.”
“You don’t understand though. You people have ignored the Do Not Call registry by calling this number in the first place. When we politely told you not to call us again the first time, you promptly called back. When we told you on the second call using more direct language not to call back, you called right back again. I don’t know that I can take your verbal assurance that you don’t have an ulterior motive to show us another three legged dog heavily invested in autofellatio. Can you put that in writing? If you can, then we’re in.”
“But sir,…….”
The line then went dead.
Okay gang, let’s summarize.
Call #1. Polite refusal complete with us hanging up, and they called right back.
Call #2. Direct refusal complete with us hanging up, and they called right back.
Call #3. Acceptance of the offer with conditions attached and the offending party hung up on us. They haven’t called back and fellatio gets an unneeded endorsement.
My work here is done.
Well, well….that was really “putting on the dog”, I must say.