Tales from the Cubicle

My job is not the most desirable job in the world. I love the company that I work for, and certainly feel that I am valued as an employee. But the work itself… well… (to better understand the tone in which that “well” was intended, read this).

For this reason, I’ve come to really savor those moments that make my job more enjoyable/entertaining/bearable. Few and far between as they may be. Here’s a few of my favorite moments that often carry me through the drudge of day-to-day…

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One night I received a call from a man activating his card. He sounded older and slightly confused. After accessing his information, I saw that he was 95 years old. We muddled our way through conversation and eventually accomplished the task at hand. At the end of the call I started into my routine script, which includes a reminder to sign the back of the card. He cut me off mid-sentence-
Old Man: Sign the back of my card!?
Me: Yes sir.
Old Man: I have to sign this card in order for it to work?
Me: Well, yes. Technically, the card is only valid if signed.
Old Man: (in a leery, incredulous tone) Ok… you’ll need to hold on a second…
>brief moment on hold while I hear papers shuffling and drawers opening<
Old Man: Ok, did you get that?

He thought that I had the ability, from my tiny little cubicle, to see the signature on his card. As if I’d witnessed it scrawled across my computer screen as his pen glided across the plastic. I didn’t have the heart to crush his imagination.

Me: Yes sir. I got that. Thank you very much for doing that.

Technology these days…sheesh…

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On another night I received a call from a man wondering why his gift card wasn’t working. The following is the best paraphrase that my memory provides (minus the excessive profanity that the original had been eloquently seasoned with)…

Man: Yeah, so I just got this card in the mail. I’m not sure why. I know all about these magnetic strips though, so I assume it’s just one more way the government wants to monitor everything I do. I can’t believe how unconstitutional our country has become. Ya know the average American has like 5 cards. That’s like, a thousand little homing devices just floating around in everyday pockets… (this continued for several more minutes, and included enough cuss words to fuel the entire country of Bulgaria, if cuss words were an effective source of fuel)… Anyway, so I microwaved my card. Now I’m sitting here with no gas in my car and my card won’t work.
Me: … >long, silent, flabbergasted pause< You microwaved your card, sir?
Man: Yeah. Why the *expletive* won’t this *expletive* card work?!
Me: … >longer, silenter, flabbergasteder pause< You microwaved your card, sir.
Man: *expletive* -- click --

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And finally… on yet another dark stormy night, I had the honor of receiving this fine call…

Me: Thank you for calling unidentified credit card company, blah blah blah, how can I help you?
Woman: Yeah, my jeep isn’t working.
Me: (mistakenly giving her the benefit of the doubt, and assuming by “jeep” she meant “card”) … Um, excuse me? Your jeep?
Woman: Yeah, it’s making a strange clicking sound, and then a musky smell started coming from the front.
Me: (now 88% sure she’s referring to an actual jeep, and not a card) Um, ma’am, you’ve reach unidentified credit card company, I don’t know anything about your jeep.
Woman: I know, but no one else is open at this hour.

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Oh, all in a day's work…