Pulling into the station

January 12, 2005

Me: Hello, this is Jessie, how can I help you?
Him: *hack* Yeah um *hack* you know your um *hack* seats?
Me: The bar stools?
Him: *hack**hack* Yeah *hack* You know how they come with just the *hack* seat?
Me: ... Yes?
Him: Can I *hack* get one *hack* with a back? *hack**hack*
Me: Not all of the styles are available with backs on them. Which style were you looking at?
Him: *hack* Don't you *hack* make them?
Me: No, we buy from an outside company.
Him: Gimme thier *hack* number!
Me: I'm sorry, I don't have that information to give out.
Him: *hack**hack**hack* You've got to be fuckin' *hack* kidding me. Bull*hack*shit.
Then he hangs up.
What the hell? Okay, first of all, even if I did have the information, what the hell makes you think I'm going to give it to you? And secondly, that guy was about two *hack*s away from coughing up his lungs. It sounded horrible. Even the Boss could hear the hacking. Gross.

Update on the computer: It's still being stubborn. We've Spybot'ed, defragmented, voodoo'ed and prayed for it and still nada. Boss just told me that he's probably just going to buy a new machine for me (cross your fingers that I get a CD burner with the new one) and use this one as the temp's computer. Woot woot.

Also, I have taken one Tylenol PM tab and have only wanted to kick the little dog in the head twice. Once was because he was humping my garbage can.

Love those rednecks stopped here at 1:41 p.m.

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