Part of my job description reads, “Call customers about their received orders.” More often than not, I have to leave messages since some people are at work, don’t want to answer the phone, or are still using dial-up. Some folks don’t bother customizing their intro messages, but the few who do must believe themselves to be very creative. I will admit that they come up with some pretty memorable messages, because otherwise I wouldn’t remember these efforts to amuse and annoy. Mostly annoy, especially in the following example.
The other day, I called up two customers who had ordered a book. They were pretty snippy and, if you’ll forgive the term, a bit ghetto-fabulous, so I kind of pegged them for the “leave a message quick, bitch” types.
First impressions are tricky, though.
I didn’t want to call them, but, again, part of the job description. Just one second to dial the number, and another to get the phone ringing. One ring, two rings, three… Five seconds passed.
A woman came onto the line and began singing. I was about to break in–I’ve got little patience when it comes to telling people to pick their shit up–when I realized that I was hearing the first two seconds of a thirty-second R&B music clip.
While I listened to the woman talk about lovin’ her man ’til the break of dawn, I wondered if I could persuade my boss to give me a commission for having to endure stupidity.
Then the music faded.
I waited for the beep. One second.
Then another song began throbbing into my aural canal. Baby, baby, I neeeEEEEeeEEEEeed yooouuu…
Three seconds in, I was debating whether to just hang up and let the people call or come in for their damn order when a feminine speaking voice came on. Thinking this was one of the customers, I readied my cheery patter. But then I realized that it was part of the recording.
The two melded to create a cacophany I hadn’t heard since my second grade Christmas pageant. And that was some major ear rape.
I was able to understand this much from the slow, honey-thick voice: “Hi, you’ve reached the [baby, baby, oooh] of Dumbass and Mouthbreather. [My note: Obviously not their real names] We [uh-WOOOAAAHHH] to the phone right now, so [eeeEEEEeeEEEEEeeooohhh] message and have a bless-ed [uuunnhhh] day.” Fifteen seconds.
Back to the failed siren singing about roses, or champagne, or some other romantic crap. Another fucking thirty seconds.
“All this time, I could have been reading one-star reviews for Jane Austen on Good Reads,” I said to myself.
Then the music finally, finally faded, leaving my ears in peace.
A second of bless-ed silence.
BEEP.
It took half a second to register the sound, but after that, I knew just what to say.
“Record a normal message like the rest of the fucking world,” I said in an alternate universe where I wouldn’t be fired for saying something so nasty to a customer.
I just told them their crap had come in and they could pick it up at their earliest convenience, ending with my sweetest “thank you and have a great day.” Twelve seconds.
After hanging up, I turned the numbers over in my head until I came up with an approximate figure: 1 minute and 39.5 seconds. Just to leave a damn message.
Five more people to call. Thankfully, I had no more bit parts in Phone Call: The Musical.
I know I’ve been reposting old articles up the wazoo, folks, and I do apologize for any soreness you may be experiencing, but I just wanted to get said articles back up before moving on to some new material.
You may be delighted to know that I’m not going to repost any old articles today. But I’m also not going to post anything new. I had a particularly tiring weekend, what with running a store for seven straight hours on Saturday, and dealing with the consequential grogginess (further added to by the overcast skies) on Sunday. When doing updates on very little energy, I’m just no fun. I tend to rush things just to get them out of the way, and that’s no way to run a site, especially one that’s being relaunched.
Except for that one Friday when I didn’t update, I’d been doing pretty well, eh? I’ll get back on schedule Friday, maybe with something other than an old article. How does a comic sound? Or a funny picture? A screencap? Something imagery-related, sakes. I’d like to add some more color to the place.
*looks around* Speaking of which, heavens, but this place needs a proper banner, don’t you think? And some links. Ye gods, I haven’t I done that already?
Originally posted in the Minibites section of the Tchotchke Attic in November 2005:
I bet you feel pretty special when you spot an inexplicable object. I bet you feel golly-gosh special when you take a picture of said object, post it on your site, and make wry, saracstic comments about its inexplicablness-ity. Well, I feel really special since I decided to do the same thing. Hooray for the concept of the bandwagon!
First Tchotchke Tome InExOb entry: Gel pens. Not any regular gel pens, though. Besides coming in an array of colors (god-awful green, bruised purple, goddamn-that’s-bright pink, why-is-this-color-even-in-this-set-when-no-one-ever-uses-it orange, and surprisingly-easy-on-the-eyes blue), they also come with a pack of Winterfresh breath strips.
