She’s, You Know, Mentally Retarded

I never claimed to be smart. To be god damn honest, I’m not the brightest crayon in the box. Compared to the clientele that calls in though, I spend most of my day feeling like a fucking molecular biologist. Yet every once in awhile, old Winston fucks up and does some dumb shit.

I’ve been on the phone with my dumb redneck pal for a solid 30 minutes, troubleshooting something on his computer. I certainly don’t want to give up now, because so far, we’re getting somewhere. This is quite a surprise, since rednecks are pretty fucking stupid by nature. In the middle of troubleshooting, I hear the loudest, most insane scream I’ve ever heard in my life. I had to put my headset down. I had to run around looking for a rape whistle. I had to call the fire department. This scream continued for a few seconds, then turned into manic laughing and yelling. All I know is that I was scared for my dumb redneck pal on the other end.

Winston: “Sir, are you still there?”

Customer: “Yeah, man, I’m still here. Sorry, my girlfriend just came over with her daughter.”

For some reason I decided to be friendly to the customer, which I generally avoid, as it takes me away from watching the TV a few cubes away or playing scrabble on my phone.

Winston: “Haha, oh I know how kids are, they’re always bugging you when you’re trying to do something important, like fix the computer or talking to someone on the phone.

Like I know, I don’t have kids, nor do I remember how much of an asshole I was when I was a kid.

Customer: “Well, she’s, you know, mentally retarded.”

Oh, shit. What am I supposed to say next? I’m sorry for your loss? I’m sure she’ll come around in her later years? The correct term is “special,” not “retarded,” you asshole! No, there is no recovery from a fuckup like that.

We sat in awkward silence for a solid ten seconds before I continued troubleshooting, pretending nothing happened, with my new special friend yelling the whole time.

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