One of the many problems with ESP’s is that they’re so fucking sure of themselves no matter how dumb they are. For some reason they always think they’re right and simply can’t be reasoned with. That’s why unfortunately you sometimes have to humor them and stoop down to their level.
Customer: “Could you do me a favor and call me back at a different number? It’s 555-5555.”
Winson: “Um, actually it looks like we’re talking on that number right now. Do you have another number you’d like me to call?”
Customer: “No, we’re not talking on that number.”
Winston: “Well, I see it right here on my phone. 555-5555.”
I’m sure you’ve gathered by now that elderly folks and technology don’t mix very well. A large portion of my tech calls are simply telling them to press the TV button on the remote. These should be easy calls, but getting to that button pushing moment usually takes about ten minutes. To the clueless and elderly ESP’s, the remote is some sort of mysterious device that should be feared. And you know when ESP’s get confused (all the fucking time), they get pissed…at me.
One of my biggest problems with angry old assholes and the remote is the lack of pressing the select button. Yeah, actually selecting an option instead of staring at the screen waiting for something to happen. This is especially frustrating when you’re troubleshooting, because you assume they’re following along with you, but they’re miles behind. If you say go to the TV menu, you would think that means pressing the menu button or selecting the menu option, right? No, apparently it’s a real fucking toughie. I’ve had a lot of confusion over this one over the years, but one was pretty bad. Old Dumbass could not unravel the mysteries of the remote for the life of him.
Well hot damn gentle reader, we did it. We hit the century mark! 100 stories of stupidity. If you’ve been with me from the beginning, you know the impossible is possible. A normal person may believe in the intelligence of the human race. Yet we have 100 examples that there are some real fucking morons out there. Really dumb people. I’m talking about extremely stupid people here.
Now I’m not trying to be defeatist by any means, because quite a bit of good can come from 100 stories of stupid. Had a shitty day at work? Feel better by laughing at those with lesser intelligence. Did something dumb today? Boost your self-esteem by realizing you aren’t a dirty Redneck that can’t count past 2 (the number of Busch Lights ordered in a round at the bar).
I’ve got plenty more than a hundred stories, believe me. It seems like I can’t stay ahead of them. Everyday I go to the call center, really not wanting anyone to be so fucking ridiculous, but I’ll be damned, they just keep on coming. Endless stupidity.
So while we’re talking about numbers, allow me to enlighten you with a story about a man that got really fucking pissed over a really fucking small number.
Winston: “What do you mean you’ve been charged? Your service hasn’t even been setup yet.”
Customer: “I have my bank statement right here and I see a charge. I can send it to you, because I’m not blind!”
As intelligent as loyal ESP readers are, there are always a few stupid people that slip through the cracks and land on the blog. The dumbasses have to get to ESP somehow, and this is how they’re doing it:
“Im Extermly Stoopid Rigth Now”
That’s for damn sure. Now what’s the goal of that search?
“Stupid Business Casual Hobo”
What? Are you saying business casual is stupid or inquiring how a hobo would dress in a corporate environment?
“Call Center Agents Are Assholes”
Only if they create blogs retelling stories about their interactions with stupid fucking customers.
“Stupid People And Computers”
Yeah, they don’t mix very well. Please see every post on the blog as proof.
Sometimes I get a call from someone, and all I can think is that the person must be a raging psycho. Like the fucking movie Psycho. Really. How thankful I am that people can’t murder me over the phone line. That is what I thought when I encountered a man we’ll call Norman Bates (the main character from Psycho, movie knowledge drop).
Winston: “Thanks for calling Telescreen, this is Winston, how may I help you?”
Customer: “Winston? Yeah, I was trying to get a hold of Jenny. Can you transfer me over to her?”
Winston: “Unfortunately it doesn’t look like she’s in today, but I can give you her direct extension if you’re ready for the number.”
Customer: “No that’s okay, can you just leave a message for her?”
Winston: “Not a problem, I’ll get an email right over to her.”
Customer: “Great. Could you please ask her why she’s so fucking stupid?”
I shit you not, verbatim, this fucking happened. A normal person would have been speechless, but to me, this was just another day. Little did I know what else lay ahead.
As you’ve probably gathered, I’ve had plenty of threats against my life over the last couple of years. There have been too many to count and even too many to mention all of them on the blog. I can only justifiably mention the creative and original threats, like this one:
Winston: “I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t get the refund back to you sooner than three to five business days. It has to clear with your bank first, but we have no control over that process.”
Customer: “Na-na-na-na. You think you can get away with this?”
Winston: “Ma’am, we made sure the refund was sent to the bank yesterday…”
Customer: “Na-na-na-na. You’re gonna hang for this, you hear me? You’re gonna hang mister! You’re gonna hang!”
Hmm. I can’t make money magically appear so I’m going to be executed? By way of a noose? No, this isn’t the fucking 1600’s and I’m not a fucking witch. It must have been a figure of speech or something, because that made no sense whatsoever. Even literally speaking, I don’t think the death penalty is sentenced to people who can’t get a refund sooner than three business days.
I have been following Winston’s blog since its genesis. Stories of ESP’s and dumb rednecks are not only funny, but give you some perspective on your own intelligence. Litmus tests, if you will. Chances are, if you’re sympathetic with the customer in any of Winston’s stories, you’re probably an ESP yourself.
But what happens when you leave your semi-comfortable work setting and have to deal with the gun-toting, gay-bashing, Christ-loving idiots in the real world? Well, I have the case study for you and he is my next door neighbor…Rex.
Rex in his very nature is a simple kind of guy. One would describe him as a Salt-of-the-Earth character. I don’t understand what that means. Presumably because Rednecks tend to have high-sodium diets and earthy body odors. But Rex is 58 years old and it doesn’t appear he has ever stepped foot outside of his suburban Midwestern community. With his simplicity comes an approachable demeanor and a willingness to offer a neighborly hand, sometimes without request.
I tell you what gentle reader, there is just too much fucking stupidity for one man to ridicule by himself. I could spend all day, everyday, sharing ESP stories from my time at Telescreen and I’d still have posts leftover. Yet that’s just while I’m at work, because after I leave the dungeon known as the Telescreen call center, it’s stupidity on the roads, on TV, and inside mother fucking Perkins. I know you all have the same issue as you go about your intelligent lives, so I created “Your Stories” and “Your Posts” to allow you all to share the stupidity. The readers have definitely risen to the challenge, with tons of hilarious stories sent my way and posted as comments throughout the many blog posts on ESP.
Yet one man had far too many stories to share and wanted to start his own blog about stupidity. I think the idea came about with beer in hand, which is always the best way to make decisions. So I invited him to join me here on ESP because, I’ll be damned, two is better than one in the fight against stupidity. So now I will no longer be the sole writer on the blog, but will be collaborating with a new author by the name of Charlie Blue Dot.
Now Charlie has one Hell of a problem. He doesn’t work in an evil shithole like Telescreen. He doesn’t live in the backwoods of Mississippi. But he does live right next door to the craziest Redneck around named Rex. He has been telling me and everyone else the most ridiculous stories about Rex, but it’s not really about what Rex does. It’s always about the dumbest fucking shit that Rex says. So from here on out, Charlie will contribute to ESP by posting “Conversations With Rex.”