I really don’t understand how breath strips factor in with writing. Is Uni-Ball trying to tell me that I spend so much time writing when I should be devoting more time to my mouth? Should I be downing halitosis-fighting treats while I scribble unlegible and vague notes for my classes? And what about typing? Will keyboards come with a free pack of Dentine Ice gum? Help me!
Originally posted in the Minibites section of the Tchotchke Attic in November 2005:
I was cleaning out a box in the garage one day, and while sorting through the newly created mountain of crappy drawings and unfinished short stories, I found this little ad for a small Star Wars toy. Specifically, a C3PO Mini-Action Set.
Anyone who’s seen the Star Wars movies knows that the golden queen is to an action figure as Leona Helmsley is to human kindness. The most action related to C3PO you’re going to see is him walking jerkily around the screen and playfully pawing his partner-for-life, R2D2. The background doesn’t offer much, either; it’s minimalism at its finest. So what can one expect to do with this toy?
Well, you could see if C3PO was detachable and toss him in with your little green army men. I bet they could use some company.
Every dollar store is a walk-in treasure chest of unusual and sometimes unwanted items, be they knock-off Disney Princess dolls or cheap-o cameras with flash functions that barely give off a spark–the costume jewelry, if you will. Some of the best dubloons come in the form of cut-rate toys and inspirational graduation gifts, but the ruby-encrusted gold crown in this booty has to be the snacks.
(Thus ends the worst analogy ever written.)
Foot-long nougat and taffy candy, waxy lollipops, cinnamon-coated peanuts, greasy cheesy puffs–if you can think of it, it’s probably been in the dollar store snack aisle. And this aisle is home to dozens and dozens of gummies, some that sadly never see the florescent light of a grocery store.
I consider myself a gummy connoisseur. Okay, maybe more of a dilettante. But I’ve tried a variety of gummies over the years. Frogs, sharks, brains, chicken feet, teeth and gums, burgers, fries, sodas, hot dogs, and realistically colored rats… I’ve even sampled “gummy kits,” which allow gummy fanatics to construct their own sweet and chewy pizzas or cookies. If it’s a gummy and reasonably edible, I’ll eat it. (But Swedish Fish to me is like garlic to a vampire. They’re just nasty.)
So I had to try these. Now, I’d mentioned in my last article that popcorn shouldn’t exist in ice cream. That’s only because it doesn’t taste right in that form. As a gummy, popcorn isn’t terribly bad.
It’s weird, but it’s not bad.
And if it tastes like popcorn, all the better.
You’ll notice that there are four different flavors to “guess” from. You’ll also notice that the company recommend the candy for kids ages 4 and up. After reading the next few paragraphs, you’ll be debating the touchy issue of subtle child abuse.
Everyone who’s ever eaten candy knows what apple, watermelon, and strawberry taste like. That’s right: fake. But I couldn’t detect any of the fruit flavors. It was impossible. There probably was never any artificial fruit flavor in these gummy clusters, because all I could taste was sweaty socks.
No one with even a fiber of gray matter would stick an old, sweat-drenched sock in their mouth… unless they were desperate for money. But smell one. Get the soppiest, moldiest, gag-inducing sock you can find–preferably one recently worn by a football player who’d been training for eight hours on the field on a broiling summer day–and smell with your mouth partially open. You will taste it. Damn, you can feel the fumes rising to your palate. Shutting your mouth as the taste pierces your tastebuds won’t do any good; it’ll just smash the odor-taste further into your tongue.
That’s what eating these allegedly fruity kernels was like. Hell, the aforementioned gummy rats tasted like fruit! The popcorn-flavored kernels were a welcome respite, though. They even tasted just like popcorn, albeit air-popped and lightly buttered. Almost therapeutic after having my mouth ravaged.
But to get to both of these charming flavors, you have to get past the sour crystals. I guess they’re supposed to resemble salt (gummy fries have these sour crystals), but, really, it’s hard to enjoy a gummy when your eyelids are squeezing your eyes back into your skull… and when memories of the locker room after gym class are flooding your brain and mouth.
Still, this was a unique experience. Not mind-blowing, but certainly taste buds-blowing. If you see these suckers in a store, try them out. You just might regret it.
I’ve joined the collective, folks. The Twitter collective, that is. Watch as I spiral into another obsession.
I’d been trying to resist this for months. But it’s claimed me. The dirty social networking site has finally claimed me. And it’s forcing me to write concise posts! My English major sensibilities are being tested.
But I do get to follow the guys from Stella; and every porn star hopeful with sloppy homemade vids is totally begging me to watch them. Sorry, sweeties, but the wobbly handheld camera, desk lamp lighting, and other low production values just don’t do it for me.
Like any person with a fair chance of developing diabetes, I love sweets. Pastries, gummies, cakes, pies–if it’s sweet and there’s a chance that my health will suffer, I’ll push it down my gullet. And with the summer Southern heat intensifying day by day, I turn to ice cream for cool, sweet comfort.
But it’s never easy to decide. You got your singular flavors, plain yet illustrious: vanilla and chocolate. Then you got the chunky ones, each flavor with a mouthful of crunchy or chewy treasures: mint chocolate chip, strawberry, and cherry. Then we have our adventurous forays, each one promising a grand experience for the palate: birthday cake, fried ice cream, lemon creme pie, and so many more. It’s impossible to ignore the calls to the frozen desserts aisle, and I must scour the displays. Even just seeing the different flavors can be enough to satisfy the cravings, if only for a short while.
But there are times when I must try a flavor to indulge my curiosity–and there are times when it feels like I’m punishing it at the same time.
Yes, taking up half a carton while befriending vanilla ice cream with caramel pieces is a new, daring flavor: popcorn, with candy-coated popcorn pieces and praline peanuts. Personally, I believe that puffed-up corn kernels shouldn’t be frozen, mixed into dairy products, or manipulated into a creamy substance.
That’s what I thought of the concept. The taste is another matter altogether.
It was nothing short of odd. No, peculiar. No… incongruous. I couldn’t tell if the popcorn pieces had been candied. The coating probably dissolved in the ice cream. Not that it mattered, since every time I bit down on a piece, I had the unsettling feeling that someone had chewed up and spat popcorn into my ice cream. Shades of family movie night pranks…
Take out the popcorn pieces, and you might have a winning flavor on your hands. Otherwise, every mouthful just leaves you wondering if someone’s spit is mingling with yours.
By the way, the caramel for the plain vanilla tasted burnt. It did nothing to wash down the popcorn stuff. I should have tried rocky road.
My husband and I are making a Christmas tradition of ordering from the Swiss Colony, a company observing the time-honored practice of selling overpriced sweets and meats to a public who should know better. Still, their peanut butter cheesecake was pretty awesome, even if it left my palate feeling sticky and thick.
After purchasing their goods, you receive monthly bills from the Colony. Nothing fantastic about this, as most companies send bills every month, but the Colony likes to throw in a few advertisements.
This one I found rather fitting and a little tacky:
It’s almost as if they’re saying, “We know that our instantly widening, bottom-enlarging, tummy fattening treats have done a number on you, and we’re terribly sorry about it. But wipe away your tears, push away your regrets. We know a company who’ll be glad to offer you a free sample of shaping pantyhose shorts! Also, we’ve increased your spending credit. Check out our frog melties, perfect for summer snacking!”
You’re not fooling anyone by having a skinny model pose in those shortz. You put a bulky mother of four who’s been fed on fatty bacon and goose lard in those, and they’ll explode within seconds. And I’d duck for cover, because fabric traveling at 2000 mph can be lethal.
I always imagined that 2009 would be the start of great things.
After several months–okay, years–of not updating this site and paying for unused megabytes, I’m pleased to announce that I’m bringing back this site. A few weeks ago, I was debating whether to register a new domain, start a new online project, shell out more money annually for these decisions when I realized that I can do so much on a site with obnoxious-gal in the URL.
Gal? I am of the female persuasion. Obnoxious? To a degree, maybe. The hyphen? That was a personal preference, really, and it does make the URL look cleaner. But the point is that the domain clued me in on what I should be doing with this site: Celebrating and mocking the obnoxious things in life… maybe even be obnoxious while doing it.
What do ya scuzzes think?
You can look forward to crafts, games, and new Tchotchke Attic reviews; anything that that’s obnoxious or inspires an odd joy in the hearts of pop culture addicts will be featured on this site. I’m already salivating at the prospect!
So excuse the mess while I tidy up things and try to make this new blog look good. See you folks in about a week.
